an tells us, no less than _thirty-four years_,
give us a grand total of _five thousand three hundred and four
sermons, discourses, or homilies_ during this unhappy man's life."

Maule's eyes were now riveted on the clergyman as though he were an
accessory to the murder.

"Five thousand three hundred and four," he repeated, "by the same
person, however respectable and beloved as a pastor he might be, was
what few of us could have gone through unless we were endowed with as
much strength of mind as power of endurance. I was going to ask you,
sir, did the idea ever strike you when you talked of this unhappy
being suddenly leaving your ministrations and turning Sabbath-breaker,
that after thirty-four years he might want a little change? Would
it not be reasonable to suppose that the man might think he had had
enough of it?"

"It might, my lord."

"And would not that in your judgment, instead of showing that he was
insane, prove that he was _a very sensible man_?"

The Vicar did not quite assent to this, and as he would not dissent
from the learned Judge, said nothing.

"And," continued Maule, "that he was perfectly sane, although he
murdered his wife?"

All this was very clever, not to say facetious, on the part of the
learned Judge; but as I had yet to address the jury, I was resolved to
take the other view of the effect of the Vicar's sermons, and I did
so. I worked Maule's quarry, I think, with some little effect: for
after all his most strenuous exertions to secure a conviction, the
jury believed, probably, that no man's mind could stand the ordeal;
and, further, that any doubt they might have, after seeing the two
children of the prisoner in court dressed in little black frocks, and
sobbing bitterly while I was addressing them, would be given in the
prisoner's favour, which it was.

This incident in my life is not finished. On the same evening I was
dining at the country house of a Mr. Hardcastle, and near me sat an
old inhabitant of the village where the tragedy had been committed.

"You made a touching speech, Mr. Hawkins," said the old inhabitant.

"Well," I answered, "it was the best thing I could do in the
circumstances."

"Yes," he said; "but I don't think you would have painted the little
home in such glowing colours if you had seen what I saw last week when
I was driving past the cottage. No, no; I think you'd have toned down
a bit."

"What was it?" I asked.

"Why," said the old inhabitant, "t