Fashion and Famine

by Ann S. Stephens

"True enough, but not deep in the heart—not—oh! where is your grandfather? They have taken him off while we are standing here. Come, child, come—how could we lose sight of him?"

They hurried into the Park, and across to the City Hall, which they reached in time to secure a single glance of the prisoner as he was conducted up the staircase, still followed by the rabble.

The court-room became crowded immediately after the prisoner was led in, and it was with considerable difficulty that an officer forced a passage for the unhappy pair to the seats reserved for witnesses. Mrs. Gray was already in court, a little more serious than usual, but still so confident of her protégé's innocence, and filled with such reverence for the infallibility of the law, that she had almost religious faith in his acquittal. She smiled cheeringly when Mrs. Warren and Julia came up, and her black silk gown rustled again as she moved her ponderous person that they might find room near her. Mrs. Warren was a good deal excited. She even made an effort to reach her husband, as they were conducting him through the court, but the crowd was too dense, and, spite of herself, she was borne forward to the witnesses' seats, without obtaining an opportunity to whisper a word of what was passing in her heart. The judges were upon the bench; the lawyers took their places, and all the preliminaries of an important trial commenced. The prisoner remained calm as he had been all the morning, but there was nothing stupid or indifferent in his manner. When informed of his right of challenge to the jury, he examined each man as he came up; with a searching glance, and two or three times gave a peremptory challenge. He listened with interest to the questions put by the court, and sunk back in his seat, breathing deeply, as if an important duty was over, when the jury was at length empannelled.

The district attorney opened his case with great ability. He was a keen, eloquent man, who pursued his course against any person unfortunate enough to be placed before him, with the relentless zeal of a bloodhound, yielding nothing to compassion, feeling no weakness, and forgiving none. His duty was to convict—his reputation might be lessened or enhanced by the decision of a jury—that thought was ever in his mind—he was struggling for position, for forensic fame. The jury before him was to add a leaf to his yet green laurels, or tear one away. What was a human life in the balance with this thought?

To have watched this man one might have supposed that the feeble old prisoner, who sat so meekly beneath the fiery flash of his eyes, and the keen scourge of his eloquence, had been his bitterest enemy. Even in opening the case, where little of eloquence is expected, he could not forbear many a sharp taunt and cruel invective against the old man, who met it all with a sort of rebuking calmness, that might have shamed the dastardly eloquence which was in no way necessary to justice.

You should have seen dear Mrs. Gray, as the lawyer went on. No winter apple ever glowed more ruddily than her cheek; no star ever flashed more brightly than her fine eyes. The folds of her silken dress rustled with the indignation that kept her in constant motion; and she would bend first to old Mrs. Warren, and then to Julia, whispering—

"Never mind, dears—never mind his impudence! Our lawyer will have a chance soon, then won't that fellow catch it! Don't mind what he says; it's his business; the State pays for it—more shame for the people. Our man will be on his feet soon. I ain't the State of New York, but then he's got a fee that ought to sharpen his tongue, and expects more when it's over. Only let him give that fellow his own again with interest—compound interest—and if I don't throw in an extra ten dollars, my name isn't Sarah Gray. Oh, if I could but give him a piece of my mind now! There, there, Mrs. Warren, don't look so white! it's only talk. They won't convict him—it's only talk!"

Mrs. Gray was drawn from this good-natured attempt to cheer her friends by the proceedings of the court, that each moment became more and more impressive.

The prosecution brought forth its witnesses, those who had appeared in the preliminary trial, with many others hunted out by the indefatigable attorney. Never was a chain of evidence more complete—never did guilt appear so hideous or more firmly established. Every witness, as he descended from the stand, seemed to have thrown a darker stain of guilt upon that old man. The sharp cross-examinations of the prisoner's counsel, only elucidated some new point against him. His acute wit and keen questioning brought nothing to light that did not operate against the cause—a better man might have been excused for abandoning his case in despair.

It seemed impossible that anything could overthrow all this weight of evidence; even the desperate plea of insanity would be of no avail. No one could look on the solemn, and yet serene face of that old man, without giving him credit for a steadiness of mind that no legal eloquence could distort.