's argument It gave me a new conception of his
powers. That is the only impression I retain. The details have dropped
out of my memory, but there remains as fresh as ever the masterful
figure of Charles Bradlaugh.

The best view I ever had of Mr. Bradlaugh in litigation was in the old
Court of Queen's Bench on Tuesday and Wednesday, July 19 and 20, 1881,
when he cross-examined poor Mr. Newdegate. For a good deal of the time
I sat beside him, and could watch _him_ closely as well as the case. By
raising the point whether the writ against him for penalties had been
issued before or after he gave his vote in the House, he-was able to put
all the parties to the prosecution into-the witness-box and make them
give an account of themselves. Mr. Newdegate was one of the victims, and
the poor man made confessions that furnished Mr. Bradlaugh with ground
for a successful action against him under the law of Maintenance. Mr.
Newdegate was a hard-mouthed witness, but he-was saddled, bridled, and
ridden to the winning-post. His lips opened literally, making his
mouth like the slit of a pillar-box. Getting evidence from him was like
extracting a rotten cork from the neck of a bottle but it all came out
bit by bit, and the poor man must have left the witness-box feeling
that he had delivered himself into the hands of that uncircumcised
Philistine. His cross-examination lasted three hours. It was like
flaying alive. Once or twice I felt qualms of pity for the old man,
he was such an abject figure in the hands-of that terrible antagonist.
Every card he held had to-be displayed. Finally he had to produce the
bond of indemnity he had given the common informer Clarke against
all the expenses he might incur in the suit; When this came out Mr.
Bradlaugh bent down to me and said, "I have him." And he _did_ have him.
Despite the common notion that the old law of Maintenance was obsolete,
Mr. Bradlaugh pursued him under it triumphantly, and instead of ruining
"Bradlaugh," poor Newdegate was nearly ruined himself.

What a contrast to Mr. Newdegate was Mr. Bradlaugh! He was the very
picture of suppressed fire, of rampant energies held in leash: the
nerves of the face playing like the ripple on water, the whole frame
quivering, and the eyes ablaze. It was wonderful how he managed to keep
his intellect alert and his judgment steady. Six hours of such work
as he had in court that day were enough to tax the greatest strength.
Before it was over I saw