“Jury are present?” enquires Fetter, with great gravity, bowing to one side and then to the other, as he resumes his seat on the tribune.

“Present, yer ’oner;” the officer answers in a deep, gruff voice, as he steps forward and places a volume of the revised statutes before that high jurist.  Fetter moves the book to his left, where Felsh has taken his seat.  With placid countenance and softest accents, Fetter orders the prisoner at the bar to stand up while our constable calls the names of the jurymen.

Our victim of democracy’s even-handed justice obeys the summons, rising as his dark eyes flash angrily, and that hatred wrong which lurks in his bosom seems kindling anew.  “James M’Neilty!  Terrance M’Quade!  Harry Johanna!  Baldwin Dobson!  Patrick Henessy!  Be dad and I have um all now, yer ’oner,” ejaculates the official, exultingly, as one by one the “nigger jurymen” respond to the call and take their seats on a wooden slab at the right of his Honour, squire Fetter.  “You are, I may be sure, gentlemen, freeholders?” enquires his honour, with a mechanical bow.  They answer simultaneously in the affirmative, and then, forming in a half circle, lay their hands on a volume of Byron, which Fetter makes do for a Bible, and subscribe to the sacred oath Felsh administers.  By the Giver of all Good will they return a verdict according to the evidence and the facts.  “Gentlemen will take their seats” (the officer must preserve order in the court!) “the prisoner may also sit down,” says Felsh, the words falling from his lips with great gravity, as, opening the revised statutes, he rises to address the jury.

“Gentlemen of the Jury!"-suddenly hesitates for a moment-"the solemn duties which you are now called upon to perform” (at this moment Terrance M’Quade draws a small bottle from his pocket, and after helping himself to a portion of its contents passes it to his fellows, much to the surprise of the learned Felsh, who hopes such indecorum will cease) “and they are duties which you owe to the safety of the state as well as to the protection of your own families, are much enhanced by the superior mental condition of the criminal before you.”  Here Mr. Felsh calls for a volume of Prince’s Digest, from which he instructs the jury upon several important points of the law made and provided for making the striking a white person by a slave or person of colour a capital offence.  “Your honour, too, will see the case to which I refer-’State and Prudence!’” The learned gentleman extends the book, that his august eyes may have a near view.

“Your word is quite sufficient, Mr. Felsh,” returns Fetter, his eyes half closed, as he waves his hand, adding that he is perfectly posted on the case cited.  “Page 499, I think you said?” he continues, placing his thumbs in his waistcoat armlets, with an air of indifference.