"Mr. Serjeant Calantine rose with a weight
upon his shoulders, compared with which, the
cathedral church of St. Paul's, the entire National
Gallery (the heaviest thing he knew), and he
would throw in the clock-tower at Westminster,
were as the down upon a gosling's wing! He
(the learned serjeant) nevertheless expected to
be down upon it, and that in two seconds. The
case lay in a nutshell. He would crack it then
and there, and much good might the contents
do the learned advisers of the crown!

"His learned friend had commenced his address
with a florid appeal to the good offices of a body
of public gentlemen, of whose presence at his
very elbow, to the number of about a hundred
and fifty, he affected to be wholly ignorant. If
he (the learned serjeant) had correctly analysed
the characters of these virtuous men, they were
more likely to be disgusted than conciliated by
such open adulation. His learned friend had
adopted a like impolitic course with regard
to the twelve extraordinary men who, at that
moment, in that box, fulfilled the most
exalted office, majesty excepted, in this realm.
To what end the compliments addressed to
them? As well expect the pump in Piccadilly
to yield Château-Margeaux, Burgundy, Tokay, as
a British jury to eliminate aught but coruscations
of wisdom, reason, logic, and philosophy. He
bowed before that jury. He felt his minuteness.
His intellectual being was dwarfed and quailed
within him as he regarded those twelve creatures
—not, indeed, in their mortal character, men like
himself—but as representing an institution, whose
colossal head trifled with the stars, and whose
feet were rooted in the everlasting birthright of
impossible generations! . . . .

"He had remarked that the case was in a
nutshell. Crack! Here it was. He should repose
his triumphant defence on two points alone,
either of which was conclusive of the prisoner's
innocence. These were, first, the hostile verdict
of a coroner's jury; secondly, the indigestible
nature of some portions of female attire now
unhappily in vogue. On the first point—

"At this moment, another slip of paper was
placed before the learned counsel, who read it
with some agitation, and glanced uneasily
towards the jury.

"'Well, brother Calantine?' asked the judge,
impatiently.

"'Pardon me, my lud,' replied the serjeant;
'this case is likely to take a singular, and,
certainly, unexpected turn. The prisoner desires
me to communicate to the court a resolution,
which I may perhaps be allowed to give in his
own emphatic words—namely, that if, in the
present age of the world, a dozen such asses can
really be found, as to adopt the theory suggested
by my learned friend—he at once coincides with
Sir Christopher Hatton's swan—

O, 'tis enough. Come death, now close mine eyes,
More geese than swans now live—more fools than wise—

and requests me to throw up my brief.'

"'Under the conditions stipulated by the
prisoner, I put it to you, brother Calantine,' said
the judge, 'can you struggle against a verdict?'

"The learned serjeant threw one mournful
glance at the jury, struck his head lightly
against that of Mr. Egbert Bee, and then replied
that he could not.

"The judge opened his note-book.

"'Before addressing myself,' he began, in his
clear mellifluous tones, 'to a summary of this
most important case, I feel it painfully incumbent
on me to call the attention of the proper
officers, to those—I may say—fundamental
principles, which contribute to, if they do not actually
govern, the due and comfortable administration
of justice in this court. I allude to the condition
of the armed-chairs on which my brother Squall
and I are condemned to sit.

"'My brother Squall's seat has not been fresh
padded since that excellent, but by no means
slender puisne judge, Sir Thomas Blumber,
afterwards Lord Heavistone, occupied it. My own
chair has knots in the cover, to which those of
the native wood would be infinitely preferable,
and the constitution of one of the hinder legs is
weaker than I could wish.'

"He then summed up to the jury, and the
foreman, without the ceremony of consulting his
colleagues, instantly returned a verdict of—

"'Guilty as possible.'

"The court remarked that this was not the usual
form. It might be taken as implying some
uncertainty as to the amount of the prisoner's guilt.
It would detract seriously from the rich absurdity
of the conclusion at which they had really arrived.
Besides, unless they gave implicit credence to the
theory, the prisoner's stipulation was not
complied with, and the case must be re-heard.

"The foreman replied briskly that, rather than
that, he would undertake to return any verdict
most agreeable to the court. But, in truth, the
jury had no doubt. His expression, 'guilty as
possible,' was intended to convey their persuasion
of the prisoner's superlative culpability.

"The court was satisfied.

"Mr. Justice Rumpus then proceeded to
pronounce a cordial eulogy on the conduct of the
prisoner, in saving the time of the court and
country. A more gentlemanly and agreeable
prisoner it had never been his lot to try! He
regretted that no alteration had as yet been
made by the legislature with regard to the
hour of—hem!—(the prisoner knew to what he
referred). It had been fixed thus inconveniently
early, from consideration to those numerous
parties who, unable to command accommodation
at the Magpie and Stump, were compelled to
bivouac, during the previous night, under the
prison walls. The mornings were still raw and
cold, but he trusted the prisoner would wear his
worsted muffler, until—until it became necessary
to discontinue it.

"The prisoner bowed to the court, shook hands
warmly with Mr. Serjeant Calantine, and quitted
the dock.