Presently I heard a scuffling noise and the voice of someone in distress. A lanky old man was being forced by a couple of fellow workmen into the prisoners’ dock, obviously on some sort of vamped-up charge. “Silence!” shouted a shrill-voiced little man, wearing an apron and paper cap, who had made himself usher of the court. I looked towards the jury-box, and there saw a droll-looking individual finishing his dinner out of a newspaper. “Stop that row! Such conduct is disgraceful in a court of justice,” he called, looking across at the struggling prisoner. Then, observing himself to be alone, the occupant of the jury-box managed to empanel six of his friends to make seven “good men and true.” The jurymen came forward from different sheltered parts of the court, bringing with them what remained of their meal. As by some prearranged signal, an elderly man, with a round, red face, quietly slipped into the judge’s seat, assuming a judicial air, and fixing his stem gaze upon the protesting prisoner in the dock. The judge paid no attention to the banter directed to him by a number of workmen who constituted the “public” and had sauntered in to enjoy the sport. His “lordship” took on himself the duties of judge and clerk of the court, and gravely recited a long, and terrible indictment of the accused, who might have been some arch-fiend from the list of crimes charged against him--a list that seemed to box the compass of the Ten Commandments. He was involved in domestic complications which drew forth groans from all in court, and the judge’s reference to his “poor dear wife and little innocent children” evoked well-simulated execration. A comical fellow entered the witness-box, and reminded the prisoner of a blood-curdling murder he had committed years ago, for which somebody else had been hanged. The witness paused, and then, bringing down his first, said, “Worse than all this, my lord, _’e’s been known to work overtime without extra pay_.” While these harrowing details were visibly moving the jury, the clocks of the neighbourhood struck the close of the dinner hour, and the whole seven men with one accord jumped to their feet shouting “Guilty!” adding, “No recommendation to mercy.” The judge put on a billycock hat in imitation of the black cap, and addressed the prisoner with due solemnity to this effect: “Prisoner at the bar, we regret we cannot ask you whether you have anything to say. Justice has no time for that. A jury of your countrymen has found you guilty, and they know best. My duty is to order you to be taken to a public-house near at hand, where you are very well known, and at a certain hour you shall buy drinks for everyone in this court, including myself, the jury, and whatever members of the public care to be present. If you fail to turn up at the appointed time and place, may the Lord have mercy on your stingy soul!”