THE INKED SURPLICE.

The sweet bells of Helstonleigh Cathedral were ringing out in the
summer's afternoon. Groups of people lined the streets, in greater
number than the ordinary business of the day would have brought forth;
some pacing with idle steps, some halting to talk with one another,
some looking in silence towards a certain point, as far as the eye
could reach; all waiting in expectation.

It was the first day of Helstonleigh Assizes; that is, the day on which
the courts of law began their sittings. Generally speaking, the
commission was opened at Helstonleigh on a Saturday; but for some
convenience in the arrangements of the circuit, it was fixed this time
for Wednesday; and when those cathedral bells burst forth, they gave
signal that the judges had arrived and were entering the sheriff's
carriage, which had gone out to meet them.

A fine sight, carrying in it much of majesty, was the procession, as it
passed through the streets with its slow and stately steps; and
although Helstonleigh saw it twice a year, it looked at it with
gratified eyes still, and made the day into a sort of holiday. The
trumpeters rode first, blowing the proud note of advance, and the long
line of well-mounted javelin men came next, two abreast; their attire
that of the livery of the high sheriff's family, and their javelins
held in rest. Sundry officials followed, and the governor of the county
gaol sat in an open carriage, his long white wand raised in the air.
Then appeared the handsome, closed equipage of the sheriff, its four
horses, caparisoned with silver, pawing the ground, for they chafed at
the slow pace to which they were restrained. In it, in their scarlet
robes and flowing wigs, carrying awe to many a young spectator, sat the