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The Judge's Christmas. BY GUY THORNE. SIR HENRY MORNINGTON-MR. Justice j Morninp--ton-sat alone in his library on I Christmas Eve. There was a decanter of port on a table by his chair, but none of it had been I' poured out. The judge's great red, powerful face was as motionless as a face carved in sandstone, but there was a smouldering fire in the arrogant, hard eyes. Many a wretched criminal had shud- a L dered at the baleful glance of those eyes, for all the world knew that Sir Henry iMornington, if a just, was also a cruelly severe judge. With an intellect keen as a sword, and a caustic, often quoted wit, his lordship was a familiar name and figure in the Press. There were many anecdotes and rumours about him, and among these it was said that he lived only for his work, and had not a single friend. It was nearly true, but not quite. Sir Henry had one friend, Canon St. John, of St. Paul's Cathedral, and he was waiting for that friend now, on this Christmas Eve. (The lawyer and the priest had been at Harrow, and Oxford together, and by some freak of citcnmstance-for no two men could be more unlike—they had pre- served their friendship unimpaired. The famous judge and the equally famous preacher were Henry and "Arthur" to each other still, and though they sel- dom met, always thought of each other with lively affection. One occasion had been sacred to this strange friendship for many years. On Christmas Eve the Canon always came to the rather grim house near Marble Arch, smoked a pipe, and took a glass "Df wine with the judge. Sir Henry stared at the great log fire built up upon the hearth. Outside, it was snowing fast and the sound of traffic was deadened. Inside the house every- thing was still as death. The servants were all out at some festivity, and would not be home until the small hours of the morning. Lady Mornington had been dead many years, so that when the sound t)f the front door bell broke the silence, Sir Henry went to answer the summons himself. It is said that the majority of human beings bear resemblance to some animal or other. If Sir Henry was a mixture of the tiger and the bull, Canon St. John, who came into the hall with the snow heavy on his shoulders, was -a grey- hound. Tall, lean, ascetic, he was, nevertheless, tough as whipcord, and in his kind eyes there was a hint of that eager, straining look that one sees in the eyes of the great racing dogs. My dear Henry, God bless you! So we've come to another Christmas. How the time flies! Why, it seems only yes- terday, no, I can manage my coat, thank you; no need to make your hands wet. A terrible night! Canon St. John poured out this in a rush of words as he divested himself of his coat and scarf. Then beaming all over his face, he thrust his arm through Sir Henry's with the glee of a school- boy, and the two grey-haired men went into the library together. The clergyman sat down by the fire, drawing his chair up to it, and stretch- ing out his thin hands to the blaze with a sigh of relief. The judge placed the 'decanter by his friend's side and then both men filled their pipes in comfort- able silence. •• Another year!" said the Canon, after an interval. Your health is as good as ever, Henry?" Never an ache or a pain, Arthur, and, as far as I can judge, no senile decay of the intellect," and Sir Henry laughed. II No," said the other, thoughtfully. You are not one of those men who de- teriorate. You have got too great a grip of yourself for that." The judge shrugged his shoulders. When I feel the slightest weaken- Ing" he said with emphasis, when I detect that I am unable to follow a long and involved argument in my court, or miss a salient point in a summing-up, then I shall retire from the Bench. There is nothing more disgraceful than the spectacle of an officer of the King's Jus- tice nodding half asleep upon the Bench, unable to administer the law im- partially-a senile pantaloon—like at least two of my colleagues I could men- tion at the moment. Canon St. John nodded. Yes, it is only fair to the public, but I trust the day of your retirement is far away. I cannot imagine you in private life. They will make you a peer, of course, and you will have the House of Lords to interest you; but even then Your psychology is accurate," Sir Henry replied calmly. When I give up my work, I shall no longer linger upon this stage. It will be a case of 4 Out, out, brief caiidle I shall not grow roses in the country or attend race meetings, you may be very sure. And you, Arthur, what of you, during the last year ? Oh, I so on.. I so on. Trying to make the world a little better, and to cultivate my garden, such as it is." A very fragrant garden, Arthur," Sir Henry said, with a strange touch of gentleness and reverence. I trust I do my duty in the place where I am, but I wish, when I die, that men would say of me, as they assuredly will say of you, He, helped his fellow-men to higher things.' The Canon bowed his head for a minute, and when he looked up his eyes were full of pleading and his mouth trembled. Henry," he said, in a low, vibrating voice, am I to help everyone but you, my oldest and best friend ? For six years now I have sat in this chair upon this holy night, and urged on you the Divine quality of mercy, pity, and for- giveness." The judge's great red face hardened a little, and he made an imperative gesture with his hand, the unconscious gesture with which he was wont to sign to the warders to remove from the dock a wretched man whom he had just con- demned.. You do not like it, I know, but I should be false to my mission, and false to our deep friendship, if I did not ask once more. Somewhere out in the world your poor son still lives, or at least you have no evidence to the con- trary. Remember to night, of all nights, the sweet and tender parable of the Prodigal Son. Your Henry has eaten the husks and herded with the swine indeed Is there yet no place for him in the house of his father? Sir Henry's powerful voice spoke with steady tones.. Old friend, it is useless. You ca,n- not move me. I am tied to my own con- ception of my duty. Justice must come before all else. My son "-there was a slight but perceptible tremor in his voice —'n' my son- disgraced himself, and be- came a common felon, and he must pay the penalty to the bitter end. I should be false to my standards were I to ever see or hear from him again. Your ideas are poetic, visionary. The dream is not real. If it were,, Society would not hang together for a single hour. Now let us talk of other things." Canon St. John shook his head and sighed deeply, but he had made his pro- test, and he knew that it was useless to say more. For six years in succession he had failed to soften his friend's heart, but nevertheless he sent up a wordless prayer to God that some day his efforts would not be in vain. Then, as became a saint who was also a man of the world, he released the ten- sion, sipped his port, and plunged into reminiscences of school and Oxford days. They chatted of a hundred things, of this man or that, who had succeeded or failed in the battle of life; of how the roll of their contemporaries grew smaller every year, and about half-past ten or a quarter to eleven the clergyman rose to go. He wished his friend a happy Christmas with a wistful voice, to which the judge responded with loud and breezy geniality, as he steed upon the doorstep in the driving snow, watching the flakos till after the Canon had disappeared. Canon St. John's thoughts, as he battled his way towards St. Paul's, were tinged with deep sadness. He recalled the terrible tragedy in the life of his friend with a shudder, and marvelled how its horror had darkened all the judge's life, hardening him-already hard and stern enough-until it seemed no glow of Christian charity or forgive- ness would ever soften that severe and rigid nature. In truth, it had been an appalling affair, and one which was not even yet forgotten, owing to the Spartan be- haviour of the principal actor in it. Young Henry Mornington had been wild at Eton, wilder still at Oxford. He had failed to pass his Bar examina- tion, had consorted with the riff-raff of the West End of London, lost large sums at racing, and was finally arrested in a provincial town for forgery. He was committed for trial at the Assizes, and, by a hideous stroke of coincidence, Mr. Justice Mornington was the presiding judge. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred, faced with such a predicament, would have retired from the Bench and allowed their son to be tried by someone else. But this was not Sir Henry's view. To the amazement and consternation of the Bar, of the Bench, and of the public, he tried his son himself, and, before the case opened, gave his reason for doing so. I have always," he said, endea- voured to administer justice with the strictest impartiality. In my view-I am aware that it may be combated— but it is my view—I should be guilty of a weakness were I to refuse to try this case because of the relationship of the prisoner with myself. It seems to me that it would be a stricture upon my fairness as one of His Majesty's judges were I to suppose, or allow it to be supposed, that personal feelings could for a moment enter into my judgment. The prisoner will have as impartial a trial as, I trust, every accused person who has been brought before me during my career upon the Bench has ever had." The trial proceeded. It was soon over, and Mr. Justice Mornington sentenced his own son to three years' penal servi- tude. When the unhappy young man was re- leased from prison, Canon St. John and various other friends had done their best to persuade the stern and Roman I father to do something for his son, with no success. They themselves had tried It won't do no good, ole fIint-'eart, you won't believe me. I got a al dying for I want of food." to help the youth, and to this the father had made no objection. But their efforts had proved fruitless, and Henry Mornington had disappeared entirely out of ordinary life. When he reached his house in Amen Corner, Canon St. John prayed long and earnestly that his friend's heart might be softened, and it was Christmas morn- ing, the dawn of all peace and goodwill, ere he. retired to rest. •, The, judge returned to his library once more, and sat down before the fire. The eyes beneath the beetling brows were full of brooding light. The mouth was com- pressed into a single line. The words of his friend had. only succeeded in rousing the deep obstinacy of his nature, and, as they nearly always did, hardened his heart. No one could measure the bitter- ness of the wound his son had dealt him —the beloved boy who had thrown away the fairest prospects in life, and had made his father and his father's name a common shame over which a common crowd might gloat. It was a, strange figure that sat up- right in its chair, so sinister and for- midable, that, had there been one there to see, he might well have shrunk away in fear. The little clock upon the mantelpiece struck the hour of midnight, and, as the silvery strokes died away into silence, Sir Henry suddenly moved. The frozen immobility of his face re- laxed its tension. He thought he heard a curious sound from the back room, which was con- nected with the library by folding doors. He listened intently-yes, there was someone there—someone moving about softly. Upon the mantelshelf was a little elec- tric torch, with which Sir Henry was accustomed to light himself to bed. He, took it now, and, treading softly as a cat, went across the room and listened with his fingers upon the handle of the communication door. There was a clink- ing noise which spoke volumes. There were many valuable objects of silver in the back room) obviously With a sudden movement the judge flung the door open, switched on his torch, and strode forward. A datl, figure was crouching by the sideboard loaded with plate, and in three steps the burly lawyer was upon it, and had grasped the man by the shoulder in a grip from which there was no escape. "Ah my friend," he said, with quiet mockery, so you have come to pay me a Christmas visit! He flashed the torch round him. The window had been prized up from below, and a current of cold air was coming in. Are there any more of you? he said harshly. The man in his grip whined like a chained puppy. S'welp me, God, guv'nor, I'm on me own," he said, and the judge was too experienced not to feel he spoke the truth. I'll have a look at you," Sir Henry growled, and dragged his captive into the light of the library, turning to fasten the door behind him. The burglar was a wizened, emaciated, little fellow of not much more than five feet high. His face was white and dirty, his teeth chattered horribly. A more miserable wisp of humanity could hardly be met with. With a rough, powerful movement, the judge flung him into the very chair Canon St. John had recently vacated. Then he sat down opposite in his own. With care and deliberation he chose a cigar from the box and lit it, never taking his eyes from his prisoner. He was in a cruel, bitter humour, and this suited it very well. He would play with this wretched creature for a time before handing him over to the, nearest I policeman. The instinct of torture was alight in him-- for he had hardened his heart an hour ago. You miserable little thief," he said you sewer rat! Do you know whose house you have broken into on Christmas morning? « The shivering wretch shook his head, and the judge laughed harshly. They will tell you in the police court," he said, a place with which you are, doubtless, thoroughly fami- liar. Then, changing his note, he lifted a menacing forefinger and his voice grew terrible. You are the sort of human vermin," he thundered, to be crushed by all decent men. There is work for every- one in this country, and you have chosen the slimy way of mean and petty crime. You have not even enough man- hood to be bold. You slink about in the dark and steal for your low pleasures and your miserable existence. You are one of those who have never stained their hands with honest toil, and now, if it is for the first time I do nofc know, you are caught." The man stared at him, fascinated, like the victim ol a snake. And you shall bitterly regret it," Sir Henry cried, his voice rolling round the room. "Yes, my little rogue, we shall make an example of you That shall be my special care! Not that the severest punishment will do you any good. I know your sort, and I can pre- dict your career with certainty." He gathered himself up where he sat; the hiring, searing words tore from him in a ijketch of such cruel truth that each sentence fell like a steel whip. Ap.d why, why, the awful tirade concluded, have you chosen the ways, the foul ways, of crime, and made the devil's bargain? Ah! you flinch at my words; they get home; they show you your soul of a dirty shrimp as it really is! He glared with a ferocity that was (Contintied on Page 13.)