evil-looking place it was. All the ghosts of past
criminals seemed floating in the dingy atmosphere. Crowds of men, women
and children were heaped together in all directions, except on the bench
and in a kind of pew which was reserved for such ladies as desired to
witness the last degradation of human nature.

Presently came in, announced with a loud cry of "Silence!" and "Be
uncovered in Court!" a gorgeous array of stout and berobed gentlemen,
with massive chains and purple faces. These, I learned, were the noble
Aldermen of the Corporation. What a contrast to the meagre wretches who
composed the crowd! Here was a picture of what well-fed honesty and
virtue could accomplish for human nature on the one part, as opposed to
what hungry crime could effect, on the other. Blessings, say I, on good
victuals! It is a great promoter of innocence. And I thought how many
of the poor, half-starved, cadaverous wretches who crowded into the dock
in all their emaciated wretchedness and rags would, under other
conditions, have become as portly and rubicund and as moral as the row of
worthy aldermen who sat looking at them with contempt from their exalted
position.

The rich man doesn't steal a loaf of bread; he has no temptation to do
so: the uneducated thief doesn't get up sham companies, because _he_ has
no temptation to do so. Temptation and Opportunity have much to answer
for in the destinies of men. Honesty is the best policy, but it is not
always the most expedient or practicable.

Now there was much arraignment of prisoners, and much swearing of
jurymen, and proclamations about "informing my Lords Justices and the
Queen's Attorney-General of any crimes, misdemeanours, felonies, &c.,
committed by any of the prisoners," and "if anybody could so inform my
Lords Justices," &c, he was to come forward and do so, and he would be
heard. And then the crowd of prisoners, except the one about to be
tried, were told to stand down. And down they all swarmed, some laughing
and some crying, to the depths below. And the stout warders took their
stand beside the remaining prisoner.

"Now," said Mr. O'Rapley, "this Judge is quite fresh to the work, and
I'll warrant he'll take a moral view of the law, which is about the worst
view a Judge _can_ take."

The man left in the dock was a singular specimen of humanity: he was a
thin, wizen-looking man of about seventy, with a wooden leg: and as he
stood up to plead, leant on two crutc