THE Sessions of the Central Criminal Court have lost much of their attraction—especially to a hungry Old Bailey Bar, some of whom are dreadfully open-mouthed—by the cutting down of the dinners usually given by the Sheriffs. It seems that the learned Judges have not as yet had any dinner at all in the City, but have been obliged to be satisfied with a rather substantial "lunch," by way of substitute. The two Sheriffs have been at loggerheads, and one of them—Mr. Wallis—has provided a meal to which he has invited only the Aldermen on the rota instead of the whole body; upon which Sheriff Wire fearing lest his brother Aldermen should starve, has started an opposition table. In the mean time the Judges have been making a meagre lunch with one Sheriff and dining with neither. There being, however, two lunches a day, and two opposition dinners, we should be glad to know how the worthy Chaplain of Newgate performs his elaborate duty of partaking of every meal, which he must necessarily do, in order to avoid giving offence to either of the opposition Sheriffs. The reverend ordinary will have the extraordinary task of disposing of two lunches and two dinners in four-and-twenty hours—an accomplishment that calls to mind the old familiar feat of the leg of mutton and trimmings.
The name of "ordinary" is most appropriately given to the worthy Chaplain, who by virtue of his office is present at the ordinary at one, the other ordinary at five, and again at the two extra-ordinaries occasioned by the division between the two Sheriffs. It appears that in the midst of all this superabundance the learned Judges, "huffed" at having received their invitations from one Sheriff instead of two, have preferred going dinnerless; wisely, however, hesitating to abandon themselves to hopeless hunger, they have to compromise with their dignity by condescending to "lunch" at the table of Sheriff Wallis.
We confess we should be glad to see the practice of Old Bailey dinners getting abandoned altogether, so that the old sarcasm as to "wretches hanging that Judges may dine," may for ever lose its traditional point, as it has long ago lost its practical application. There is something unpleasantly anomalous in the substitution of the table-napkin for the ermine before quitting the Court, and it is not a pleasant reflection, that the prisoners having been awarded their deserts, the Judges will, under the same roof, proceed to take their dinners.
THE JUDGES' CHAMBERS.
Oh such a row, such a rumpus and a bobbery,
Everything and every one quite in the dark;
No one knows the order of the Summonses,
Fixed to be heard by Mr. Baron Parke:
Tearing, swearing,