Hyde.—You must go out again and agree; and as for you that say you cannot in conscience find him guilty, if you say so again, without giving reasons for it, I shall take an order with you.[68]
We shall find an explanation of this last threat (which soon produced a verdict in accordance with the wishes of the chief justice) in Hale’s Pleas of the Crown,[69] where it is stated that while Hyde was acting as a judge of nisi prius, he introduced the illegal practice of fining juries for not rendering verdicts satisfactory to him. “I have seen,” says Hale, “arbitrary practice still go from one thing to another. The fines set upon grand inquests began; then they set fines upon the petit jurors for not finding according to the direction of the court; then afterwards the judges of nisi prius proceeded to fine jurors in civil causes if they gave not a verdict according to direction, even in points of fact. This was done by a judge of assize [Justice Hyde, at Oxford, Vaugh. 145] in Oxfordshire, and the fine estreated; but I, by advice of most of the judges of England, stayed process upon that fine. [Hale was at this time chief baron of the Court of Exchequer.] The like was done by the same judge in a case of burglary. The fine was estreated into the exchequer; but by the like advice I stayed process; and in the case of Wagstaff, [Vaugh. 153,] and other jurors fined at the Old Bayley for giving a verdict contrary to direction, by advice of all the judges of England, (only one dissenting,) it was ruled to be against law.”][70]
In the fervor of loyalty which still prevailed, such doctrines were by no means unpopular; and while Chief Justice Hyde was cried up as an eminent judge by the triumphant Cavaliers, the dejected Roundheads hardly ventured to whisper a complaint against him. To the great grief of the one party, and, no doubt, to the secret joy of the other, who interpreted his fate as a judgment, his career was suddenly cut short. On the 1st of May, 1665, as he was placing himself on the bench to try a dissenter who had published a book recommending the “comprehension,” that had been promised by the King’s Declaration from Breda, while apparently in the enjoyment of perfect health, he dropped down dead.
CHAPTER XI.
JOHN KELYNGE.
After the sudden death of Sir Robert Hyde, Lord Chancellor Clarendon was again thrown into distress by the difficulty of filling up the office of chief justice of the King’s Bench, and he allowed it to remain vacant seven months. Only five years had elapsed since the Restoration, and no loyal lawyer of eminence had sprung up. At last the Chancellor thought he could not do better than promote Sir John Kelynge, then a puisne, to be the head of the court. The appointment was considered a very bad one; and some accounted for it by supposing that a liberal contribution had been made towards the expense of erecting “Dunkirk House,”[71] which was exciting the admiration and envy of the town; while others asserted that the collar of S. S.[72] had been put around the neck of the new legal dignitary by the Duchess of Cleveland. I believe that judicial patronage had not yet been drawn into the vortex of venality, and that Clarendon, left to the freedom of his own will, preferred him whom he considered the least ineligible candidate. But we cannot wonder at the suspicions which were generally entertained, for Sir John Kelynge’s friends could only say in his favor that he was a “violent Cavalier,” and his enemies observed that “however fit he might have been to charge the Roundheads under Prince Rupert, he was very unfit to charge a jury in Westminster Hall.”
I can find nothing of his origin, or of his career, prior to the Restoration; and I am unable to say whether, like some loyal lawyers, he actually had carried arms for the king, or, like others, had continued obscurely to practise his profession in London. The first notice I find of him is by himself, in the account which he has left us of the conferences of the judges at Serjeants’ Inn, preparatory to the trial of the regicides, when he says he attended that service as junior counsel for the crown. He might have been employed from a notion that he would be useful in solving the knotty points likely to arise,[73] or, (what is quite as likely,) without any professional reputation, he might have got a brief by favor, in a case which was to draw the eyes of the whole world upon all engaged in it.
When the trials came on, he was very busy and bustling, and eagerly improved every opportunity of bringing himself forward. Before they were over, he took upon himself the degree of serjeant at law, and, to his unspeakable delight, he was actually intrusted with the task of conducting the prosecution against Colonel Hacker, who had commanded the guard during the king’s trial and at his execution. He learnedly expounded to the jury that the treason consisted in “compassing and imagining the king’s death,” and that the overt acts charged of condemning him and executing him were only to be considered evidence of the evil intention. He then stated the facts which would be proved by the witnesses, and concluded by observing,—