trial, yet, were that to conclude at any moment, I should
be perfectly unable to regain the place where I had stationed them, and
the most serious consequences might ensue from the absence of their
officer, if the men were required to act.

From the time this thought took possession of me, I became excessively
uncomfortable. Every expression of the people that denoted the progress
of the trial, only alarmed me for the conclusion, which I supposed, might
not be distant, and I began, with all my ingenuity, to attempt my
retreat, which, after half an hour's severe struggle, I completely
abandoned, finding myself scarcely ten yards from where I started.

At length, the counsel for the crown, who had been speaking to evidence,
ceased; and an indistinct murmur was heard through the court-house, which
was soon repressed by the voice of the crier calling "silence." All now
seemed still and silent as the grave--yet, on listening attentively, for
some time, you could catch the low tones of a voice speaking, as it
appeared, with great deliberation and slowness. This was the judge
addressing the jury. In a short time this also ceased; and, for about
half an hour, the silence was perfectly unbroken, and both within and
without there reigned one intense and aching sense of anxiety that
absorbed every feeling, and imparted to every face an expression of
almost agonizing uncertainty. It was, indeed, a space well calculated to
excite such emotions. The jury had retired to deliberate upon their
verdict. At length a door was heard to open, and the footsteps of the
jury, as they resumed their places, sounded through the court, and were
heard by those without. How heavily upon many a stout heart those
footsteps fell! They had taken their seats--then came another pause
--after which the monotonous tones of the clerk of the court were heard,
addressing the jury for their verdict. As the foreman rises every ear is
bent--every eye strained--every heart-string vibrates: his lips move, but
he is not heard; he is desired by the judge to speak louder; the colour
mounts to his before bloodless face; he appears to labour for a few
seconds with a mighty effort, and, at last, pronounces the words,
"Guilty, my Lord--all guilty!"

I have heard the wild war-whoop of the red Indian, as, in his own pine
forest, he has unexpectedly come upon the track of his foe, and the
almost extinguished hope of vengeance has been kindled again in his cruel
he