magnitude and dignity of the occasion, the part he was to fill, and the
high presence into which he had come. He was evidently favorably
impressed with his own personal pulchritude; yet with an air of modest
deprecation, as if he said by his manner, "After all, what _is_ beauty,
that man should be proud of it; and what are fine clothes, that the
wearers should put themselves above the unfortunate mortals who have
them not?"
He advanced with deliberate gravity to the stand. There he stood, his
large bell-crowned hat, with nankeen-colored nap an inch long, in his
hand; which hat he carefully handed over the bar to the clerk to hold
until he should get through his testimony. He wore a blue
single-breasted coat with new brass buttons, a vest of bluish calico,
nankeen pants that struggled to make both ends meet, but failed, by a
few inches, in the legs, yet made up for it by fitting a little better
than the skin everywhere else. His head stood upon a shirt collar that
held it up by the ears, and a cravat, something smaller than a
table-cloth, bandaged his throat; his face was narrow, long, and grave,
with an indescribable air of ponderous wisdom, which, as Fox said of
Thurlow, "proved him _necessarily_ a hypocrite; as it was _impossible_
for _any_ man to be as wise as _he_ looked." Gravity and decorum marked
every lineament of his countenance and every line of his body. All the
wit of Hudibras could not have moved a muscle of his face. His
conscience would have smitten him for a laugh almost as soon as for an
oath. His hair was roached up, and stood as erect and upright as his
body; and his voice was slow, deep, in "linked sweetness long drawn
out," and modulated according to the camp-meeting standard of elocution.
Three such men at a country frolic would have turned an old Virginia
reel into a dead march. He was one of Carlyle's earnest men. Cromwell
would have made him ensign of the Ironsides, and _ex-officio_ chaplain
at first sight. He took out his pocket-handkerchief, slowly unfolded it
from the shape in which it came from the washerwoman's, and awaited the
interrogation. As he waited, he spat on the floor, and nicely wiped it
out with his foot. The solicitor told him to tell about the difficulty
in hand. He gazed around on the court, then on the bar, then on the
jury, then on the crowd, addressing each respectively as he turned: "May
it please your honor, gentlemen of the bar, gentlemen of the jury,
audience: Before proceeding to give my testimonial observations, I must
premise that I am a member of the Methodist Episcopal, otherwise called
Wesleyan, persuasion of Christian individuals. One bright Sabbath
morning in May, the 15th day of the month, the past year, while the
birds were singing their matutinal songs from the trees, I sallied forth
from the dormitory of my seminary to enjoy the reflections so well
suited to that auspicious occasion. I had not proceeded far before my
ears were accosted with certain Bacchanalian sounds of revelry, which
proceeded from one of those haunts of vicious depravity located at the
cross-roads, near the place of my boyhood, and fashionably denominated a
doggery. No sooner had I passed beyond the precincts of this diabolical
rendezvous of rioting debauchees, than I heard behind me the sounds of
approaching footsteps, as if in pursuit. Having heard previously sundry
menaces, which had been made by these preposterous and incarnadine
individuals of hell, now on trial in prospect of condign punishment,
fulminated against the longer continuance of my corporeal salubrity, for
no better reason than that I reprobated their criminal orgies, and not
wishing my reflections to be disturbed, I hurried my steps with a
gradual accelerated motion. Hearing, however, their continued advance,
and the repeated shoutings, articulating the murderous accents, 'Kill
him! Kill Shadbelly, with his praying clothes on!' (which was a profane
designation of myself and my religious profession), and casting my head
over my left shoulder in a manner somehow reluctantly, thus, (throwing
his head to one side), and perceiving their near approximation, I
augmented my speed into what might be denominated a gentle slope, and
subsequently augmented the same into a species of dog-trot. But all
would not do. Gentlemen, the destroyer came. As I reached the fence, and
was about propelling my body over the same, felicitating myself on my
prospect of escape from my remorseless pursuers, they arrived, and James
William Jones, called by nickname, Buck Jones, that red-headed character
now at the bar of this honorable court, seized a fence rail, grasped it
in both hands, and, standing on tip-toe, hurled the same, with mighty
emphasis, against my cerebellum, which blow felled me to the earth.
Straightway, like ignoble curs upon a disabled lion, these bandit
ruffians and incarnadine assassins leaped upon me, some pelting, some
bruising, some gouging,--'everything by turns, and nothing long,' as the
poet hath it; and one of them,--which one unknown to me, having no eyes
behind,--inflicted with his teeth a grievous wound upon my person;
where, I need not specify. At length, when thus prostrate on the ground,
one of those bright ideas, common to minds of men of genius, struck me.
I forthwith sprang to my feet, drew forth my cutto, circulated the same
with much vivacity among their several and respective corporeal systems,
and every time I circulated the same I felt their iron grasp relax. As
cowardly recreants, even to their own guilty friendships, two of these
miscreants, though but slightly perforated by my cutto, fled, leaving
the other two, whom I had disabled by the vigor and energy of my
incisions, prostrate and in my power. These lustily called for quarter,
shouting out 'Enough!' or, in their barbarous dialect, being as corrupt
in language as in morals, 'Nuff!' which quarter I magnanimously extended
them, as unworthy of my farther vengeance, and fit only as subject of
penal infliction at the hands of the offended laws of their country, to
which laws I do now consign them, hoping such mercy for them as their
crimes will permit; which, in my judgment (having read the code) is not
much. This is my statement on oath, fully and truly, nothing extenuating
and naught setting down in malice; and if I have omitted anything, in
form or substance, I stand ready to supply the omission; and if I have
stated anything amiss, I will cheerfully correct the same, limiting the
averment, with appropriate modifications, provisions, and restrictions.
The learned counsel may now proceed more particularly to interrogate me
of and respecting the premises."
After this oration, Burwell wiped the perspiration from his brow, and
the counsel for the state took him. Few questions were asked him,
however, by that official, he confining himself to a recapitulation in
simple terms, of what the witness had declared, and procuring Burwell's
assent to his translation. Long and searching was the cross-examination
by the defendant's counsel; but it elicited nothing favorable to the
defense, and nothing shaking, but much to confirm, Burwell's statement.
After some other evidence, the examination closed, and the argument to
the jury commenced. The solicitor very briefly adverted to the leading
facts, deprecated any attempt to turn the case into ridicule, admitted
that the witness was a man of eccentricity and pedantry, but harmless
and inoffensive; a man, evidently, of conscientiousness and
respectability; that he had shown himself to be a peaceable man, but
when occasion demanded, a brave man; that there was a conspiracy to
assassinate him upon no cause except an independence, which was
honorable to him, and an attempt to execute the purpose, in pursuance of
previous threats, and severe injury by several confederates on a single
person, and this on the Sabbath, and when he was seeking to avoid them.
W.M. rose to reply. All Screamersville turned out to hear him. William
was a great favorite,--the most popular speaker in the country,--had the
versatility of a mocking-bird, an aptitude for burlesque that would have
given him celebrity as a dramatist, and a power of acting that would
have made his fortune on the boards of a theater. A rich treat was
expected, but it didn't come. The witness had taken all the wind out of
William's sails. He had rendered burlesque impossible. The thing as
acted was more ludicrous than it could be as described. The crowd had
laughed themselves hoarse already; and even M.'s comic powers seemed,
and were felt by himself, to be humble imitations of a greater master.
For once in his life M. dragged his subject heavily along. The matter
began to grow serious,--fun failed to come when M. called it up. M.
closed between a lame argument, a timid deprecation, and some only
tolerable humor. He was followed by E., in a discursive, argumentative,
sarcastic, drag-net sort of speech, which did all that could be done
for the defense. The solicitor briefly closed, seriously and confidently
confining himself to a repetition of the matters first insisted, and
answering some of the points of the counsel.
It was an ominous fact that a juror, before the jury retired, under
leave of the court, recalled a witness for the purpose of putting a
question to him: the question was how much the defendants were worth;
the answer was, about two thousand dollars.
The jury shortly after returned into the court with a verdict which
"sized their pile."
THE PRAYER OF CYRUS BROWN
BY SAM WALTER FOSS
"The proper way for a man to pray,"
Said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
"And the only proper attitude
Is down upon his knees."
"No, I should say the way to pray,"
Said Rev. Dr. Wise,
"Is standing straight, with outstretched arms,
And rapt and upturned eyes."
"Oh, no; no, no," said Elder Slow,
"Such posture is too proud;
A man should pray with eyes fast closed
And head contritely bowed."
"It seems to me his hands should be
Austerely clasped in front,
With both thumbs pointing toward the ground,"
Said Rev. Dr. Blunt.
"Las' year I fell in Hodgkin's well
Head first," said Cyrus Brown,
"With both my heels a-stickin' up,
My head a-pinting down.
"An' I made a prayer right then an' there--
Best prayer I ever said.
The prayingest prayer I ever prayed,
A-standing on my head."
"Well told and dramatically strong, it breathes again the spirit of
Dumas and Bulwer-Lytton."--_Portland Oregonian._
The Palace of Danger
A STORY OF LA POMPADOUR
By MABEL WAGNALLS
_Author of "Stars of the Opera," "Miserere," etc._
"There have been few groups of characters who have been used more
frequently in fiction than the members of the court of Louis XV.,
and there have been few attempts to make romance of their lives
that are quite so delightful as this story. Around the heroine and
hero Miss Wagnalls has spun a tale that has the quality of holding
the reader's attention from first page to last. _It is charged with
dramatic movement and a wealth and charm of style._"--_New York
Press._
"A powerful novel, exciting, interesting, and well worked
out."--_San Francisco Examiner._
"The author has shown skill in the use of her materials."--_Boston
Globe._
"It is a thoroughly human story, and so well constructed that the
interest holds one to the end."--_The Review of Reviews_, New York.
"The author gives a splendid picture of that magnificent court and
the conditions which eventually brought about the revolution. The
precarious position of every member of that court from La Pompadour
down to the meanest lackey, whose very lives were in constant
danger from the whims of the weak but self-indulgent king, is made
very real by the author."--_Globe-Democrat_, St. Louis.
_Illustrations by John Ward Dunsmore. 12mo, Cloth. $1.50_
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MISERERE
By MABEL WAGNALLS
_Author of "Stars of the Opera," &c._
A brief, but beautiful romance in which the discovery of a rich and
powerful voice leads ultimately to a climax as thrilling as the death
scene in "Romeo and Juliet." The story is told with simple grace and
directness, and is singularly pathetic and forceful.
"It is perfectly delightful. The theme is new and
interesting."--_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._
"It is a story of tender and pathetic interest--the story of a
woman with a wonderfully beautiful voice. A dainty and fascinating
romance which will appeal to music lovers."--_Chicago News._
"It vibrates with musical sentiment. There is a good deal of
artistic skill displayed in its description."--_Boston Watchman._
"A story unique in theme, delightfully told with many delicate
touches."--_The Arena_, Boston.
_Small 12mo, Cloth. Illustrated. 40 Cents, net_
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers
NEW YORK AND LONDON