as they were, could only be treated as high treason; the discrepancy between the actual deed and the tremendous penalties involved was obviously grotesque; and it was, besides, clear that a jury, knowing that a verdict of guilty implied a sentence of death, would tend to the alternative course, and find the prisoner not guilty but insane—­a conclusion which, on the face of it, would have appeared to be the more reasonable.  In 1842, therefore, an Act was passed making any attempt to hurt the Queen a misdemeanor, punishable by transportation for seven years, or imprisonment, with or without hard labour, for a term not exceeding three years—­the misdemeanant, at the discretion of the Court, “to be publicly or privately whipped, as often, and in such manner and form, as the Court shall direct, not exceeding thrice.”  The four subsequent attempts were all dealt with under this new law; William Bean, in 1842, was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment; William Hamilton, in 1849, was transported for seven years; and, in 1850, the same sentence was passed upon Lieutenant Robert Pate, who struck the Queen on the head with his cane in Piccadilly.  Pate, alone among these delinquents, was of mature years; he had held a commission in the Army, dressed himself as a dandy, and was, the Prince declared, “manifestly deranged.”  In 1872 Arthur O’Connor, a youth of seventeen, fired an unloaded pistol at the Queen outside Buckingham Palace; he was immediately seized by John Brown, and sentenced to one year’s imprisonment and twenty strokes of the birch rod.  It was for his bravery upon this occasion that Brown was presented with one of his gold medals.  In all these cases the jury had refused to allow the plea of insanity; but Roderick Maclean’s attempt in 1882 had a different issue.  On this occasion the pistol was found to have been loaded, and the public indignation, emphasised as it was by Victoria’s growing popularity, was particularly great.  Either for this or for some other reason the procedure of the last forty years was abandoned, and Maclean was tried for high treason.  The result was what might have been expected:  the jury brought in a verdict of “not guilty, but insane”; and the prisoner was sent to an asylum during Her Majesty’s pleasure.  Their verdict, however, produced a remarkable consequence.  Victoria, who doubtless carried in her mind some memory of Albert’s disapproval of a similar verdict in the case of Oxford, was very much annoyed.  What did the jury mean, she asked, by saying that Maclean was not guilty?  It was perfectly clear that he was guilty—­she had seen him fire off the pistol herself.  It was in vain that Her Majesty’s constitutional advisers reminded her of the principle of English law which lays down that no man can be found guilty of a crime unless he be proved to have had a criminal intention.  Victoria was quite unconvinced.  “If that is the law,” she said, “the law must be altered:”  and altered it was.  In 1883 an Act was passed changing the form of the verdict in cases of insanity, and the confusing anomaly remains upon the Statute Book to this day.