pounds for not having heard his name through a musty
brick wall? And may I through you make a proposal--that busy
professional men should be exempt from this annoyance on payment of
one guinea per annum, and that this fund should either be employed
in building a new court, or provide fees for a really competent
jury of junior barristers, who undoubtedly would be the right men
in the right place?"

My "cry" was taken up by the Press. "Purgatory is no name for it," "The
Old Bailey Scandal," and other startling headlines failed to move
Bumbledom. The most celebrated Criminal Court in the world, situated in
the richest city, to this day remains a public scandal and a purgatory
to unfortunate jurymen. My suggestion in this "amusing jeremiad," as it
was called by one paper, contained one serious proposal; but my protest
against the only form of conscription known to our laws, and my
suggestion that the jury should be paid junior barristers, was, I
confess, the only humorous idea I had in writing the letter! The major
portion was serious--so again I have been a victim to the want of humour
on the part of my journalistic friends.

[Illustration: THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT. _From "Punch."_]

Mr. _Punch_ appeared as my "champion stout and warm" in a series of
verses, a few of which I quote:

"That citizen is now in Court, a dismal den and dusty;
Frowsy and foul its fittings be, its atmosphere is fusty;
And oh, its minor myrmidons are proud and passing crusty!

"They chivy him, that citizen, hustle him here and there;
One elbow looseth his trim tie, one rumpleth his back hair:
They greet his queries with a grunt, his grumblings with a stare.

"A close-packed crowd doth hem him round, a tight, malodorous 'block'
Of fustian men and women gross, of dry and dusty lock;
His 'By your leaves' they heed no whit, his struggles wild they mock.

"He may not stir, he cannot see. At length, in tones of blame,
He hears them toss from lip to lip his own much-honoured name:
'What! Fined for absence!!! That be blowed!' He swells with wrath
and shame.

"And through the throng he madly thrusts, like Viking, through the press
Strewing his path with buttons burst and fragments of his dress,
Claiming reversal of that fine with dearly-bought success.

* * * * *

"How long, oh British citizens, will ye in patience bide
The torture of the Jury-