“Mr. Williams,” whispered the warder. “GUILTY, me lord!” said the prisoner to the court in the accent of penitential despair. In due course Williams rose to enlighten the tribunal as to certain incidents in the previous career of the individual whom he was endeavouring to consign to “chokey.” The thread of his narrative was, however, cut by the following conversation, hurriedly battledored between the burglar and his custodian: “I thort,” said the man, indignantly reproachful, “you said as Mister Williams was a-prosecutin’ me.” “Well,” replied the warder, “that _is_ Mr. Williams—Mr. Robert Williams.” “Oh!” exclaimed the prisoner, as one become the subject of a sudden illumination. “I thought you meant Mr. _Montagu_ Williams. I ain’t a-goin’ to plead guilty to that little beggar. . . . NOT GUILTY, me lord!” It is satisfactory to be able to add that on this occasion, and in spite of his amended plea. Williams succeeded in consigning his cynical detractor to a long term of imprisonment. Once I accompanied Williams to the Court of Queen’s Bench. On that occasion he was less triumphant. It was at the old Courts in Westminster. Williams had to move for a new trial before three of Her Majesty’s Judges. One of them happened to be Blackburn. Williams moved on three points. He had said but a few words on the first of these heads, when Blackburn, with that brutal disregard for the susceptibilities of the Junior Bar for which he was notorious, cut my unfortunate friend short with the request: “Get on with your next point.” Somewhat abashed, Williams proceeded to open his second argument. He had barely stated his point, when his tormentor again interrupted with— “Let us hear what you’ve got to say about your third reason.” Williams was nettled. The influential solicitor who had instructed him was in court. He felt that he must make a stand for his client. “I trust, my lord, that I am not irrelevant,” he ventured, with a tone of offended dignity. “_But you are_!” was the brusque retort of Blackburn (J.). The effect of this rebuff was so considerable that Williams attacked his third point without spirit, without interruption, and without success. I have said that some of the finest journalistic work of Robert Williams appeared as “leaders” in the _Daily Telegraph_. I might go farther. In my opinion, some of those leading articles were, for trip, style, reasoning, and allusiveness, the best things that had ever appeared in that newspaper. I am speaking now of the best of Williams, for he was an unequal writer, and his success depended much on the sympathy evoked by his subject. He threw the essays off with consummate ease. I remember congratulating him on this wonderful facility. “Nothing in it, my dear fellow,” he replied. “You’ve only to follow strictly the rule of our office, and your leader will come as easy as sand off a shovel.” “And the rule?”