It may well be questioned whether, taking a broad view of the matter, gold has not produced more evil than good.  Point out, if you can, one crime, be it the most heinous and inhuman of which you can possibly conceive, that has not been perpetrated for the sake of gold, or has not its equal in the history of the battle for wealth.  We can conceive of no worse a thing than a human soul idolizing a mass of shining metal, and counting out, with lean and tremulous hands, the coined dollars.  Late and early the devotee bows at the shrine.  No motive can induce him to remove his fixed gaze from the god he worships.  No act too base for him to execute if gold holds out its glittering purse.  No tears of widows, no orphan’s cry, no brother’s famishing look, no parent’s imploring gaze, no wife’s loving appeal, doth he heed; but on, and on, day by day, night by night, he rakes together the scattered fragments, rears his altar, and lays his soul upon it, a burnt sacrifice to his God.

It was the first day of the trial, and the excitement was intense.  The court-house was filled at an early hour to its utmost capacity, whilst the lanes leading to it were completely blocked up with crowds of inquisitive inquirers.  The professor left his study, the trader his accounts, and the mechanic dismissed for a while the toil of his avocation.

The judges had arrived; the counsel of both parties were at their respective desks; all were eager to get a full sight-if not this, a passing glance-at the prisoner’s face.  They were looking for his arrival, and if a close carriage drew near, they believed he was within, until the carriage passing by withered all their hopes, and blasted their fond expectations.  Such was the state of feeling when a rumor began to pass round that he, the prisoner, had been privately conveyed into court.  Some believed, and some disbelieved; some went away, whilst others remained, not giving up all hope of having their desire gratified.-But why all this?

Pedro Castello, a young man, an Italian by birth, had been indicted, and was soon to be tried, charged with two heinous crimes-murder and robbery.  The murdered was an aged person, one of a very quiet and sedate character, whose every movement seemed to be by stealth, and who seemed to care for none but himself, but who took particular interest in what he did care for.  This individual had, for quite a number of years, been a resident in the town where the incidents we now propose to relate transpired.

Lorenzo Pedan had the reputation of being wealthy.  Whether he was so or not, no one could positively determine; at least, many thought so, and here a farmer, there a mechanic, offered to bet all that he was worth that “Renzo,” as he was called, could show his fifty thousand.  It was well known that he was once in prosperous business; that then, as the saying is, he moved on “swimmingly.”  But, two or three years previous to the time we now speak of, he suddenly gave up business, closed his