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THE WAYS OF THE HOUR
tween the 20th and the 27th of May last. I could have held no
such conversation on the 25th or 26th of May; nor do I know
that I think Mary Monson either innocent or guilty.”
As all this was true, and was uttered with the confidence
of truth, it made an impression on the audience. Williams
doubted; for so fine was his skill in managing men, that he
often succeeded in gaining jurors by letting them understand
he suspected them of being prejudiced against his case. With
the weak and vain, this mode of proceeding has frequently
more success than a contrary course; the party suspected being
doubly anxious to illustrate his impartiality in his verdict. This
was what Williams, and indeed the bar, very generally calls
“standing so erect as to lean backward.”
“Mr. Williams,” said the judge, “you must challenge peremptorily, or the juror will be received.” “No, your Honour,
the State will accept the juror; I now see that my information
has been wrong.”
“We challenge for the defence,” said Timms, deciding on
the instant, on the ground that if Williams was so ready to
change his course of proceeding, there must be a good reason
for it. “Stand aside, juror.”
“Peter Bailey,” called the clerk.
No objection being made, Peter Bailey took his seat. The
two next jurors were also received unquestioned; and it only
remained to draw the twelfth man. This was so much better
luck than commonly happens in capital cases, that everybody
seemed more and more pleased, as if all were anxious to come
to the testimony. The judge evidently felicitated himself, rubbing his hands with very great satisfaction. The bar, generally,
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
entered into his feelings; for it helped along its business. “On
the whole,” observed one of the lawyers who was in extensive
practice, speaking to another at his side, “I would as soon try
one of these murder – cases as to go through with a good water – cause.”
“Oh! they are excruciating! Get into a good water – cause,
with about thirty witnesses on a side, and you are in for a week.
I was three days at one, only last circuit.”
“Are there many witnesses in this case?”
“About forty, I hear,” glancing towards the benches where
most of the females sat. “They tell me there will be a very formidable array as to character. Ladies from York by the dozen!”
“They will be wanted, if all they say is true.
“If all you hear is true, we have reached a new epoch in
the history of mankind. I have never seen the day when half
of that I hear is more than half true. I set the rest down as
`leather and prunella.”’
“Robert Robinson,” cried the clerk.
A respectable – looking man of fifty presented himself,
and was about to enter the box without stopping to ascertain
whether or not he would be welcome there. This person had
much more the air of the world than either of the other jurors;
and with those who are not very particular, or very discriminating in such matters, might readily enough pass for a gentleman. He was neatly dressed, wore gloves, and had certain
chains, an eye – glass, and other appliances of the sort, that it
is not usual to see at a country circuit. Neither Williams nor
Timms seemed to know the juror; but each looked surprised,
and undecided how he ought to act. The peremptory chal-
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THE WAYS OF THE HOUR
lenges were not exhausted; and there was a common impulse
in the two lawyers, first to accept one so respectable in mien,
and attire, and general air; and then, by a sudden revolution of
feeling, to reject one of whom they knew nothing.
“I suppose the summons is all right,” Williams carelessly
remarked. “The juror resides in Duke’s?” “I do,” was the answer.
“Is a freeholder, and entitled to serve?”
A somewhat supercilious smile came over the countenance
of the juror; and he looked round at the person who could
presume to make such a remark, with something very like an
air of contempt.
“I am Doctor Robinson,” he then observed, laying emphasis on his learned appellation.
Williams seemed at a loss; for, to say the truth, he had never heard of any such physician in the county. Timms was quite
as much mystified; when a member of the bar leaned across a
table, and whispered to Dunscomb that the juror was a celebrated quack, who made pills that would cure all diseases; and
who, having made a fortune, had bought a place in the county,
and was to all legal purposes entitled to serve.
“The juror can stand aside,” said Dunscomb, rising in his
slow dignified manner. “If it please the court, we challenge peremptorily.”
Timms looked still more surprised; and when told the reason for the course taken by his associate, he was even sorry.
“The man is a quack,” said Dunscomb, “and there is quackery enough in this system of a jury, without calling in assistance from the more open practitioners.”
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
“I’m afraid, ‘Squire, he is just the sort of man we want. I can
work on such spirits, when I fail altogether with more everyday – kind of men. A little quackery does no harm to some
causes.”
“Ira Kingsland,” called out the clerk.
Ira Kingsland appeared, a staid, solid, respectable husband – man one of those it is a mistaken usage of the country
to term yeomen; and of a class that contains more useful information, practical good sense and judgment, than might be
imagined, under all the circumstances.
As no objection was raised, this juror was received, and the
pannel was complete. After cautioning the jurors about listening and talking, in the usual way, the judge adjourned the
court for dinner.
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CHAPTER XXI
“I know it is dreadful! I feel the
Anguish of thy generous soul but
I was born To murder all who love me.”
George Barnwell.
Dunscomb was followed to his room by Millington, between
whom and himself, John Wilmeter had occasion to remark, a
sudden intimacy had sprung up. The counsellor had always
liked his student, or he would never have consented to give
him his niece; but it was not usual for him to hold as long, or
seemingly as confidential conversations with the young man,
as now proved to be the case. When the interview was over,
Millington mounted a horse and galloped off, in the direction
of town, in that almost exploded manner of moving. Time was,
and that within the memory of man, when the gentlemen of
New York were in their saddles hours each day; but all this is
changing with the times. We live in an age of buggies, the gig,
phaeton, and curricle having disappeared, and the utilitarian
vehicle just named having taken their places. Were it not for
the women, who still have occasion for closer carriages, the
whole nation would soon be riding about in buggies! Beresford is made, by one of his annotators, to complain that everything like individuality is becoming lost in England, and that
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
the progress of great improvements must be checked, or independent thinkers will shortly be out of the question. If this be
true of England, what might not be said on the same subject of
America? Here, where there is so much community as to have
completely engulphed everything like individual thought and
action, we take it the most imitative people on earth are to
be found. This truth is manifested in a thousand things. Every
town is getting its Broadway, thus defeating the very object of
names; to – day the country is dotted with Grecian temples,
to – morrow with Gothic villages, all the purposes of domestic
architecture being sadly forgotten in each; and, as one of the
Spensers is said to have introduced the article of dress which
bears his name, by betting he could set the fashion of cutting
off the skirts of the coat, so might one who is looked up to, in
this country, almost set the fashion of cutting off the nose.
Dunscomb, however, was a perfectly original thinker. This
he manifested in his private life, as well as in his public profession. His opinions were formed in his own way, and his acts
were as much those of the individual as circumstances would
at all allow. His motives in despatching Millington so suddenly to town were known to himself, and will probably be shown
to the reader, as the narrative proceeds.
“Well, sir, how are we getting on?” asked John Wilmeter,
throwing himself into a chair, in his uncle’s room, with a heated and excited air. “I hope things are going to your mind?”
“We have got a jury, Jack, and that is all that can be said in
the matter,” returned the uncle, looking over some papers as
the conversation proceeded. “It is good progress, in a capital
case, to get a jury empannelled in the first forenoon.”
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THE WAYS OF THE HOUR
“You’ll have the verdict in, by this time to – morrow, sir,
I’m afraid!”
“Why afraid, boy? The sooner the poor woman is acquitted,
the better will it be for her.” “Ay, if she be acquitted; but I fear
everything is looking dark, in the case.”
“And this from you, who fancied the accused an angel of
light, only a week since!”
“She is certainly a most fascinating creature, when she
chooses to be,” said John, with emphasis; “but she does not always choose to appear in that character.”
“She is most certainly a fascinating creature, when she
chooses to be!” returned the uncle, with very much the same
sort of emphasis.
But Dunscomb’s manner was very different from that of
his nephew. John was excited, petulant, irritable, and in a state
to feel and say disagreeable things; dissatisfied with himself,
and consequently not very well pleased with others. A great
change had come over his feelings, truly, within the last week,
and the image of the gentle Anna Updyke was fast taking the
place of that of Mary Monson. As the latter seldom saw the
young man, and then only at the grate, the former had got to
be the means of communication between the youthful advocate and his client, throwing them constantly in each other’s
way. On such occasions Anna was always so truthful, so gentle,
so earnest, so natural, and so sweetly feminine, that John must
have been made of stone, to remain insensible of her excellent qualities. If women did but know how much their power,
not to say charms, are increased by gentleness, by tenderness
in lieu of coldness of manner, by keeping within the natural
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
circle of their sex’s feelings, instead of aping an independence
and spirit more suited to men than to their own condition, we
should see less of discord in domestic life, happier wives, better
mothers, and more reasonable mistresses. No one knew this
better than Dunscomb, who had not been an indifferent spectator of his nephew’s course, and who fancied this a favourable
moment to say a word to him, on a subject that he felt to be
important.
“This choosing to be is a very material item in the female
character,” continued the counsellor, after a moment of silent
and profound thought. “Whatever else you may do, my boy, in
the way of matrimony, marry a gentle and feminine woman.
Take my word for it, there is no true happiness with any other.”
“Women have their tastes and caprices, and like to indulge
them, sir, as well as ourselves.”
“All that may be true, but avoid what is termed a woman of
independent spirit. They are usually so many devils incarnate.
If they happen to unite moneyed independence with moral
independence, I am not quite certain that their tyranny is not
worse than that of Nero. A tyrannical woman is worse than a
tyrannical man, because she is apt to be capricious. At one moment she will blow hot, at the next cold; at one time she will
give, at the next clutch back her gifts; to – day she is the devoted and obedient wife, to – morrow the domineering partner. No, no, Jack, marry a woman; which means a kind, gentle,
affectionate, thoughtful creature, whose heart is so full of you,
there is no room in it for herself. Marry just such a girl as Anna
Updyke, if you can get her.”
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THE WAYS OF THE HOUR
“I thank you, sir,” answered John, colouring. “I dare say the
advice is good, and I shall bear it in mind. What would you
think of a woman like Mary Monson, for a wife?”
Dunscomb turned a vacant look at his nephew, as if his
thoughts were far away, and his chin dropped on his bosom.
This abstraction lasted but a minute, however when the young
man got his answer.
“Mary Monson is a wife, and I fear a bad one,” returned the
counsellor. “If she be the woman I suppose her to be, her history, brief as it is, is a very lamentable one. John, you are my sister’s
son, and my heir. You are nearer to me than any other human
being, in one sense, though I certainly love Sarah quite as well
as I do you, if not a little better. These ties of feeling are strange
links in our nature! At one time I loved your mother with a
tenderness such as a father might feel for a child; in short, with
a brother’s love a brother’s love for a young, and pretty, and
good girl, and I thought I could never love another as I loved
Elizabeth. She returned my affection, and there was a period of
many years when it was supposed that we were to pass down the
vale of life in company, as brother and sister old bachelor and
old maid. Your father deranged all this, and at thirty – four my
sister left me. It was like pulling my heartstrings out of me, and
so much the worse, boy, because they were already sore.”
John started. His uncle spoke hoarsely, and a shudder, that
was so violent as to be perceptible to his companion, passed
through his frame. The cheeks of the counsellor were usually
colourless; now they appeared absolutely pallid.
“This, then,” thought John Wilmeter, “is the insensible old
bachelor, who was thought to live altogether for himself. How
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JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
little does the world really know of what is passing within it!
Well may it be said, `there is a skeleton in every house.”’
Dunscomb soon recovered his self – command. Reaching
forth an arm, he took his nephew’s hand, and said affectionately
“I am not often thus, Jack, as you must know, A vivid recollection of days that have long been past came freshly over me,
and I believe I have been a little unmanned. To you, my early
history is a blank; but a very few words will serve to tell all
you need ever know. I was about your time of life, Jack, when
I loved, courted, and became engaged to Mary Millington Michael’s great – aunt. Is this new to you?”
“Not entirely, sir; Sarah has told me something of the same
sort you know the girls get hold of family anecdotes sooner
than we men.”
“She then probably told you that I was cruelly, heartlessly
jilted, for a richer man. Mary married, and left one daughter;
who also married early, her own cousin, Frank Millington, the
cousin of Michael’s father. You may now see why I have ever
felt so much interest in your future brother – in – law.”
“He is a good fellow, and quite free from all jilting blood,
I’ll answer for it. But, what has become of this Mrs. Frank Millington? I remember no such person.”
“Like her mother, she died young, leaving an only daughter to inherit her name and very ample fortune. The reason
you never knew Mr. Frank Millington is probably because
he went to Paris early, where he educated his daughter, in a
great degree there, and in England and when he died, Mildred
Millington, the heiress of both parents, is said to have had
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