The Long Vacation having dragged its monotonous length to a finish, the Courts re-opened in the third week in October. The day was dull, and dull foreboding seemed to oppress the Temple, Lincoln’s Inn, and all the other haunts of law. Fewer people, and less cheerful than of yore, mustered in the Great Hall to witness the customary procession of the judges. The Lord Chief Justice bore himself with dignity, but wore the marks of feeble health. The other judges were ordinary, estimable men. They had served their clients and themselves with more or less satisfactory results, and now discharged their monotonous functions in a duly monotonous manner. The nominal leader of the Bar--his Majesty’s Attorney-General--was absent again through illness, and the Solicitor-General, Sir John Westwood--whose looks were criticised curiously--led the army of the long robe. One and all, with silks and stuffs by way of tail to the procession, the King’s justices passed through the long hall of the florid Gothic structure, that cost the nation a million and a half of money, and still is in process of absorbing millions more in salaries, fees, and costs. The function was soon over, and then, in the thousand chambers of the building, the formal business of the day was dealt with. Once again the pieces of machinery were got into their appointed places. Once again the creaking, cumbrous, monstrous thing began to work. Amongst the unemployed members of the Bar--which is to say, the majority of barristers--there was much conjecture as to the business outlook. The cause-list was thin to the point of attenuation, but still there was a list. But those who were interested in criminal practice in the magisterial Courts, and at Sessions and the Bailey, were deeply concerned at the state of affairs which the history of the past few months foreshadowed. How far were the Leaguers going to carry their supposed programme? What was to happen if the British juryman failed his country? Was it possible that our boasted _palladium_ was breaking down? Britannia might need no bulwarks, but criminal law could not get on without a fearless jury, to say nothing of fearless witnesses, undaunted by open or veiled intimidation. It was confidently believed that in his approaching speech at the Mansion House, the Prime Minister would make an announcement of the first importance in reference to the subjects that were agitating the public mind. Since the great fire in Hyde Park, and the committal of the seven accused men for trial, the Leaguers had been comparatively quiet, but their numbers and their funds had further increased, and there were those who saw in the present quiescence only the lull that precedes a storm; merely an autumn pause before the oncoming of a dark, tempestuous winter.