object of fear and hate to every one who had approached him. But his fierce, sullen temper, and his great natural gifts, combined with a degree of knowledge surprising in his station, were principally called forth in his interviews with the clergyman, whose arguments were met either by ingenious sophistries and turned aside from their real meaning, or by vindictive reproaches and keen and bitter sneers. With regard to the crime, he never swerved from his assertion of innocence.
At length the day of trial arrived. Assuredly the English trial for murder is an awful assembling; the vague look of serious horror, which would be ludicrous under any other circumstances, is here redeemed by its fearful source. The grave costume of the bar, the dignified solemnity of the judge, the long robes, all differing from the ordinary apparel of daily life, have their full effect on at least two thirds of the spectators. Some may be too thoughtful, others too thoughtless, to have their imagination affected by all this "pomp of circumstance;" but this is far from being the feeling of the generality.
The court was crowded at an unusually early hour. Gradually the dense and silent mass gave way before the slow approach of the judge: he took his seat; the twelve jurymen followed—there was a slight stir as each one settled in his place, and then all was quiet as the grave.
There is a deep impression of awe produced by
