At the risk of appearing ferocious, I must say that I was taken aback at the Tower Bridge Police-Court decision, for I confess that I would have preferred the magistrate giving the prisoner six months' hard labour, or sending her for trial before judge and jury. Not that I want either men or women to be detained in prison--I hate the thought of it--but I happen to hate something else much more, and that is the idea that plausible and crafty young women can rob and ruin decent old women with impunity. I hold--though in this I may be wrong--that if the law cannot compel fraudulent persons to restore their ill-gotten gains--and in the case of the prisoner at Tower Bridge this was, of course, impossible--then at least it ought to administer in such cases a decent amount of punishment. But the course adopted did not uphold the dignity of the law; it did not in the least help those that have suffered; it did not punish the prisoner; neither did it serve to act as a warning to others. But while, as I have previously said, justice is, on the whole, fairly administered, there is still a wide difference in the sentences given for like offences. The demeanour of a prisoner before the magistrate may easily add to or lessen the length of his sentence; crocodile tears and a whining appeal for mercy generally have an opposite effect to that the prisoner wishes. A scornful, defiant, or violent attitude is almost certain to increase the length of sentence. The plausible, cunning, and somewhat clever man, who cross-examines with the skill of an expert, is sure to be hardly judged and appraised when sentence is given; but the devil-may-care fellow, who bears himself a bit jauntily, and who, moreover, has considerable humour and a dash of wit, is almost sure by a few witty or humorous quips to partially disarm justice and secure for himself more lenient punishment. I suppose we all have a sneaking kindness for the complete vagabond; we instinctively like the fellow who can make us laugh; we do not want to believe that the man who is possessed of humour is altogether bad, and when we have to punish him we let him off as lightly as possible. But the stubborn thick-head does not excite either our risible faculties or our heart's sympathy; nevertheless, that thick-head may be far less guilty than the complete vagabond--in truth, he is often a far better fellow--but his thick-headedness is against him, and we punish him accordingly. And here I draw upon my own experiences, for I have known complete vagabonds that were also absolute scoundrels, who, by their apparent candour, jollity, and flashes of humour, continually saved themselves from anything approaching long sentences.