"I have secured Whiffins," said one: "he's a capital fellow--for if he can't make anything out of your case, he instantly begins to bully the judge." "Ah! but that produces a bad effect," observed a second; "and old Griffin would soon put him down. I've got Chearnley--he's such a capital fellow to make the witnesses contradict themselves." "Well, I prefer Barkson," exclaimed a third; "his voice alone frightens a prosecutor into fits." "Smouch and Slike are the worst," said a fourth: "the judges always read the paper or fall asleep when they address them." "Yes--because they are such low fellows, and will take a brief from any one," exclaimed a fifth; "whereas it is totally contrary to etiquette for a barrister to receive instructions from any one but an attorney." "The fact is that such men as Smouch and Slike do a case more harm than good, with the judges," observed a sixth. "They haven't the ear of the Court--and that's the real truth of it." These remarks diminished still more the immense respect which Markham had hitherto entertained for English justice; and he now saw that the barrister who detailed plain and simple facts, did not stand half such a good chance of saving his client as the favoured one "who possessed the ear of the Court." By a very natural transition, the discourse turned upon petty juries. "I think it will go hard with me," said one, "because I am tried in the City. I wish I had been committed for the Middlesex Sessions at Clerkenwell." "Why so!" demanded another prisoner. "Because, you see, I'm accused of robbing my master; and as all the jurymen are substantial shopkeepers, they're sure to convict a man in my position,--even if the evidence isn't complete." "I'm here for swindling tradesmen at the West-End of the town," said another. "Well," exclaimed the first speaker, "the jury will let you off if there's the slightest pretence, because they're all City tradesmen, and hate the West-End ones." "And I'm here for what is called '_a murderous assault upon a police-constable_,'" said a third prisoner. "Was he a Metropolitan or a City-Policeman?" "A Metropolitan." "Oh! well--you're safe enough; the jury are sure to believe that he assaulted you first." "Thank God for that blessing!" "I tell you what goes a good way with Old Bailey Juries--a good appearance. If a poor devil, clothed in rags and very ugly, appears at the bar, the Foreman of the Jury just says, '_Well, gentlemen, I think we may say_ GUILTY; _for my part I never saw such a hang-dog countenance in my life_.' But if a well-dressed and good-looking fellow is placed in the dock, the Foreman is most likely to say, '_Well, gentlemen, far my part I never can nor will believe that the prisoner could be guilty of such meanness: so I suppose we may say_ NOT GUILTY, _gentlemen_.'" "Can this be true?" ejaculated Markham.