hes, while his head shook a good
deal, as if he had got the palsy. A smile went round the bar, and in
some places broke out into a laugh: the situation was, indeed,
ridiculous; and before any but a Chancery Judge, methought, there must be
an acquittal on the view. However, I saw that the man pleaded not
guilty, and then Mr. Makebelieve opened the case for the Crown. He put
it very clearly, and, as he said, fairly before the jury; and then called
a tall, large-boned woman of about forty into the witness-box. This was
the "afflicted widow," as Makebelieve had called her; and the way she
gave her evidence made a visible impression on the mind of the learned
Judge. His Lordship looked up occasionally from his note-book and fixed
his eyes on the prisoner, whose appearance was that of one trembling with
a consciousness of guilt--that is, to one not versed in human nature
outside an affidavit.

Mr. Nimble, the prisoner's counsel, asked if the prisoner might sit down
as he was very "infirm."

"Have you an affidavit of that fact, Mr. Nimble?" asked the Judge.

"No, my lord; it is not usual on such an application to have an
affidavit."

"It is not usual," said his lordship, "to take notice of any fact not
upon affidavit; but in this case the prisoner may sit down."

The prosecutrix gave her evidence very flippantly, and did not seem in
the least concerned that her virtue had had so narrow an escape.

"Now," asked Mr. Nimble, "what are you?"

The learned Judge said he could not see what that had to do with the
question. Could Mr. Nimble resist the facts?

"Yes, my lord," answered the learned counsel; "and I intend, in the first
place, to resist them by showing that this woman is entirely unworthy of
credit."

"Are you really going to suggest perjury, Mr. Nimble?"

"Assuredly, my lord! I am going to show that there is not a word of
truth in this woman's statement. I have a right to cross-examine as to
her credit. If your lordship will allow me, I will--"

"Cross-examination, Mr. Nimble, cannot be allowed, in order to make a
witness contradict all that she has said in her examination-in-chief; it
would be a strange state of the law, if it could."

Mr. Nimble looked about the desk, and then under it, and felt in his bag,
and at last exclaimed in a somewhat petulant tone:

"Where's my Taylor?"

"What do you want your tailor for?" asked the Judge.

"I wish to point out to your lordship that my proposition is