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comfort, and was glad to find him strengthened and elevated above the deepest sense of anguish, by the lessons he drew from the scriptures.

The night before the trial, Friend Buxton, George Milbank, and my brother Jesse, returned to Dexter. I received messages of love from my friends, accompanied with generous donations, many of which were from the factory girls. Three or four of us visited Walter before the prison was closed for the night, and after Milbank had reviewed his case in a private examination, and left my brother with burning eyes, Mr. Snowden read a chapter in the bible, and we prayed and sang a hymn, and left, bidding him prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

I questioned Milbank concerning Walter's prospects; I watched his countenance and tried every means to discover his opinion, and get a little comfort for myself and brothers. He was respectful as ever, but the brief and blind replies he made went like arrows through my heart. I asked Friend Buxton again if we had not better retain another attorney, but he "supposed George would answer," and bade me be patient and leave the case with him.

It may be well imagined that we took neither slumber nor rest that night. We joined a circle of friends in Hannah Parvin's parlor, and heard words of comfort that seemed to come from heaven. But how could we be comforted? O, what could save us from shuddering terrors and ghastly dreams?

XXXIX.

THE day of trial came. It was fair and bright in the earth and sky, they told us; but to us, its brightness was more gloomy than clouds. Every smiling beam of the genial sun appeared ghastly and intolerable, and, though a fresh breeze fanned my cheeks, I seemed choked and stifled with sultriness, and gasped and sobbed for breath.

Walter's case came on; Sheriff Keezle led him from the prison, and we walked with him to the bar. I seated myself by his side in the box, Jesse was only separated from him by the iron paling that fenced us in, and Hannah Parvin, in her placid Quaker attire, sat next to me on my left hand. Walter looked the best that I had seen him since I found him sleeping in his dungeon,-the most confident and cheerful. His fine bright hair fairly glittered in the sunlight; the excitement of the morning gave a glow of health to his cheeks, and he seemed more like a beautiful wax-figure than a boy of flesh and blood. But Jesse was more dead than alive-so great was his terror and confusion-and many mistook him at first for the prisoner.

The court-house was crowded with spectators, and so general was the impression of Walter's guilt, the very atmo

sphere seemed to accuse him. A few kind persons were present to cheer us with their sympathetic glances, whilst such was my excitement, I fancied that my eyes met hundreds of the most malignant faces I had ever beheld.

I was happily disappointed, however, in three of the parties. The jury were all intelligent looking men, and their amiable and sad faces assured me, that if they condemned my brother, I might believe the verdict a reasonable (as the evidence appeared to them) and an honest one. The judge impressed me deeply. I know not that I took a fresh hope from his countenance, though I anxiously watched for one; but I was struck with involuntary reverence by his solemn air and patriarchal mien. The states-attorney also convinced me at first sight, that he was a gentleman, and I made up my mind to believe that the prejudices of the mob would not be allowed to take the place of law or testimony.

And if I could see justice and humanity on the faces of those parties, what must I not have found in our dear and devoted friends? How must Friend Buxton have appeared in that noble air, in that beaming smile of heaven, which sat upon his open, peaceful face? What must I have thought of faithful Hannah Parvin nestling nearer and nearer to my throbbing heart, as if to help me bear still more of its awful burden? What must I have thought of my revered Pastor Snowden, as he seemed to be transfigured to a seraph before me? And what of George Milbank?

I can scarcely tell how George appeared to me. His

bearing towards Walter had given me such anxiety of late that I must have regarded him with great impatience, if not with aversion and distrust, that morning. He had not slept an hour the night before; he had hardly spoken to a person since he left Walter's cell, and, when addressed by others, he gave the shortest and most mysterious answers. I remember I said in my heart, as he rose to speak, "Why is that man here to stand between my brother and death? Why did I not retain Mr. Barton of Salem ?"

I will not say how Sheriff Keezle appeared to me, as he came to take charge of my brother and guard him with stricter vigilance. The reader may believe that there was no being on earth or in heaven to whom I could compare him.

The case was opened by the states-attorney in a firm, deliberate, confident speech, which was free from cruelty on the one hand, and tenderness on the other. My brother pleaded, "Not Guilty," and there was a tone of true simplicity and frank and conscious innocence in his voice and manner, which roused up the judge from a moment's indifference, as I fancied, and gave the jury new and profound impressions.

The evidence was taken; the states-attorney made his plea; and, while certain passages made me gasp and tremble for the moment, I know not that it damped my ardor, or dashed my hope. He depicted the scenes of affliction created by the crime of arson in Dexter, during the past year. He described that crime in words that made every one shudder with horror and alarm. He in

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