I was much struck, in some of the cases, by a friendly sort of confidence which characterised some of the proceedings. Here again the effect in a great measure was attributable to the Barrister. He seemed to act,—as indeed he is—rather as an authorised arbitrator than as a Judge. He advised rather than ordered; ‘I really think,’ he said to one defendant, ‘I really think, Sir, you have made yourself liable.’ ‘Do you, Sir?’ said the man, pulling out his purse without more ado, ‘then, Sir, I am sure I will pay.’ It struck me, too, as remarkable, that though some of the cases were hotly contested, none of the defeated parties complained of the decision. In several instances, the parties even appeared to acquiesce in the propriety of the verdict. A Scotch shoeing-smith summoned a man who, from his appearance, I judged to be a hard, keen-dealing Yorkshire horse-jobber; he claimed a sum of money for putting shoes upon six-and-thirty horses. His claim was just, but there was an error in his particulars of demand which vitiated it. The Barrister took some trouble to point out that in consequence of this error, even if he gave a decision in his favour, he should be doing him an injury. The case was a hard one, and I could not help regretting that the poor plaintiff should be non-suited. Did _he_ complain? Neither by word or action. Folding up his papers, he said sorrowfully, ‘Well, Sir, I assure you I would not have come here, if it had not been a just claim.’ The Barrister evidently believed him, for he advised a compromise, and adjourned the case that the parties might try to come to terms. But the defendant would not arrange, and the plaintiff was driven to elect a non-suit. The mode of dealing with documentary evidence afforded me considerable satisfaction. Private letters—such as the tender effusions of faithless love—are not, as in the higher Courts, thrust, one after the other, into the dirty face of a grubby-looking witness who was called to prove the handwriting, sent the round of the twelve jurymen in the box, and finally passed to the reporters that they might copy certain flowery sentences and a few stanzas from ‘Childe Harold,’ which the shorthand writers ‘could not catch,’ but are handed up seriatim to the Judge, who looks through them carefully and then passes them over without observation for the re-perusal of the defendant. Not a word transpires, except such extracts as require comment.