themselves, nor do I envy it to them. I mean the merriment that they
appear able to draw out of the criminal courts. To me a criminal
court is a place of horror, and a murder trial the last word in human
tragedy. The English criminal courts I know only from the newspapers
and ask no nearer acquaintance. But according to the newspapers the
courts, especially when a murder case is on, are enlivened by flashes
of judicial and legal humour that seem to meet with general approval.
The current reports in the Press run like this:

"The prisoner, who is being tried on a charge of having burned his
wife to death in a furnace, was placed in the dock and gave his name
as Evans. Did he say 'Evans or Ovens?' asked Mr. Justice Blank. The
court broke into a roar, in which all joined but the prisoner. . . ."
Or take this: "How many years did you say you served the last time?"
asked the judge. "Three," said the prisoner. "Well, twice three is
six," said the judge, laughing till his sides shook; "so I'll give
you six years."

I don't say that those are literal examples of the humour of the
criminal court. But they are close to it. For a judge to joke is
as easy as it is for a schoolmaster to joke in his class. His
unhappy audience has no choice but laughter. No doubt in point of
intellect the English judges and the bar represent the most highly
trained product of the British Empire. But when it comes to fun,
they ought not to pit themselves against the unhappy prisoner.

Why not take a man of their own size? For true amusement Mr. Charles
Chaplin or Mr. Leslie Henson could give them sixty in a hundred.
I even think I could myself.