myself open to the
charge of being egotistical.

"When Sir Henry Hawkins stepped into the train with his marshal, he
felt all the exuberance which a Judge usually experiences on going
circuit.

"Going circuit is a pleasant diversion, and may be a delightful
holiday when the weather is fine and cases few. I am not speaking of
those northern towns where hard labour is the portion of the judicial
personage from the time he opens the Commission to the moment when he
turns his back upon his prison-house, but of rural Assize towns like
Warwick and Bedford or Oakham, where the Judge takes his white gloves,
smiles at the grand jury, congratulates them on the state of the
calendar, and goes away to some nobleman's seat until such time as he
is due to open the Commission in some other circuit paradise where
crime does not enter.

"At Lincoln station on this present occasion there is a goodly crowd
outside and in, some well dressed and some slatternly, some bareheaded
out of respect to the Judge, and others of necessity, but all with a
look of profoundest awe.

"But as they wait the arrival of the train, all hearts are beating to
see the Judge. Alas for some of them! they will see him too soon and
too closely.

"Most conspicuous is the fat and dignified coachman in a powdered wig
and tam-o'-shanter cap, and the footman with the important calves.
Clustered along the platform, and pushing their noses between the
palisade fencing, seem gathered together all the little boys of
Lincoln--that is to say, those who do not live at the top of Steep
Hill; for on that sacred eminence, the Mount Zion of Lincolnshire, are
the _cloisters_ and the closes, where are situated the residences of
Canons, Archdeacons, and other ecclesiastical divinities. The top of
this mountain holds no communion with the bottom.

"On the platform--for the signal has been given that the judicial
train is entering the station--ranged in due order are the Sheriff of
Lincoln, in full robes, his chaplain in full canonicals, and a
great many other worthy dignities, which want of space prevents my
mentioning in detail. All are bareheaded, all motionless save those
bosoms which heave with the excitement of the occasion.

"Although the chaplain and the Sheriff hold their hats in their hands,
it is understood in a well-bred town like Lincoln there will be no
cheers, only a deep, respectful silence.

"And so, amid a hush of expectation and a wondering as to whether