of the most pertinent testimony. This was
urged, and there was urged nothing but this.
The case for prosecution was a case of
circumstantial evidence, infinitely more
convincing than any proof of secret crime from
direct testimony. Nobody can be conscious
witness to the offence of a poisoner, who does
not to a certain extent, by the mere fact of
his having witnessed it, lay himself open to
suspicion. A man who can stand by and see
murder done is capable, perhaps, of bearing
false witness; and the oath even of two or
three persons whose characters are questionable
—all of whom say that they have witnessed
actual offence, and all of whom may speak
through malice—is less perfect evidence than
a long course of testimony from indifferent
persons of all ranks and tempers, every point
tending to show what the crime was, and by
whom and why committed, and the whole
forming a mass of absolute proof everywhere
uncontradicted. Such proof was furnished
against the Poisoner, by the counsel for the
Crown, according to their brief. On the
other hand, counsel for defence—having no
other refuge, and being unable to rebut the
damning facts—also in accordance with their
brief, and in most strict accordance with the
spirit of English justice, exhausted their
ingenuity in the production of suggestions,
suppositions, and surmises.

To proceed with the story of a trial.
Counsel for the Crown having stated, in his
opening speech, what he proposes to
establish, proceeds to call witnesses for proof of
the indictment he prefers. Any one may be
a witness who is of sound mind, and knows
the responsibility of the position—"knows the
meaning of an oath," the form runs; but that
is another form on which improvement may
be made. The oath taken by the witness is
administered in these words: "The evidence
you shall give before the court and jury
sworn shall be the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth. So help you
God." Each witness, after he has given
his evidence in chief, is tried by the counsel
for the prisoner with cross questions,
intended to detect and bring out any latent
facts that will tell either directly in favour of
the prisoner, or indirectly, by shaking the
credit of the witness who has testified against
him. When in this way the case against the
accused man has been closed, his own counsel
replies to it, and may reply to it in almost any
way. The counsel for the prisoner, in the
case to which we now refer, assumed a right
to answer altogether as he pleased. Legitimately
he may use his ingenuity to give a
more favourable interpretation to the evidence
he is unable to rebut, may suggest any
theory he likes, may make any appeal within
certain wide limits of common decorum to
the feelings and prejudices of the jurymen.
He may use his utmost eloquence in
representing perfectly the anxious plea of the
prisoner himself for life. He then brings what
evidence he can to rebut the accusation made,
or to throw doubt or obscurity about any of
the more hopeless features of the case. The
credit of his witnesses is of course open to
test by cross-examination; only here, as
throughout, the business of the prosecution
is simply to discover the truth; the business
of the defence is personal—to secure, if
possible, guilty or not guilty, the prisoner's
acquittal. The counsel for the Crown having
replied, it is the judge's duty, as a representative
of law and justice, to repeat calmly the
whole case to the jury, and to point out the
relation of each part of it to the law of the
land; and, in this form, he leaves the question
of the guilt or innocence of the arraigned
person to be decided by the panel of his
countrymen. During the whole process of
each cause, the jury, if they need to retire,
and as often as they may retire, are given in
charge to an officer of the court, who is sworn
to keep them in complete seclusion, and to
allow them neither food nor fire while they
are considering their verdict. This last is
another of the forms which seems to be no
longer requisite.

All this care having been taken to insure
fair and impartial trial, there remains a point
of extreme tenderness on behalf of the
prisoner—an allowance to him, in fact, of a
great chance of escape. The twelve jurymen
must be unanimous in declaration of
his guilt. The first question asked of them,
after they announce that they are ready
to respond, is, "Gentlemen of the jury, are
you all agreed in your verdict?" If the
reply be "We are," the question follows is,
"How say you, is the prisoner at the bar
guilty or not guilty of the crime charged
against him? "—" We say that the prisoner
is guilty." The prisoner is then, by a
pursuance of the formal dialogue, addressed by
the officer of the court, informed of the
verdict, and asked what he has to say in
bar of sentence. In case of capital offence,
if he do not reply, the officer proceeds to
cry: "O yes, O yes, O yes!" (the old
French for "Hear ye, Hear ye, Hear ye!")
"My lords the Queen's justices strictly
charge and command all manner of persons
to keep silence, while sentence of death is
passing on the prisoner at the bar, on pain of
imprisonment." The black cap—simply the
state cap, a square of black cloth with a pair
of lappets—is then put on by the judge or
judges, and the sentence is passed in a form
of words which need not be repeated.

But there is a chance yet left for the
convict, in the discretion given to the government
to remit sentences of execution, and
called the royal prerogative of mercy. This
has not at all times been wisely used;
Killegrew came one morning, in a great
hurry, to King Charles the Second, who,
on seeing him, inquired, "What news?"
"Very bad," he replied. "There is a
report about town, that your Majesty robbed