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 Nullum Tempus Occurrit Regi. policies for £10,000 each, effected by Monson on the life of Cecil Hambrough and assigned by the latter to Mrs. Monson, constituted the motive for the alleged crime. On the other hand, it was tolerably clear that as Hambrough was a minor, his as signment to Mrs. Monson was invalid, and that the prisoner was aware of the fact. Here again, therefore, the obvious solution of the difficulty was a verdict of " Not proven." Mutatis mutandis, the same ob servation applies to the second branch of the Crown case against Monson under this head, his conduct antecedent and subse quent to Hambrough's death, the alleged attempt (which formed the subject of a dis tinct charge) to drown Hambrough in Ardlamont Bay on the night of the 9th of August, the conflicting stories which he told as to the identity of the mysterious " Scott," the bore of the gun with which Hambrough

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was shooting and the position of his body when found, and his concealment of the fact that the policies for £ 10,000 had been ef fected even from the dead lad's father. Highly suspicious these circumstances un doubtedly were. But the cases in which after execution "Judgment hath repented of its doom"

have not been so infrequent as to justify a jury in returning a verdict of guilty on the strength of conduct apparently inconsistent with innocence. A verdict of " Not guilty" however would have been obviously im proper when the law left open a via media between the two extremes. Monson has therefore been acquitted, but a portion of the dark shadow which rested over the death of Lieutenant Hambrough has fol lowed him from the dock.

OCCURRIT

"No time shall run against the King."

REGI. Ah, me!

Were that but true, he were a king indeed; Who keeps, as years unto the years succeed, Undimmed his youth, and as at first can see And taste the joys of life; the open, free Spirit of him who grows in wealth, not greed; Who still with zest life's various books can read, Nor knows the cynic sneer, nor long ennui. And yet, methinks, the years would still recall The grief the gods award, the tears, the strife, Wer't but the memory of her he saw And loved when first he lived.

Ripe fruit must fall

And dearer, though less splendid, is our life, Than the cold, distant ideal of the law.