As he approached the court a
moment ago he had raised his eyes and beheld the starry flag flying
from its dome--and he knew that glorious banner was a symbol of the
perfect equality, under the Constitution, of the rich and the poor,
the strong and the weak--an equality which made the simple citizen
taken from the plough in the veld, the pick in the gulch, or from
behind the counter in the mining town, who served on that jury, the
equal arbiters of justice with that highest legal luminary whom they
were proud to welcome on the bench to-day. The Colonel paused, with a
stately bow to the impassive Judge. It was this, he continued, which
lifted his heart as he approached the building. And yet--he had
entered it with an uncertain--he might almost say--a timid step. And
why? He knew, gentlemen, he was about to confront a profound--aye! a
sacred responsibility! Those hymn-books and holy writings handed to
the jury were _not_, as his Honor surmised, for the purpose of
enabling the jury to indulge in--er--preliminary choral exercise! He
might, indeed, say "alas not!" They were the damning, incontrovertible
proofs of the perfidy of the defendant.
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