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Z 1
SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXXIII, NUMBER gl.l
PUBLISHED EVERY SITURDAY HORNING
0.,,0ce in Carpet Hall, Nortlt-wes t corner of
rout and Locust streets.
Terms of Subscription.
Jae Copyperunnum,i f paidin advance ,
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Rates of Advertising.
guar t[o ines]one week
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enelitubsequen !insertion. 10
(12.1nes]one week 50
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unelt.tub.equentnisertion.
VALrgerldvertisementgn proportion
Aliberal liscountwillbe mode to, uarterly,ltnlf
tarty or:early tilvertisers t who ore striethconfined
o their business.
rift.
The Bells of Shandon.*
Subbato poligo,
Futicro piano,
Solemnia clung°.
Inscription on an old boll
With deep affection
And recollection
I often think of
Those Shandon Bells,
Whose Found so wild would
In days of childhood
Fling round my cradle
Their magic spells. .
Os this I ponder
And still grow kinder
Sweet Cork, of thee,
With thy hells of Shandon
That sound to grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the river Lee
Fire heard bell. eliimild
Full many a clime in,
;rolling suelitne in
Cathedral shrill°,
While at a gltlic race
litratis tongue. would vibrate,
But all their niacin
Spoke nitueti like thine;
For memory dwelling
On each proud swelling
Of thy belfry knelling
Jt bold votes tree,
Blade the belie of 811,1,1,30 a
Sound Inure grand u•t
The plea-nu. wt tors
01 the rivet Lee.
I've heard hells whin ,
Old Adrian's mole :a,
Their thunders roll/ a'
From the yaucan,
And cymbals glorious
Stringing uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets
Of Notre Dome;
But thy sounds arc syeeete r
Than the dome of Pctcr
Fl ugs o'er the Tiber
Pealing solemnly;
Oh, :he bells of Shandon
sound so grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the river Lce.
There'd n bell in Moscow,
While in town and Kw4k, 0
In St. Sophia
The Turkorm gets,
And loaf in air
Calls men to prayer
From the impeong summit
Of Lill minute's.,
Such e n tpq• p liantom
I freely giant iliem,
limit there', a phantom
More drear to me
the bells of Slimidon
That sound so grand on
The pleivnint wAler9
Of the river Lce.
(Father Pro,
•An abby near Cork, celebrated for it ,- chime,
Marion Brown's Lament
[Pounded on she story suit told of Clareshouie, who
when he bud shot her hu.hand a- ked muck, ugly
What think you stow of your brow good in so?"]
"'What think you now of you, brow good-man?'
AM woe is me!
My heart was high when I begirt,
My heart wa. high nod my im•vver run
'More thou ever In Is to stir '
thoneht I of my had--groont I,r.t.t
Al,woe ta me:
flickle I thought of him donee and grove.
{Viten he waled me Out among :he :ere
Me a poor maiden hi. wire to be
.I:tat there on the green-sward lying dead,
Ah! woe i• met
As I laid on my lap hit noble bead,
As I Limed the bps that for Je-us bled,
More than ever he was to me.
oXy been was high when I began,
Ah! woe is mei
I was so proud of my brnve good-man,
Never a tear from my ryMidi rum
Ahho' they rood ill my c-e
"Ant when I laid him on his bed,
Ah! wee Is me!
And spread the face-cloth OVCI his head,
And sat me dawn beside my dead,
Oh, balmy heart grew s■ir in me.
And aye as I looks nf the empty. chair,
AM woe is me!
And the Wok that be left lying open there,
had the text that bade me cu•t my care
Co the Father of all that cared for tee
And aye as my Mary and liatle Will,
Ad! woe is me!
Wdisperel, 'Father is sleeping still.
Aad bush! Ira Minnie is weary and ill,'
My titan was like to break in me.
9t' well for men to be heroes grand:
Alit woe is me
Bata woman's hearth is her country, and
A desolate home is a desolate land;
And be was all the world to mc."
LITTLE Bor.—"Father, I know how to fire
off the guns and cannons of earth, but who
I. tall enough to touch off thunder:"
Afil3 cotetnporary says "a female re
cruit was detected tryit g to put her pante
on o'er her head."
Ja/P - "Sarn, why am hogs the most intelli
gent beings in the world?" ''Because dey
nose eberyting."
BQ - Wben is thunder like an onion:!—
Wben it comes peal on peal.
gslutionz.
The Phantom Witness
81 50
AN "ENGLISII STORY
I was on my first circuit—both the cause
list and the criminal paper of the North
ampton assizes were crowded with cases. I
had two or three briefs of no great holier
tance, for I was young at the bar; and yet
at this same Northampton assizes I was
daily getting shadowy, nervous, pale and
weak; I could not sleep—at times I could not
think. A "case" sat heavy on my soul; I
felt weighed down as by a constant night
mare. I had a criminal case on hand. It
has been put off from day to day, on account
of the length of time it was supposed it
would occupy, but it was coming on.
A fearful sense of responsibility was con
stantly present to my imagination. I had
not yet grown callous to human suffering.
I could not then contemplate crime, suffer
ing, and retribution, with the merely critical
eye of an artist in law, and suffered accor
dingly.
A young girl, almost a child—her age
was but fifteen—was to be put on her trial
for murder.
EMI
Anna Dermer Heritage was committed
for trial by the Northamptonshire magis
trate, fur the murder of Julm Adolphe Sea
ton, an infant, and her own sister's son. I
was retained fur the defense.
Day and night, at meal times, and in the
hours that should have been those of recre
ation, at times when my other duties should
have occupied me, I pondered over my ease
and re-read the depositions, and toiled men
tally till I began to look like some wretch
with undi.covered crime resting heavil;
upon his heart, and who walked uud•lived
in bodily fear of detection.
Could she be guilty? I had seen her more
than once—a mild gentle, lovea We, fair
young girl, who did not appear to have
nerve enough to have crushed an inoffensive
fly. But the evidence!
The evidence was awfully conclusive
against her. I condense it for the reader.
Before we step into court on this must re
markable trial, we will glance over the
youthful and engaging prisoner.
There resided on his property, which com
prised a beautiful mansion and a manor in
the county of Northamptonshire, a Sir Ralph
heritage. This gentleman had only one
son, whose irregularities hail estranged him
from his friends, relations, and finally from
his father. But the father had long fought
against the facts of his son's bad conduct;
he had been the last and most loth to shut
his heart against hint; and it was not until
a highway robbery, in which Richard Her
itage most unquestionably had a share, that
Sir Ralph was compelled to banish from his
home the son to whom his heart clung.
Pity this poor father—pity the man who
has garnered up his best affections in a
thankless child!
And so Richard neritnge disappeared,
and years passed away, and only now and
then came vague rumors that he was wan
dering about those South American streets
which teem with adver.turers of every clime
and hue.
of bell
And Sir Ralph felt that he was growing
old and feeble; his mire had been lolly,- since
in the family tomb of the Heritages. Ito
was a lonely man; and it was with a gush
of grateful tears that, one autumn evening,
he read a letter that had reached him front
Ceylon, ti say that his youngest brother,
Allred, who bad many long years ag.i sought
that Island as a home, with a sickly wife,
was n I more, and that the chil (hen —orphans,
teal one a young widow--were left destitute,
or nearly so, and were only waiting in hope
that their uncle, Sir Ralph, would give :hem
encouragement to coma "home." They
called England "borne," although they had
been very little children indeed when they
had gone to Ceylon with their sick mother
and anxious father.
Twelve years had elapsed, and lather and
mother were both dead. The eldest girl,
Raehael, had married fur love, and he whom
the loved died within eighteen months of
their union. Rachel then was a young
widow, with an infant clinging to her for
help. Iler sister Anna it was who wrote to
their uncle at his grand estate in North
amptonshire, detailing all those events; and
it was that letter which produced the flood
of tears we have mentioned from the lone
knight.
Would those two sorrowing ones and the
little child be welcome? Would lie open his
heart to them? Ay, yes! The mere thought '
of their coming was new life to him, and he
was seen to smile, for the first time in the
memory of some of his servants, on the day
succeeding the receipt of Anna's letter from
Ceylon.
That the answer to that letter was all
that could be wished by the sisters, we may
well imagine. It sent them ample means
to come to England, and assured them of a
fatherly welcome to Heritage Hall.
The time sped on, and the sisters, with
the infant reached England. They traveled
by post from Liverpool to Northampton, and
but fur the accident of a break-down of the
post-cha.e about ten miles front Heritage
Hall, would, on a wild tempestuous day in
February, have dined with their uncle.—
But this was not to be.
On the cross-road that the postilion was
advised to tuke, since it avoided a very billy
district, the chaise encountered the fallen
"NO ENTERTAINMENTIS'SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING. DECEMBER ql, 1861.
trunk of a tree, which in the dim twilight
was not ob•erced until it was too late; and
then it had so dislocated the machinery of
the chaise that it was impossible to proceed
farther with it, and the party were fain to
take shelter for the night at.a road-side inn,
named "The Whentsheaf."
The rain came down in torrents, and the
wind howled through some neighboring
copses, us if presaging by its dismal tones
unheard of evils to the unfortunate travellers
then benighted on their jourhey.
The inu's best room—l took trouble to
examine it, in the interest of my young cli
ent—was shabby in the extreme. It had
two beds in it, and there was down in tie
centre of the room a sliding partition, which,
on an emergency, would concert the apart
ment into two.
It was into this room, then, at ten o'clock
on this wild spring evening, that the two
sisters, with the infant, were ushered. The
rain dashed agaiost the two latticed win
dows as if their destruction was the sole ob
ject of the storm; and the wind struck the
large sloping roof of the house with such
gusty blows that the sisters, more than once
believed that some one must be at work in
some mad fashion above their heads.
The small candle that the ill-appointed
inn afforded them flared and flickered in the
little candle stick, and threatened each mo
ment to expire, so they hastened to rest.
And there were the gentle sisterly en
resses, the kind "Good night!" the God
bless you, Anna!" and "God bless you
Rachel!" and the little one was kilted and
commended to Ilearen, and the light was
put out; and then Rachel, from sonic cause
that she could not define, burst into a pas
sion of tears, and sister Anna called out:
"Ilachel! Roche!! what is it? IVily do
you ery when sou are going to be ro happy?"
"I cannot help it, Anna! My heart is
heavy—so heavy! And yet how much we
have to be thankful for, in the kindness of
your uncle, will/ promises to make Ernest
(coy infant son) his heir."
And then Anna laughed and spoke in
bandinage, to raise her sister's spirits:
"To be sure, Rachel; and I gr to the wall
and shall not get a husband, all on account
of your little Ernest, when I fully intend to
make Uncle leave me everything. Come,
now, go to sleep. Good night!"
"Good night, dear!"
This little dialogue was overheard by the
landlady of the inn. It wai nothing in
itself, but it appeared in the depositionb
against Anna as though written in letters
of blood.
The sisters slept. The little Ernest slept
on the lireast of his mother.
The rain still came down in torrents, and
the wind still howled round the old ital.—
One o'clock had just ben proclairriod by
the tall, old fashioned clock in the bar, when
the landlord, landlady, chamber-maid and
boots, were aroused by such a succession of
piercing shrieks, from the room, occupied
by the sisters, that they one and all matlc a
rush iu that direction, with such hastily
snatched up garments ns terror enabled
them to procure, :ma with the only light
that was always upon a slab in the passage.
The sight that met their eyes was a terri
ble one. It was ono that has concerted that
old roadside inn into a mclanttholy one, for
none would sleep in it again.
The door of th.i chamber was wide open,
and Rachel, the mother of the infant bay,
was lying half in and half out of the room,
on her face. Anna was sitting up in bed,
looking scared and bewildered, and seem
ingly nut conscious that her hands, faee, and
clothing about her were daubed in blood.
The landlady shrieked "31urderi"
The landlord called for help
A traveller ivhu had arrived on runt at
t!,e in,,-,ate !Lairs :trier the ..i,ters, and
eli odd given his 11.1.1110 as Mr. Brown. hur
riel :dung an aileient eurriddr, at the further
end or which he slept, to the place of eon-
MEI
"am , l Heavens!" he said, "what is' tilo
matter?"
It was terrible then to see Anna, as un
consciously she passed her blood stained
bands over her face, and looked about like
one in a dream.
'•lt's murder!" said the landlady.
"The child!" cried the landlord; "there
was a child!"
"What ebb h?" said Mr. Brown; "I don't
ser any child here."
Upon this the landlady uttered a terrible
cry, and from between the bed on which
Anna was and the wall she lifted the lifeless
and murdered body of the little Ernest.
The little one was stabbed to the heart
with a steel ornamental paper-knife. The
sisters had been robbed at Liverpool, or on
board the vessel from Ceylon, of a trunk in
which that paper-knife might have been.—
But one fact W. 1.1. admitted. The knife be
longed to Anna, and she bought it at Co
lombo. This was lb] CASe. 0.1 her recov
ery from a swoon, which lasted many hour=,
Rachel made the following statement:
S)Jn after the canversation we hare re
corded with her sister, she had gone to sleep
with her child on her arm, but finding him
restless, and starting occasionally, she had
gently withdrawn her arm from him, and
had been persuaded chat he sleept soundly.
How lung she remained in this state she
knew not, but what awakened her was a
faint kind of a sob, which she felt certain
was the last sound uttered by the little Er
nest in life. Ic aroused her in a moment
and sprang out of bed on finding that the
child WAS not with hor, and mechanically
ran to the door cf the room, which she flung
open.
And hero comes a remarkable statement
from Rachel. I give it in her own words:
"On opening the door, I saw that from
some light below (that was the oil lamp in
the passage), there came up a strange re
flection on the wall of the corridor, which
was to the right hand; and through that re
flection, passing along it, as if stooping to
avoid it if possible, I saw the shadow of a
man, large, and not very well deftned, owing
to its exaggerate.l dimensions; but still,
there it was, and it passed away into the
I gloom at the furtht.r end of the corridor, and
disappeared."
Overcome, then, by the terror of she knew
not what, Rachel fell into that swoon in
which she was found by the people of the
Such was the statement of the half-dis
tracted mother on the examination of Anna,
whose innocence of the murder of her child
she declared herself as thoroug,hly satisfied
of as of the existence ofnearen.
Sir RAO Heritage was sent for, and the
shock so completely unmanned him that, al
though filling the office that year of nigh
Sheriff of the county, ho was compelled to
go home, where he took to his bed, from
which it did not seem probnble he would
rtse again
Several of the seniors of the bar had
shrunk from undertaking the defence of
Anna Heritage, and the case was brought
to me. I took it, and from the moment I
did so, I felt a conviction that there was
some fearful mystery in it which, unless
elucidated, would leave the youthful accused
to he judicially murdered.
And so I thought and pondered over the
affair until I was afraid my mind would get
into some abnormal condition, and I would
be unable to do what human means could
do for Anna Heritage.
I saw tier but once before the trial. I
shall never forget the manner in which she
looked at me as she gently shook her head
EMS
"They will kill me, sir, but [Leaven knows
lam innocent! If my death would bring
hack to poor Rachel her boy (here she burst
into tears), 1 should he willing to die; but
as it is, I mu very, very young to be mur
dered!"
1 could say but little. I pressed both her
hands in mine, and only gasped out some
e nrmuonphicc expression og hopeful consola
tion, and then left her.
The ease was fearfully strong against her.
There was but one supposition in her favor.
The shadow—the phantom-like form seen
by the mother—who was he? Was it this
31r. Brown? Who and what w:l9 he? I
hunted him up—l employed pe,pie to dog
and watch him. It all eapv•
llc Wag a e.namor•ill trav,lor for a 11,11 ,,
in Nlarseille , . an I sr.t: I in trying
do bu-inesg at N.irtlrunpton.
Several of I comsel, to whom I spoke of
the ca , e, were of the opinion that the shad
ow seen by Iltehel, was eitheu• u P Sh4ll.)lV
nt all, or was the work of her hvagivation,
or the veritable shadow of some of the pet
plc of the inn, who, alarmed at her cries,
were hastening to her room.
And so at length the morning of the trit,.l
came, and full of anxiety as I was, it came
as p Isitive relief to tne. The then Lord
Calif Boron of the Exchequer presided. Ile
was a CAlm colightene I judge, who never
permitted his own prejudices—as some of
his succe•tsors have done—to warp either
law or jtistiee; and come what might of the
matter, I knew that the young prisoner
would have a fair trial.
The court was crowded to excess. A pos
itive disturbance at the door hindered the
commencement of the day's proceedings for
a full half hour, and was only quelled I,y
force.
Tha Attorney General had come dawn
from Lmdon to prosecute on behalf of the
crown; and the counsel's seats were so
closely packed that no ono could stir, ex
cept those engaged in the case.
Thejnry looked grave and half frightened.
The judge was pale and more serious look
ing than usual; and as for me, I felt sick at
heart, and when the uneasy kind of a hush
that pervaded the court let ma know that
Anna heritage was placed at the bar, it was
for some moments before I could muster up
courage to look at her. Haw pale, how wan,
and yet how beautiful she looked(
Her fair hair N 7.1.4 dressed in the most
simple style possible, an I she wore a dress
of gray silk, Irliich fitted closely around the
neck, terminating in a narrow' plaited frill.
Her lips trembled, and her gentle eyes
seemed to shrink behind their abundant
lashes as she met the gaze of friend and foe
in that crowded court—that is, if one so
young, s) fair, and so innocent, could have
a foe.
I c )uld see the jn Ige taking a long, look
at her from beneath his bent-down brows,
an I then ho restel his heal on his han.l4,
and ;v.:pc-trod in deep tlrmglit. Tae Attor
ney General tossed a scrap of paper over the
table to me. It contained the.° word.:
"The witness Brown has .il).em led: make
what use of the fact you can."
I nodded gratefully, and felt that he
would only just do his duty against the pri-
MGM
Then there was a strange half-sigh, half
hush, all through the auditory, and a lady
in deep mourning came into court. It was
the bereaved mother. She went direct to
the front of the dock, where her sister was
arraigned on so dreadful a charge, and lean-
led over the front of it, with both arms cx
tended as she cried:
"Dear, dear Anna, God bless you, and
prove your innocence as I feel it!"
Anna was overcome by this, and she
burst into a passion of sobs and tears. The
sisters could only interlace their arms to
gether, and there they remained for some
cat - meats, until the judge said, in a deep,
sad voice:
"This must not be. Proceed, proceed."
The Clerk of Arraigns, in a high, cracked,
indifferent voice, proceeded to read the in
dictment, and Rachel sat down in a chair
that some one had placed for her just be
neath the dock.
Poor Anna's fortitude seemed wholly to
have given away. Her fair fere was hidden
in her hands, and rested on the front of the
bar. It was a fashion to place a row of aro
matic herbs on the bar before the prisoner
in those days, and among them she leaned;
and some of them, watered by her tears, fell
upon her sister's lap as she sat beneath.
Then came the question, "Prisoner at the
bar, do you plead guilty ur nut guilty to the
, present indictment?"
Anna did not stir. The poor girl had not
heard the question; but her sister rose, and
in a mild, clear 'voice said:
"She is not guilty, sirs. He was my lit-'
tle one. Ile is in Heaven now, and if you
take her life she will ga to him sooner than
I, and be happy. She is tint guilty, sirs."
The governor of the jail had by this time
jogged Anna by the arm, and whispered to
her, when she looked u;s hastily and said,
"0, no, no! a thousand tunes, no!"
"The plea is Not Guilty," said the judge,
"so enter it."
The Attorney General arose. The court
was hushed. I never took my eyes off his
for one moment while he spoke:
"My lord and gentlemen of the jury, the
prisoner at the bar, Anna Dormer Heritage,
i 3 on her trial fur the murder of Ernest Sea
ton. If she be guilty, it is guilt which casts
the shadow of its terrible atrocity over every
hearth in England; if innocent, she is a
piece of suffering virtue which I implore
Heaven to protect. lam here to perform a
duty, not to advocate a cause. Clod forbid
that by one word, ono look, one tone or ges
ture, I should seek to color or inflame your
passions. I wish to be the mouth-piece of
a narrative merely: you are the judges.—
Tho present respected High Sheriff of the
county is Sir Ralph Heritage, of Heritage
Hall. He had a brother who married and
went to reside in Ceylon with his wife and
two infant daughters. One of tho-o daugh
ters in the course of years, was married to
Mr. Seaton, a young merchant. He die I,
leaving her a widow with a child—the Hier
/ dered Ernest S taton mention,. I ;.,.
diet:nem against the prisoeer now en trial
Ile brother ~r Sir Ralph I leritage died at
Ceylon, semi after the death or his wife. and
tire two daughters Mane, one a widow,
with her infant son—the other the prisoner
it the bar. They communicated with (heir
uncle, Sir Ralph lle•itage. who sent them a
kind invitation to come to hen, intimating,
at the citric time, that he would make his
grand-nephew, Ernest Seem', his heir.—
They e me—the child. the 'nether, and the
young aunt. They reached Liverpaal in the
Iship Aleeste, an I to 't's a port-chaise to
I Northamptonshire. The chaise broke down
at a place named Dallington Flats, and the
party were compelled to take refuge from
the raging storm, and to pass the night at
an inn named the Wheatsheaf. The child,
' the mother, and the aunt, retired early to a
double-bedded roam. The child slept with
its mother, the prisoner at the btr in the
I other bed. At five minutes pa-t One "'clock
lon that night the landlord and hi; wife were
!awakened by load scream m, and they hur
-1 tied in the direction of the seam', which led
them to the room in rprestion. Mrs. Sea
ton was lying in the doorway. The prisoner
at the bar was sitting up in bed, and much
disfigured; on her hands were blond. The
Ibody of the child Ernest, was fohnd between
the bed and the wall, with a knife in its
heart. Now, gentlemen of the jury, these
arc the prominent facts, but there are some
collateral ones, which it iv my duty to men
tion. The landlady of the Wheatsheaf will
depose that, as she was passing the room
occupied by the sisters, she heard them con
versing, and with an incidental curiosity,
she paused to listen. when she heard the
prisoner say, "I shall go to the wall, and
not get a husband, all on account of your
little Ernest, when I intended to make our
uncle Ralph take to rue, or make me his fa
vorite, and leave me all his money." These,
the landlady will tell you, may not be the
eKaet. words used, but she will swear to you,
av she has already sw iris to the javtice, that
that they are very nett, and cont;.in the
sentiment that was uttered. C Alateral Era
the sec)' I, then, my lord, and gentlemen of
the jury, is, th it the knife which d me the
deed belongml to the prisoner, nal was
bought by h tr at C duatho, in Ceylon. Gen
tlemen, God aid and help 119 all to get at the
truth of this matter. I have nothing, more
to say."
The Attorney General sat down. not ad
ding one word to 144 bare statement of these
facts, on which the case rested.
A cold perspiration at on my brow.—
now fearfully strong; was the case, and
what had Ito rebut it with? Nothing--
nothing! What if Brown had absconded?
What if Brown had been swallowed up by
an earthquake? his absence or pre.ence
would make but little account in such a
cane. Ile bad only seen what others saw—
$1,50 PER, YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
he could add nothing to the evidence of the
landlord and landlady of the inn.
I felt as if my very heart paled, as I saw
the blank, half terror-stricken countenances
of the jury, and fancied that in every whis
per they indulged in to each other the word
"guilty" might be found.
The junior counsel fur the prosecution
now rose and called "Jacob Wilts."
There was a slight bustle, and the lend
lord got into the witness box. He merely
deposed to the coming of the si.ters and the
child to the "Wheatsheaf," and the alarm
in the night, and the finding of the dead
body of the child, as stated.
The Attorn 33. General then glanced at me,
and rose to cross examine.
"Had you any other guests in the 'Wheat
sheaf' on the night in question?"
"Yes, sir: n Mr. Brown."
"When did he cone?"
"About an hour after the ladies."
"Was he a stranger to yuu?"
"Quite, sir."
"Where did he sleep?"
"At the end of the gdlery, about fifty
paces off the ladies' room."
"You can .go down now, but I shall want
you again."
.•yes, sir."
Martha Wilts, the landlady was the next
witness examined, and she confirmed what
the landlord had stated. Her account of
what Anna had said made a strong impros
shin on the jury, and when I rose to cross
examine. her, I felt that was the point to at
tend to.
"Now, Mrs. Witty," T said, "you have
sail many a thing in jest to your husband,
nu doubt?"
"L,rd bless you, yes, sir."
"And meant no harm?"
"Not the least, sir."
"Of course m.t. Now, eta you recollect
anything you may have said to him, or of
him, in that harmless way latel}?"
"Olt dear, yes, sir! When lie takes a drop
too much I ant very apt to say that I hope
the next will choke hint, but I no more mean
it than you do, sir."
"Anil of course, by the tone in which you
say it, he knows it is only a juke?"
"To be sure."
"You speak it in something of the tone of
the prisoner at the bar when she said she
should never get a husband?"
"Just so, sir."
"That will do. You can go down."
Mr. Brown was the next witness called,
and no one appeared.
I was resolved to make the most I could
in favor of the prisoner nut of this disappear
once of Brown, although I feared it would
no. he much, but it was not then time to
t Of it.
y!.•r,,unc of Brown reverberated through
e.oirt, and the passages, and the adja
cent !street—but no Brown appeared.
The Attorney General himself then arose
and said:
"It is toy most painful duty to call Mrs.
Rachel Seaton. it is a duty I would fain
ha‘e avoided if pos s ible, for no man can
feel more sensibly than I do how sad to her
must be the task of being summoned to the
prosecution in this case, but it cannot be
helped, and I therefore call Mrs. Seaton."
With a slow aml melancholy step the poor
:nattier got into the witness Km, but she
kept her eyes upon Anna with a longing,
tender glance, till the judge said mildly—
" Witness, you must look this way."
Then she gently turned from the °bier
ration of Anna, and they could all see the
tears roll down tier cheeks.
"sirs—sir,!" she cried, "this should not
be You will understand, sirs, that be was
my bay—my only one. You cannot under
stand low I loved him—because—because
that is hidden here—hero, in my p or bro
ken heart. Bet when I win, losing him,
you see, sire, have lost nil—all that I had in
this world—when I declare that Anna is
innocent, you annul I listen to in - !. Last
night, sirs—it was at the same hour last
night—he, my babe—my own dear, dear
babe—oh, Heaven, these tears scald me:—
If I could die now—now:"
How she wept—what a pas-ion of grief
was there!—and throughout all that mart
you might hear sobs and faint cries; and the
judge wrapped his mantle round his face
and leaned back in his chair; and all was
still but the voice of grief in that court.
The Attorney General said faintly, will
ask nothing of this woman."
Then I rose.
"Madam: 31.t1am:"
3ly voice souniei hollow and strange, in
the midst of such grief and such sounds of
tears, ani the pJor watnan .tartel and looked
up at me.
"Ali, yo 9:" she pti4l, "t J you—to con:"
She had recognized me as acting for the
defence. and she meant to say that she would
T eak to me, and before I could ask her
anything. she went on:
'•Sirs, all listen ti me. [ di•! not see the
murderer of my darling.but [saw his shadow.
It is ever present with me now —like a phan
tom, it gms with me wherever I may go!—
Last night, too—oh. you will say that was a
dream, but dreams arc of heaven's making.
as well as waking thoughts—l s.iw him
then—my little angel! o'l, what a light of
[leaven in the dear eyes and on the little
face—the shining colors of 'leaven were
about him—my own dear little one: I heard
his voice—so soft, so low, so beautiful; and
he said that she was innocent, and had ever
lured him."
"Sister, dear thou," cried Anna, "I did
ever love bim—l am innocent."
[WHOLE i'• UAIBER 1,635.
There were sobs and cries now in the court
and twice I h‘d to command my voice to
speak before I could speak to hear, "Madam,
madam! that shadow yuu saw on the night
of the raurdet? Tell us of it."
"I will I saw it on the wall.—
The tall, broad shadow, or tho phantom of
a man."
"What was it like," interposed the judge.
"Tell us, madam, what it was like if you
can."
"I will! I will! What is this?"
Mrs. Seaton looked around her and up at
the wid,,ws ol the court with a shudder.
"It is nothing," nail I. "A thunder storm
i 9 about to tuke place. That is all."
For the last few moments the court had
been gradually getting so dusk that it was
scarcely possible to see from one side of the
room to the other, and scarcely had the last
trurJ4 passed my lips when a flash of Mile
lightning, that was perfectly bewildering in
its brightness, lit up the place, and was fol
lowe I by such a peal of thunder that the
building in which was the mutt house ap
peared to :hake to its foundation?.
A scene of confusion appeare. , l in court by
the cfnrts of some to leave, and by some fe
males fainting. A loud voice then cried out
close to the dosr. "Make way there—Make
way! I cannot—l will not stay here. Wo
shall have the place down about our .cars!
Out of my way."
A man who had boon hiding ;n an obscure
corner, close to the
,jury --bus, tried to fight
his. way out of court. Then a 'Nice cried.
out, "That is Brown:"
It was never di-covered who uttered those
word 4, but I called out loudly: "Detain that
man! lie is a witness in this case, and duly
subpoenaed, and being in court can be com
pelled to speak. Stop that man!"
Brown was pounced upon by several offi
cers and brought forward.
"What is this for?" he cried. "What have
I done? Ifs, ha! A prime joke this!"
The Attorney General sprang to his feet.
"You are our witness," ho said. "My
Lord Judge, may we have lights?"
"Lights:" said the judge; "I cannot see
my note. 9."
The darkness of the court increased each
moment, and the thunder again, like the dis
charge of heavy ordnance, rolled over the
building
"I have nothing to say," cried Brown—
"no evidence to give, I tell you. I was fast
asleep rind heard cries, and went to see what
was amiss; and then I saw just what the
landlord and landlady saw—no more, no
less."
"Lights, there!" cried the judge.
"Yes, my lord," said a voice.
A man apper.rod with a light with which
to ignite the clinndelier.
"What P !alas are those? Oh! sounds of
terror—wild laughter, cries of exultation
mingled with horror.
It is the bereaved mother.
"Look—oh, lout.: There on the wall, nenr
to yon, my L Judge! This is God's mercy!
Ic is Ileaven'N te.tisnony—the phantom wit
nes,! I know it well There is the mur
derer's shadon:"
Then: way a strange slicuting cry in Om
court. The c , un9el all rise front their seat.,
and the judge ',Joked askance with amaze-
moot on his race
Ca-t on the wall of the court, by the light
that had been brought, was the shadow of
the man Brown. Hugo and exaggerated,
there it was: and he shrunk down in the
rain hope of escaping its production, Mrs.
Seaton had seen it, esen as she had seen it
cast on the wall of the corrider of the inn by
the oil lamp in the passage, as he shrunk
away with the blood of the innocent child up
on his soul.
Brown then made a frantic effort to CE-
Cape; hut. he was overpowered and secured
in a moment. The storm cloud passed over,
and a Img, broad beam of sun blue streamed
into the court.
' Guilty!" cried the jury with one
voice, and in another moment Anna was in
the arms of her sister
Theu a tall, pale old man stocvl np by the
side of the judge. It was Sir Ralph Heri
tage, the Iligh Sheriff, who had risen from
his sick bed, and arrived in court during
its darktie:s from the storm. Ilia hand.'
ela.ped together mid with a deep sigh, ho
said a 4 he leolol at Brown—
'•You arc my unhappy son, nn.l now
kayo a key to all these horrors. Y. 311 !MVO
done murder, lest a new claimant on my af
fection should arise in the person of the poor
child you have destroyed. My Lird .Judea,
this is my death blow. Take me home, you
who have compassion."
The Ili A ls Sheriff sank back on the bench,
and when they scent to raise him they found
a corp.°
The motive of Richard Heritage in com
mitting, that dreadful deed at the inn was
now• but too apparent. Re was tried and
convicted in due course, but managed to pro
cure a deadly poison, and avoided the sen
tence of the I.ttc.
A will of Sir Ralph heritage was found
which lea the balk of hie property to the
poor murdered child, so that his male rea
d% es put in their claims; but a sufficient SUES
was secured fur the case and comfort of both
Rachel and Anna.
Poor Rachel! She only lived one year,
anfl then went to see, no'. in a dream but in
reality, the sunshine of Heaven on the face
of her baby boy.
larMisses may be wised, but oftentimes
wives, even though they die arc not missed.