So much for generalities.
The Trial for Murder causes Mary Barton to Confess her Love for the Prisoner at the Bar
From Mary Barton, 1848
As soon as he could bring his distracted thoughts to bear upon the present scene, he perceived that the trial of James Wilson for the murder of Henry Carson was just commencing. The clerk was gabbling over the indictment, and in a minute or two there was the accustomed question, “How say you, Guilty or not Guilty?”
Although but one answer was expected—was customary in all cases—there was a pause of dead silence, an interval of solemnity even in this hackneyed part of the proceeding; while the prisoner at the bar stood with compressed lips, looking at the judge with his outward eyes, but with far other and different scenes presented to his mental vision; a sort of rapid recapitulation of his life—remembrances of his childhood—his father (so proud of him, his first-born child)—his sweet little playfellow, Mary—his hopes, his love—his despair, yet still, yet ever and ever, his love—the blank, wide world it had been without her love—his mother—his childless mother—but not long to be so—not long to be away from all she loved—nor during that time to be oppressed with doubt as to his innocence, sure and secure of her darling’s heart;—he started from his instant’s pause, and said in a low, firm voice:
“Not guilty, my lord.”
The circumstances of the murder, the discovery of the body, the causes of suspicion against Jem, were as well known to most of the audience as they are to you, so there was some little buzz of conversation going on among the people while the leading counsel for the prosecution made his very effective speech.
“That’s Mr. Carson, the father, sitting behind Serjeant Wilkinson!”
“What a noble-looking old man he is! so stern and inflexible, with such classical features! Does he not remind you of some of the busts of Jupiter?”