It is a cold windy March morning. The trial of Henry Garlett has been fixed for ten o’clock, but since before eight o’clock there has been a crowd, growing larger and larger every minute, round the stately pillared portico of the Grendon Assize Court. The crowd has been compelled to spread out fan-fashion, owing to the stout walls which stretch on either side of the building, and women form by far the larger proportion of those who are determined to obtain places in the public galleries and in those seats, behind the jury, reserved for certain privileged persons.
These would-be spectators of Henry Garlett’s ordeal, and of Jean Bower’s agony, belong to all classes, and are of all ages. Some of the women there have walked ten miles and more, this morning, to be present at the trial of the m
