Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, 1890.05.10

( A Fancy Sketch of the Possible. )
It was the first day under the operation of the new Act. Everyone was a little nervous about the outcome, and John Jones, the Barrister, was no exception to the general rule. At three o'clock he was in the full swing of an impassioned appeal to the Jury.
I beg your pardon, Mr. Jones, said the Judge, glancing at the clock, but I am afraid I must interrupt you. I cannot hear you any longer.
But, my Lord, I have not touched upon a third of the case. I can assure you my remarks shall be as brief as possible.
That is not the point, Mr. Jones, replied his Lordship. I am following your argument with the liveliest interest, and I am sure that all you would wish to say would be of the greatest possible service to your client; but unfortunately I happen to know that you prepare your cases in the early hours of the morning. Now, you know the law as well I do. If you have not been at work to-day for eight hours, of course I shall be happy to hear; but if you have——
As your Lordship pleases, said poor Jones, and he gathered up his papers, and left the Court.
Just in time, Sir, observed the attendant in the robing-room, as he put the Barrister's wig in its box, and assisted him to divest himself of his gown. Had you come five minutes later, we should have gone.
Really! How would that have suited silk and stuff?
Caused a fearful row, I am afraid, Sir. But we daren't exceed the eight hours' limit, and we must keep two or three of them for some work we have in the evening.
When Jones found himself in the Strand he noticed that the traffic was considerably less than usual. The omnibuses were few and far between, and he did not see a cab in any direction.
Yes, Sir, replied a policeman, who was removing his band of office, preparatory to going home; you won't find many. Eight hours' limit, Sir. Good-day, Sir. I am off myself.