A short case of pot-stealing followed—the prisoner was found guilty in ten minutes; and then came the case. It was a curious and intricate one, and I felt quite assured, when I saw the prisoner, a genteel-looking young man, take his place under the inverted mirror, contrived with an almost diabolical ingenuity, so as to refract and reflect the light upon his face from the huge window at his back; I said to myself, having got both hardened and hungry during my short probation in court, "We shall not dine at six to-day."
It might, perhaps, injure the feelings of the individual himself, or, if he is dead, those of his friends and relations, to detail the particular case, the more especially as nothing could be clearer than that the crime laid to his charge was amply and satisfactorily—to everybody except himself—proved and substantiated.
Just as the last witness for the defence was under cross-examination, I saw one of the lord mayor's servants put his powdered head in a little hole, and whisper something to the ordinary of Newgate, a remarkably pious-looking man, in full canonicals, with a bag-wig, which, to use Foote's phraseology, speaking of Dr. Simony (by whom, as of course everybody knows, he meant the unfortunate Dr. Dodd), "looked as white as a curd, and as close as a cauliflower." It struck me that either the pretty wanton who had just been acquitted desired some serious conversation with the clergyman, or that the last convicted pot-stealer felt some qualms of conscience, and had sent for spiritual assistance; but no,—my friend Mr. Sheriff Bucklesbury relieved my mind from any such apprehensions, by inviting me to a whisper, with an expression of countenance which convinced me that it was nothing of so serious a character which had suddenly summoned the reverend divine from the court.
"Good news!" said the sheriff; "land is in sight."
"What?" said I, not exactly catching the idea.
"Dinner is not far distant," said the sheriff, "the ordinary has been sent for to dress the salad."
Well, thought I, that ever a man so dressed, and so addressed, as the reverend divine opposite, should quit the seat of justice tempered with mercy, to mix oil and vinegar in a salad-bowl, does seem strange. It was evident to me, from the manner in which my friend spoke of the chaplain's secular vocations, that his respect for the table was infinitely greater than that which he entertained for the cloth, and never from that day have I seen painted over suburban inns, "an ordinary on Sundays at two o'clock," without thinking of the reverend functionary so styled in the Old Bailey, and the probable duties he would be called upon to perform.
The evidence having terminated, and the clock pointing to fifteen minutes after six, his lordship began summing up. I have already mentioned that his lordship was deaf, and the strange blunders which I noticed in his early charges will perhaps serve to inform the reader of these papers, whoever he may be, that his lordship's handwriting was utterly unintelligible, even to himself; indeed, so completely illegible were his notes, that the only resource his lordship had, if ever they were called for upon motions for new trials (which perhaps I need not here add, was in his lordship's case by no means an unfrequent occurrence), was to send them to be printed—printers being proverbially the best decypherers in the world.
His lordship's charge—barring the inevitable blunders and hesitations, rendered absolutely necessary by this almost hopeless illegibility—was exceedingly minute and elaborated. He recapitulated the evidence of the three first witnesses verbatim, and continued thus of the fourth:—
"Now, gentlemen of the jury, here is Amos Hardy—Handy—no, not Handy—Harding—Amos Harding tells you, that on Tuesday—no, not Tuesday—I see—Friday the 14th—that is, the 24th—he was going along Liverpool—no—Liquorpond Street—near Gug's Island—Guy's—no—Gray's Inn Lane—yes—going along Liquorpond Street, Gray's Inn Lane—at about eight o'clock in the morning—and saw the fire break out of Mr. Stephenson's windows. This, gentlemen of the jury, is a very remarkable fact—and in connection with some other circumstances to which we shall presently come, is quite worthy of your particular attention—you perceive that he swears to eight o'clock in the morning."