been sworn, and counted by the Crier of the Court, who then makes the following proclamation:
“‘Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!’ (a corruption of the French word ‘Oyez,’ ‘hear.’) ‘If any one can inform my Lords—the Queen’s Justices—the Queen’s Attorney-General, or the Queen’s Serjeant ere this Inquest taken between Our Sovereign Lady the Queen, and the prisoners at the bar, of any treason, murder, felony, or misdemeanour, committed or done by them, or any of them, let him come forth, and he shall be heard—for the prisoners stand at the bar upon their deliverance, and all persons bound by recognisance to prosecute and give evidence, let them come forth, prosecute, and give evidence, or they shall forfeit their recognisances.—God Save the Queen.’
“The prisoners are then removed back again into the cells under the dock, all except Jack, who stands first for trial, and is ‘given in charge’ to the jury by the Clerk of Arraigns. The old form commenced by the clerk turning to the jury, and saying, ‘Jury, look upon your prisoner,’ and then to the prisoner, saying, ‘Prisoner, look upon your jury.’”
“What bosh!” exclaimed Jack.
“Should you like to be present at your trial?” asked Charley.
“Of course—I’ve a right to be.”
“Why?”
“Because I have.”
“A very excellent argument; but the lawyers have a better one contained in the form you call ‘bosh.’ How can the jury look upon the prisoner unless he is before them?”
“The clerk then tells them shortly what the indictment charges against the prisoner—that he has been arraigned—that he has pleaded ‘Not guilty,’ and that therefore their charge is to hearken to the evidence, and to say whether he be ‘Guilty,’ or ‘Not guilty.’ This done, his trial commences in earnest, and Grace will be good enough to begin.”
“Begin what?”
“Why, your opening address to the jury, to be sure. How are they to know what you are driving at in your questions to the witnesses, unless you give them a sketch of the case at the commencement?”
“Am I to invent a charge?” asked Grace, with a little puzzled smile.
“Lovely but unprincipled party—no! As judge,” said Charley, “I have the depositions taken by you (when you were magistrate’s clerk) before me, and you must abide by them. It appears, from what is sworn to in them, that this prosecutor was walking home, after having been to a dinner-party, and that, strange to say, he was quite sober. He was crossing St. James’s Park, when suddenly a man sprang upon him from behind, seized him by the throat, and, bending him backwards, snatched his watch from his pocket, and ran away—”
“The ruffian was Jack.”
“Of course, but how are we to prove this?” inquired Charley. “The prosecutor could not see his assailant.”
“Ask him,” said Grace. “Jack, have you the hardihood to deny that it was you who—”
“Stop!” interposed the judge; “it is my duty, Jack, to inform you that you are not bound to criminate yourself.”
“Then I shan’t,” replied the prisoner at the bar, composing himself comfortably upon the cushions of his settee. “Cut along, I defy you to prove that I stole the watch.”
“Wait awhile,” continued Charley. “Our prosecutor gave information to the police, and diligent search was made to discover the thief, but without avail—Jack was too sharp for them. At last, about a year afterwards, this advertisement appeared in the ‘Times:’
LOST.—A GOLD HUNTING-WATCH, by Dent, London, No. 13,240. The Dial is slightly defaced at the Hours 9, 10, 11.
In this description our prosecutor instantly recognises his lost property, and having called at the address given in the advertisement, finds a respectable elderly gentleman seated at breakfast.
“‘You have advertised for a lost watch, I believe, sir?’ says the prosecutor.
“‘I did, sir,’ replies the elderly gentleman, ‘and am happy to say that it was this morning restored to me.’
“‘I am glad to hear that,’ rejoins our prosecutor, ‘because the watch is mine.’
“‘Yours?’ exclaims the R. E. G.
“‘Mine!’ reiterates our prosecutor.
“The respectable elderly gentleman then explained that he purchased the watch from a pawnbroker in Birmingham. The services of the police were again invoked. The pawnbroker remembered that the watch was pledged by Mrs. Jones, of Little Dandelion Court, Paradise Buildings, and Mrs. Jones asserts that it was given to her to raise money upon by Mrs. Jack, who was lodging with her at the time, and owed her some weeks’ rent—”
“Oh, Jack, Jack!” exclaimed Mabel, severely, “so you have a wife in Little Dandelion Court, have you, unknown to your family?—but go on.”
“Mrs. Jones also says that she can recollect a parcel arriving by post, addressed to Mrs. Jack, containing the watch and a letter, which Mrs. Jack, being like her husband, an illiterate person, was unable to make head or tail of, and asked her, Mrs. Jones, to read. That as nearly as she could tell, it was to the effect that Jack had no ‘ochre’ to give her, but sent a ‘ticker,’ which though ‘muzzy’ about the dial, would fetch a ‘flimsy’ at her ‘uncle’s.’ That at Mrs. Jack’s request she let her daughter take the watch to that ‘relative,’ who advanced her four pounds ten upon it, and that she also wrote to Jack for his wife, acknowledging the receipt of his delicate little attention. Now do you think you can go on by yourself, and convict Jack upon this evidence?”
“Of course,” replied Grace, “it is quite plain, now. I shall first call the prosecutor.”
“Well! call him.”
Winsome Grace rose, drew her gauze scarf over her shoulders with a jerk, in imitation of a learned counsel, whom she had observed in the morning, and called me.
“Now tell me,” she said, “when you were going home that night, did a man spring out on you?”
