of the prosecutor by his stern cross-examination, addressed the jury,
not as an advocate bearing down upon them with his arguments and
appeals, but rather as a thirteenth juryman, who had cosily introduced
himself into their company, and was arguing the case with them after
they had retired for consultation among themselves. The simplicity of
the language employed is not more notable than the power evinced in
seizing the main points on which the question of guilt or innocence
turned. At every quiet but deadly stab aimed at the theory of the
prosecution, he is careful to remark, that "it is for the jury to say
under their oaths" whether such inconsistencies or improbabilities
should have any effect on their minds. Every strong argument closes with
the ever-recurring phrase, "It is for the jury to say"; and, at the end,
the jury, thoroughly convinced, said, "Not guilty." The Kennistons were
vindicated; and the public, which had been almost unanimous in declaring
them fit tenants for the State prison, soon blamed the infatuation which
had made them the accomplices of a villain in hunting down two
unoffending citizens, and of denouncing every lawyer who should
undertake their defence as a legal rogue.

The detected scoundrel fled from the place where his rascality had been
exposed, to seek some other locality, where the mingled jeers and curses
of his dupes would be unheard. Some twenty years after the trial, Mr.
Webster, while travelling in Western New York, stopped at an obscure
village tavern to get a glass of water. The hand of the man behind the
bar, who gave it to him, trembled violently; and Webster, wondering at
the cause, looked the fellow steadily in the eye. He recognized
Goodridge, and understood at once that Goodridge had just before
recognized _him_. Not a word passed between the felon and the intrepid
advocate who had stripped his villany of all its plausible disguises;
but what immense meaning must there have been in the swift interchange