covered that he was affected, and he turned his back for a few minutes, then retired from the cell and left us alone for half an hour. It seemed as if poor Jesse's heart would exhaust itself in tears.

Much as we loved Walter, and horrible to us as was the idea of his dying on the scaffold, not one of us wished to have more than justice given him. We did not blame the citizens of Dexter for feeling as they did. We revered the laws, even amidst our heart-rending sorrow. Often as Friend Buxton had denounced capital punishment, both Jesse and I had believed that the gallows was a Christian institution, and was to be upheld; and had we been persuaded that our brother was guilty of a capital offence, I think we would have submitted to the law. But we hoped and prayed that justice might now be vindicated without the shedding of blood.

That evening we paid another visit to Walter. Mr. Snowden read the 15th of Luke, and conversed half an hour as though the spirit of the Lord were upon him, and he had been anointed to preach deliverance to the captive and heal the broken heart. By turns, we ourselves were cast down with grief, and Walter became our comforter. And whilst he showed more and more innocence, in respect to this alleged offence, I found his remorse for his errors growing more intense as the proofs of our love and devotion affected his heart.

The next morning Jesse returned to Wenham, and I began to prepare for the trial. We examined the street in which Walter was arrested, and gathered and sifted all the circumstances that we supposed Milbank would

require to fortify his case. I framed more than one theory on which I hoped Walter's innocence might be vindicated, and now and then received a word of encouragement and sympathy. But strong and resolute as I was, my heart often sank within me, and dark despair came hovering around.

A few enlightened and humane citizens of Dexter sided with me, and were anxious to have my brother cleared. But community in general were greatly incensed against him. And this was not without reason. The crime of arson is more cruel than many kinds of murder, and the people of Dexter were familiar with its horrors. During that same year there had been half a dozen dwellings burned by the hands of incendiaries, and in one instance two children perished in the flames. The terrors of the people were so excited, they dared scarcely to lie down in their beds at night, lest they should be driven from them, or wrapped in flames before morning. And when I was informed of this, I did not wonder that so many clamored for my brother's blood.

Neither could I wonder, although I was thrilled with the keenest anguish, as I passed unrecognized through the streets, and heard this one say he hoped my brother would be hanged, and that one reply, that hanging was too mild a punishment, and he ought to be burned. But Heaven helped me in my sorrow, and I performed my duties with a courage which I had not expected to enjoy. I continued to visit Walter, and did everything I could to prepare him for his trial. I was often attended by some humane friend, who gave him words of sympathy and

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. earth and sky, they told us; more gloomy than clouds. 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.

It was fair and bright in the but to us, its brightness was Every smiling beam of the

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