THE proud and sombre procession of English justice is no innovation of a modern day. The herbs that strew the floor of the judge's bench at the Old Bailey, the bright little bouquets that the judges carry in the administration of their duties, are themselves reminders of times and conditions vanishing into the distant past. Turn some day to the great early eighteenth-century folios in which the state trials of the preceding century were set down verbatim, just as the court stenographer wrote them out in the dusky courtrooms of an ancient Old Bailey. Listen as even much-maligned Bloody Jeffries guides his witnesses--and his criminals-- through the mazes of the law, with dignity, with kindness, with a sort of magnificent equity. And you will see that to the Englishman the administration of the law is no light matter, to be tossed about in the hands of a fatly paid lawyer like balls above a juggler's head. What that law has ever been is an attempt to get at the truth. Its end has always been justice. It is doubtful if many American criminal lawyers would feel at home in its atmosphere. In its strange conceptions of libel, of divorce, in its old courts of chancery, English law has not been quite so happy, but in the criminal courts where the lives of men are at stake it is perhaps the best conception of right and justice that modern nations have seen.