The next day came his hearing, and people were there From all stations in life, on the prisoner to stare: There were gamblers, street-pavers, stevedores, undertakers, Ship-chandlers, brick-masons, and umbrella makers, Corn-doctors, reporters, clerks, tailors, and teachers, Fruit-peddlers, horse-trainers, clairvoyants, and preachers; A few women also jammed in with the rest, With their bonnets awry, and their clothing sore pressed, And their uplifted faces, perspiring and red, Full ear-deep in the back of some person ahead; And like peas in a kettle, or bees in a hive— Ever shifting position—so they were alive; All impatiently wedging around in a stew, In the hope they could better their chance for a view; This one grumbling because some one crowded so near That he shot his hot breath in the depths of his ear; That one cursing because some one’s elbow so rude On his ribs was inclined to encroach and intrude; And another one howling and looking forlorn, Just because some one trod on his favorite corn; Over all the hoarse voice of the bailiff did wheeze: “Order! order in the court, gentlemen, if you please!” Six feet two, if an inch, and proportioned in size, Stood the thief in the dock, when the clerk bid him rise; And amongst all that crowd not a man could be found With his shoulders so square and a physique so sound. [Illustration: RICHARD ROE, THE SARDINE THIEF.] First, around on the lawyers and officers there He defiantly gazed with a bold, brazen air; And then, turning around, stared the Judge in the face, As though _he_ was the thief and the rogue in the case. The stern Judge ran his eyes the unmoved villain o’er, From the crown of his head to his feet on the floor— While the rogue seemed to study with critical care The time-honored “Court,” with his thin crop of hair. For five minutes or more, it’s my candid belief That the thief eyed the Judge, and the Judge eyed the thief; As two rivals, long parted, in some foreign land By mischance blown together, each other they scanned; While there rose from the concourse no perceptible sound, Not a whisper or yawn, even, circled around. But a charnel-house calm o’er the room seemed to fall, Till the flies could be heard on the plastering crawl— Till beneath the rogue’s stare the Court’s visage grew red. But down-choking his rising resentment, he said:— “Richard Roe”—and he spoke quite emphatic and slow, As though weighing each word before letting it go— And inclined his head downward, as men often do When they look over spectacles rather than through— “Richard Roe, you have come to the surface once more, Like the ghost to the feast of the monarch of yore; I have lectured, imprisoned and fined you in vain— You will still depredate, and confront me again. From the door of the jail to the till of a store There is simply one pace unto you, and no more;