CHAPTER XXXIII. THE TRIAL FOR MURDER.
It is a wrong and monstrous thing,
That from young hearts where love is deep
Justice herself the words should sing
That sends a kindred soul to sleep.
The day of trial came at last. Such cases are frequent in New York, and, unless there is something in the position or history of the criminal to excite public attention, they pass off almost unnoticed. Still there is not a single case that does not sweep with it the very heart-strings of some person or family, linked either to the prisoner or his victim; there is not one that does not wring tears from some eyes and groans from some innocent bosom. We read a brief record of these things; we learn that a murderer has been tried, convicted, sentenced; we shudder and turn away without being half conscious that the history thus briefly recorded embraces persons innocent as ourselves, who must endure more than the tortures of death for the sin that one man is doomed to expiate.
Old Mrs. Warren and her grand-daughter stood at the prison doors early that morning. It was before the hour when visitors could be admitted, but they wandered up and down in sight of the entrance with that feverish unrest to which keen anxiety subjects one. All was busy life about the neighborhood. It was nothing to the multitude that passed up and down the steps, that a fellow being was that morning to be placed on trial for his life. A few remembered it, but with the exception of old Mrs. Gray and her nephew, it passed heavily upon the heart of no living being save those two helpless females.
How strange all this seemed to them! With every thought and feeling occupied, they looked upon the indifferent throng with a pang; the smiling faces, the bustle, the cheerfulness, all seemed mocking the heaviness of their own hearts.
The hour came at last, and they entered the prison. Old Mr. Warren received them affectionately as usual; he exhibited no anxiety, and seemed even more cheerful than he had been for some days. The Bible lay open upon the bed, and there was an indentation near the pillow, as if his arms had rested heavily there while reading upon his knees.