e change from the rude, rough bricklayer,
scarred all over the face, to the clergyman-like appearance of this
gentlemanly prisoner. I dared not laugh, but it was difficult to
maintain my countenance. Deceive Baron Parke! I thought; he would
deceive the devil himself, who knew a great deal more about parsons
than Parke did.

The learned Judge looked at him for a considerable time, as though he
had never seen a prize-fighter before, and was determined to make the
most of him. If the ghost of Hamlet had stood in the dock instead of
the prisoner, he would not have surprised dear old Parke more than the
prisoner did.

It was a masterpiece of deception, notwithstanding my serious warning.

On the jury, it so happened, was an elderly Quaker, in his full array
of drab coat, vest, and breeches, with the regulation blue stockings.
He had long whitish hair, and a Quaker hat in front of him on the
ledge of the jury-box. He was what might be called a "factor" in the
situation, which it was no easy matter to know in a moment how to deal
with. He would be against prize-fighting to a certainty, but how far
he might be inclined to convict a prize-fighter was another matter.
At last I made up my mind in what way to deal with him, and it was
this--not on the merits of the noble art itself, but on those of the
case. If I could convince this conscientious juror that there _might
be_ (that would be good enough) a doubt as to identity, it would be
sufficient for my purpose; so I mainly addressed myself to _him_,
after disposing of the young policeman pretty satisfactorily,
leaving only his bare belief to be dealt with in argument. The young
policeman's belief that _that there_ was the man showed what a strong
young policeman he was.

I asked the Quaker to allow me to suggest, for the sake of argument
only, that _he_, the Quaker, should imagine himself putting off his
Quaker dress, and assuming the costume of a prize-fighter, his hair
cut so short that it would present the appearance of an aged rat;
"then," said I, "divest yourself of your shirt and flannel--strip
yourself, in fact, quite to the skin above your belt--and with only a
pair of cotton drawers of a sky blue, or any other colour you might
prefer, and, say, a bird's-eye _fogle_ round your waist, your lower
limbs terminating in cotton socks and high-lows--with the additional
ornamentation to all this elegant drapery of a couple of your front
teeth knocked out--and I will venture