unwilling cause; but her indignation culminated
when she was removed from the condemned
cell, after twelve months' tenancy, to make room
for a wretched woman condemned for poisoning
her husband, who had not been tried on a
Saturday, and who, no minnikin-pin's "point"
being in her case discoverable for reservation,
had to be hung "on the merits." This unjust
eviction almost wrung tears from the stubborn
eyes of Winsor.

Such little anecdotes may be but "ben trovati;"
but they show the general impression
of the woman's character. The conviction that
she was callous and indifferent to an incredible
degree, may console those who reflect on the
terrible suffering, the bitterness worse than
death, which any being with like passions and
feelings to our own, must have endured during
those long months of suspense.

A strange commentary on our criminal laws
do the Winsor trials furnish. The execution of
so great a criminal in cold blood, after so long a
lapse of time, was felt to be an impossibility.
So she ended by escaping a fate which was
never more richly deserved, through a legal
quibble which was not supposed, by any one
capable of judging, to be worth one drop of
ink in all the gallons that were shed for it, or one
syllable of the four elaborate orations which it
wrung from the eloquence of a pertinacious
counsel. There was "nothing in it," every
lawyer, without exception, said when it was first
raised, and has said ever since; nothing in it,
except the escape from justice of the most
notorious and brutal murderess of our time,
and except an unparalleled encouragement to
criminals to calculate on the chances of
impunity, and except the bringing into contempt
of our whole system of criminal procedure. So
much the better, perhaps, if there were any
chance (which there is not) that this bungling
business might lead to a careful investigation and
radical reform of that system. Not long ago, I
heard one of our criminal judges say to a jury
who acquitted two coiners: "The longer I live,
the less respect I have for our criminal law.
You have done quite right in acquitting, for you
had no choice on the evidence before you. But
if we had a criminal system, I won't say
founded on, but remotely connected with, the
principles of common sense, those two prisoners
wouldn't have escaped. But we haven't, and
so it don't matter." I never revered a judge
as I revered that judge.

           SHOEMAKERS' HOLIDAY.

DIPPING, the other day, into Goldsmith, we
found the above phrase, applied to the amiable
doctor's habitual visits to those suburban places
of entertainment which, in his time, made
Islington merit the name of "merry." Sometimes
he would make up a party of four or five
of his "jolly pigeon friends," as he styled them,
to enjoy a "Shoemakers' Holiday." White
Conduit Tea Gardens were then a centre of
attraction. Curiously enough, the tavern so
named was in process of erection during the
reign of Charles the First, and the workmen
engaged on the building were regaling themselves
upon its completion at the very moment
of the monarch's decapitation at Whitehall.
The charms of the gardens were set forth in
poems, and the characters of their visitors
described as follows:

Here prig with prig holds conference polite,
And indiscriminate the gaudy beau
And sloven mix. Here he, who all the week
Took bearded mortals by the nose, or sat
Weaving dead hairs, and whistling wretched strain,
And eke the sturdy youth, whose trade it is
Stout oxen to contund, with gold-bound hat
And silken stocking strut. The red-armed belle
Here shows her tasty gown, proud to be thought
The butterfly of fashion: and, forsooth,
Her haughty mistress deigns for once to tread
The same unhallow'd floor.

These scenes, though still fresh in the memory
of many still alive, are no longer possible.
Where once were green fields, is now a labyrinth
of streets; where once bowling-greens,
tea-arbours, and a fish-pond, are now rows of
dwelling-houses. The ancient conduit has long been
ruined, its channel choked with filth, and its
leaden pipes left to decay. Islington was then
full of curiosities which are no longer curious,
but which Goldsmith regarded as worthy of
observation. "Having surveyed," he writes,
"the curiosities of this fair and beautiful
town, I proceeded forward, leaving a fair stone
building on my right; here the inhabitants
of London often assemble to celebrate a feast
of hot rolls and butter. Seeing such numbers,
each with their little tables before them,
employed on this occasion, must, no doubt,
be a very amusing sight to the looker-on,
but still more so to those who perform in
the solemnity." To enjoy or to share in
such a spectacle, the Londoner must now
journey further on—say, to Highbury Barn,
where he may find a much larger cockney
paradise, with a dancing-platform and a handsome
theatre, with a good company, under excellent
musical direction, and a stage adorned with
picturesque scenery.

Goldsmith in thus condescending to the
conditions of enjoyment that might be commanded
by any shoemaker of his day, was not conscious
of doing anything snobbish. No doubt such
places were, and are, vulgar places, but
the word only expresses the degree of their
popularity. Who recollects not Sir Walter
Scott's admonition to his daughter, not to
despise vulgar things merely on that account, for
probably they had become such because they had
been proved to be good? Such places are good
to large classes of people, and offer desirable
refreshment to both mind and body. With
increased accommodations, they present increased
attractions to the multitudinous public of our
day. A regular army of pleasure-seekers now
lines the paths of the Upper-street of Islington,
and the terraces of Highbury, on most evenings;
but on Sundays we may say of the Angel Inn,
corner of Pentonville, what Dr. Johnson said of