d not
change it for any other sleeping quarters, and even the migratory
loafers seem to know and respect old "Lawyer" Brady's seat in Trial Term
Part XX.

But, with divorce matters on the calendar, Special Term Part I. appeals
to a particular class. One can recognise its women out in the Rotunda
long before they turn toward the haven, and one can almost feel its
moist and clammy type of man.

To see the women with their hard faces well nigh intelligent with
curiosity--their long necks and ears turned to catch each salacious
morsel--is a sight to sicken every man with memory of a mother. To watch
the flabby-jowled, pimply persons of the masculine gender, their
drooling mouths fashioned to a grin, and their perspiring hands
clutching the soiled and soiling newspapers, is to understand the cynic
who protested that "the more he saw of men the better he liked dogs."

"Mr. Harding," said the Justice, as the arguments in _Fenton_ vs.
_Fenton_ closed, "it seems to me the defendant has made out a reasonable
case. As you have said, this matter rests wholly in the discretion of
the Court, and although we hold the parents joint and equal guardians of
their children and do not follow the old world rule that a father has a
superior claim to the possession of his offspring, yet, as it seems to
me, this is a case where that rule should apply. Mrs. Fenton has left
her husband's house without just cause, as he alleges. She makes no
claim for his support, and the complaint, as has been shown, is
deficient in its detail. If I am wrong, a trial will set the matter
right. In the meantime I award the possession of the children to the
father. If you can agree with Mr. Sargent upon the terms of the order,
I will make such provision for occasional visits of the mother as
justice may----"

A scraping of chairs and rustling of skirts drowned the closing words of
the Judge and Sargent turned to see a woman entering the Court Room with
two little children at her side. She walked directly toward the
counsel's table, and the restless eye-lashes of the unsexed "painted"
her in rapid sweeping glances, now up--now down--and the fat-paunched
leerers followed her with looks scarcely less offensive.

"My child, you should not have come here," whispered Mr. Harding, as he
rose and offered her his chair.

She was scarcely more than a girl, but her tall graceful figure bespoke
a quiet dignity, and the grey eyes with their steady gaze told of
developed