practically amounted to this, that in all disputes between husband and wife, the wife’s word was to be believed, and the husband to stand condemned. It was particularly noticed that in such cases the action of the Court upon the Jury was perfectly paralysed. Something, indeed, might be accomplished if it were found practicable to introduce a system of mixed juries—half matrons, half men; relying upon that well-known principle in human nature that each side will take part against its own members. To this it was objected that true it was that men would invariably kick each other out of Court; but it was not so well established that the esprit-de-corps against their own sex was equally strong amongst women. How, if it was found that by obtaining the concession of a half, or of an entire, female jury, we had passed from the reign of King Log under the sterner sceptre of Queen Stork? The point was too important to admit of hasty decision, and it was finally resolved that all members should be summoned within their various spheres of action and observation, to test the female mind upon this subject—directing their attention particularly to certain matters of detail, such as the effect likely to be produced by the age and general appearance of the Respondent. No doubt, if the lady petitioning was young and pretty, a female jury would make short work of her; but this was not always the case, and it was as well to be cautious.
A Glimpse at the G.C. Club.
A thoughtful member suggested, with a kind of sardonic grin, that perhaps it would be more advisable to establish that “celibacy” should be a distinct ground of challenge—“for, my friends,” said he, looking round, “if we had been on the Jury in Mrs. Barber’s case—knowing what we do know of the mysteries—eh?” There was a great silence—the members smoked on in deep thought: at last a husky voice demanded to be heard—it was that of Brown, known among the G. C.s as Brown the Avenger, from the multitude of his wrongs, and from his vindictiveness against the authors of them. B.’s authority stood high in the Club. There was a respectful silence.
“Noble and suffering friends,” said B. the A, “the proposition is specious, but it is nought. Look at me. I was once young, slim, beautiful, and enthusiastic. I was a Poet—I took midnight walks when the moon was at the full (the Moon, ugh!—). I loved to listen to the nightingale’s song, and to dream of Maria. Maria became my wife. She left my home—our home—and I could now eat nightingales stewed in onions. Look at me now!”
Even under his blouse it was obvious that B. the A. was a man of goodly proportions, and the expression of his broad features was not suggestive of romantic ideas. B. continued.
“Well—again I did it. This time Annabella did not quit my house—she did not become Mrs.