“Doctor,” said Louisa, “Zionville is pleased to know you. Under other circumstances your evanescent humour would delight us beyond measure. But it is the opinion of the Court you ought to be informed that this is a moral town. Yes, sir. Not insanity but morality is what's hit us. It's the moralest town this side the Divide. We've got that reputation with the sweat of our virtues. There was a time when anybody found in possession of a corpse might be asked what he was going to do with it, or he might not, according to idle curiosity or intelligent interest. But times are changed. We make a point now of asking where he got it; which is, of course, a sacrifice of perfect courtesy to exacting morals. We admit it. But, sir, you have projected this here casket loaded with moral dynamite—if I may so state it—into this here moral community, and yet you claim not to know 'What the blazes'—if I quote correctly— she died of. The Court deprecates this distrustful attitude. The Court regards such reserve as suspicious, incriminating. In response to pertinent and proper questions you indulge some humorous statements regarding—if I caught the word—“mummies,” some jocular reference to the venerable appearance of the deceased—as the Court supposes. The Court has already inferred deceased was an Injun, and therefore don't care about the rest of her ancestry. You admit, sir, you know all about her, that you are in complete possession of the facts so far as known to any one. And yet, omitting the one pertinent fact, namely the cause and circumstances of her death, you deliver an uncalled-for lecture on Injun customs. The Court deprecates this learned frivolity. The Court penetrates your foolish subterfuge. The Court proposes to inform you of the evidence in its possession bearing on this case.”
Here Louisa took a document from his pocket.
“The following letter,” he said, “was received day before yesterday, addressed 'To The Magistrates of Zionville.'
“'Gentlemen:—-
“'On the 14th, probably on the afternoon east-bound freight, there will enter Zionville and endeavour to pass through a suspicious looking box addressed to some institution in Connecticut that may or may not exist. The undersigned is not informed. But the undersigned is well informed that the consignor of said box passes under the name of James Ulswater.” Now, if on examination of that there box, the Magistrates of Zionville is of the opinion that this yere “James Ulswater” is a party that oughtn't to be at large, the undersigned ain't going to dispute that opinion, undersigned being of the opinion the contents of said box is, or was once, a respectable middle-aged woman, with some Injun blood in her, and named Hannah Atkins, as to occasions of whose death it ain't for him to say. Only he don't take no stock in “James Ulswater's” remarks on the subject. They don't inspire no respect in his bosom. As to how “James Ulswater” came into possession of Mrs. Atkins' remains, the undersigned believes James Ulswater has something up his sleeve that he dassent tell. To what end then is “James Ulswater” shipping Mrs. Atkins, without sign of mourning or mortuary symbol, but with stealth, concealment and disrespect, over the innocent track and guileless freight agencies of the S. P. R. R.?
“'Yours truly,
“'A Former Citizen of Zionville who Believes in her Destiny and Honours her Morals.'”
“Gentlemen,” said Louisa, “do the suspicions of our fellow citizen appear to you justified?”
The jurymen nodded one after another, like a row of tenpins.
“Do the prisoner's remarks inspire confidence in your bosoms?”