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Of all the institutions of England there is scarcely one more lauded,
and more misunderstood, than trial by jury. At first blush, nothing can
seem fairer and less objectionable than the unbiassed decision of twelve
honest men, sworn to do justice. They hear patiently the evidence on
both sides; and in addition to the light derivable from their own
intelligence, they have the directing charge of the judge, who tells
them wherein the question for their decision lies, what are the
circumstances of which they are to take cognizance, and by what features
of the case their verdict is to be guided. Yet look at the working of
this much-boasted privilege. One jury brings in a verdict so contrary to
all reason and justice, that they are sent back to reconsider it by the
judge; another, more refractory still, won't come to any decision at
all, and get carted to the verge of the county for their pains; and a
third, improving on all former modes of proceeding, has adopted a newer
and certainly most impartial manner of deciding a legal question. “Court
of Common Pleas, London, July 6.--The Chief Justice (Tindal) asked the
ground of objection, and ten of the jurymen answered that in the last
case one of their colleagues had suggested that the verdict should be
decided by tossing up!” Here is certainly a very important suggestion,
and one which, recognising justice as a blind goddess, is strictly in
conformity with the impersonation. Nothing could possibly be farther
removed from the dangers of undue influence than decisions obtained in
this manner.
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Not only are all the prejudices and party bearings of individual jurors
avoided, but an honest and manly oblivion of all the evidence which
might bias men if left to the guidance of their poor and erring
faculties, is thus secured. It is human to err, says the poet moralist;
and so the jurymen in question discovered, and would therefore rather
refer a knotty question to another deity than Justice, whom men call
Fortune. How much would it simplify our complex and gnarled code, the
introduction of this system? In the next place, juries need not be any
longer empannelled, the judge could “sky the copper” himself. The only
question would be, to have a fair halfpenny. See with what rapidity the
much-cavilled court would dispatch public business! I think I see our
handsome Chief of the Common Pleas at home here, with his knowing eye
watching the vibrations of the coin, and calling out in his sonorous
tone, “Head--the plaintiff has it. Call another case.” I peep into the
Court of Chancery, and behold Sir Edward twirling the penny with more
cautious fingers, and then with his sharp look and sharper voice, say,
“Tail! Take a rule for the defendant.”
No longer shall we hear objections as to the sufficiency of legal
knowledge possessed by those in the judgment-seat. There will be no
petty likings for this, and dis-likings for that court; no changes of
venue; no challenges of the jury; even Lord Brougham himself, of whom
Sir Edward remarked, “What a pity it was he did not know a little law,
for then he would have known a little of everything”--even he might be
a chancellor once more. What a power of patronage it would give each
succeeding ministry to know that capacity was of no consequence; and
that the barrister of six years' standing could turn his penny as well
as the leader in Chancery. Public business need never be delayed a
moment; and if the Chief Baron were occupied in chamber, the crier of
the court could perform his functions till he came back again.