hen the case for the prosecution is
closed, as if it were a relief to him to feel that the jury knew the
worst.

The defence is concluded; the judge proceeds to sum up the evidence; and
the prisoner watches the countenances of the jury, as a dying man,
clinging to life to the very last, vainly looks in the face of his
physician for a slight ray of hope. They turn round to consult; you can
almost hear the man's heart beat, as he bites the stalk of rosemary, with
a desperate effort to appear composed. They resume their places--a dead
silence prevails as the foreman delivers in the verdict--'Guilty!' A
shriek bursts from a female in the gallery; the prisoner casts one look
at the quarter from whence the noise proceeded; and is immediately
hurried from the dock by the gaoler. The clerk directs one of the
officers of the Court to 'take the woman out,' and fresh business is
proceeded with, as if nothing had occurred.

No imaginary contrast to a case like this, could be as complete as that
which is constantly presented in the New Court, the gravity of which is
frequently disturbed in no small degree, by the cunning and pertinacity
of juvenile offenders. A boy of thirteen is tried, say for picking the
pocket of some subject of her Majesty, and the offence is about as
clearly proved as an offence can be. He is called upon for his defence,
and contents himself with a little declamation about the jurymen and his
country--asserts that all the witnesses have committed perjury, and hints
that the police force generally have entered into a conspiracy 'again'
him. However probable this statement may be, it fails to convince the
Court, and some such scene as the following then takes place:

_Court_: Have you any witnesses to speak to your character, boy?

_Boy_: Yes, my Lord; fifteen gen'lm'n is a vaten outside, and vos a vaten
all day yesterday, vich they told me the night afore my trial vos a
comin' on.

_Court_. Inquire for these witnesses.

Here, a stout beadle runs out, and vociferates for the witnesses at the
very top of his voice; for you hear his cry grow fainter and fainter as
he descends the steps into the court-yard below. After an absence of
five minutes, he returns, very warm and hoarse, and informs the Court of
what it knew perfectly well before--namely, that there are no such
witnesses in attendance. Hereupon, the boy sets up a most awful howling;
screws the lower part of the palms of his hands into the co