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the game, however, the sultan, after a moment's reflection, said: "We are about to play; so far, good; but, shouldst thou lose, what shall I gain?"

"Since your highness does me tho honor of playing against me, I will stake all that I possess, this cimeter and my liberty. But what if I win!" added the zingaro, folding his arms.

"Shouldst thou win, I will give thee a slave."

"For a free man!—the stake is not equal."

"I will add to it my finest courser."

"I need it not; my feet are swifter than those of an Arab steed."

"What wilt thou then!"

"I have a fancy, sublime signior. Until this day I have been nothing but a poor wanderer, and have worn only the dress and the cap of a juggler. Were I to complain of this, I should be ungrateful, for this simple garb has ever seen me free and happy. I, however, renounce it; I become your slave; my mirth shall be for you alone; I will sing for you Indian songs, and, above all, I will divine for none but you. In return, I will ask but one thing; it is to allow me, if I win, to wear your royal mantle for ten minutes, to sit upon the divan surrounded by slaves, and to place upon my head that dreaded turban, whose lame has reached to the very ends of the earth."

The proposition of Mehalle was received with a burst of laughter from the sultan. Had Mustapha not laughed, the zingaro was a dead man.

"Thou wouldst sit upon the seat of the caliphs! Dost thou not fear the weight of this turban upon thy silly head! A fine figure thou wouldst make under the pelisse of Ottoman! I should like to see thee giving audience to the viziers and the pashas!"

"It is in your highness's power to afford yourself this pleasure."

"Well," exclaimed Mustapha, " I will agree to the stake. A juggler upon the throne! Such a sight was never seen in the East."

The game commenced; it was short. The sultan lost, but he was in a pleasant vein, and he prepared to fulfill his engagement.

Mustapha loosened his girdle, took off his pelisse, and laid down his turban, while a slave assisted to invest Mehalle in the royal garments. These preparations completed, the sultan, dressed only in loose silken trowsers and a richly embroidered vest, approached a clock, and placing his finger on the dial plate—" When the hand shall mark the hour of eight," said he, "I shall have paid my debt, and then, signior, you will become my astrologer."

The juggler ascended the divan, and having placed his faithful cimeter at his side, he ordered the doors to be thrown open for the numerous courtiers who had been long awaiting the good pleasure of his highness. The apartment, which the dim light of evening rendered rather obscure, was immediately filled with a large assembly, among which were mingled the mufti, and the ulemas, the aga of the janissaries, the pashas from their different provinces, and the great officers of the port e, the bostangi-bassa being of the number.

Seated apart mpon velvet cushions, Mustapha was laughing in his sleeve at the surprise which awaited the assembly, and at the embarrassment which would doubtless be exhibited by the zingaro.

At a sign from Mustapha, the flambeaux were lighted, and the room was brilliantly illuminated. Venetian mirrors reflected the jets d'eau which fell in dazzling showers into basins of green marble. This enchanting scene was unnoticed by the assembly; all were bending respectfully befors the sultan's divan, and Mustapha, whose eyes were fixed on the zingaro, began to look uneasy.

Mehalle stood with lofty bearing and majestic air With one hand he grasped his yataghan, while with the other he motioned the assembly to rise.

Murmurs of admiration passed through the apartment; the young man received them with a smile, and, fixing more firmly on his head the green turban, shaded by a plume of scarlet feathers, he cried in a commanding tone: "Let the standard of the prophet be raised on the grand mosque! the people will salute it from afar at the fires of Beirarn!" At these words an officer stepped forth to execute the order; but Mustapha rose to prevent him.

"Haggi Mohammed," continued tho zingaro, with an imperious gesture, "obey!"

The aga bowed and retired. Mehalle added: "Let the imauns repair to the temples, and offer up petitions for the new sultan! Cadilisquicr, have the tomb of Mustapha opened in Scutari, the city of the dead."

The sultan tried to smile. "Keepers of the treasury," continued the juggler, "distribute among the poor of Stamboul the accumulated hoardings of the late emperor."

"Enough, buffoon!" exclaimed Mustapha, in an agitated voice, on seeing how readily bis servants obeyed these strange orders. The plot became alarming.

"I still command," replied the zingaro, with calm self-possession; "the clock has not yet struck the hour of eight. Art thou then so impatient to know the fate that awaits thee V The courtiers were at a loss to understand this mysterious scene. They looked with terror on this bold young man, invested with the insignia of power, and the bostangi was astonished to see his sanguinary master tremble before a strolling juggler.

"Mustapha," continued the diviner, "thou wouldst know the time of thy death? I am about to tell thee, for the evening star has risen! I will tell thee even, in order to be generous, what death thou shalt die. Mufti, advance."

The president of the oumela came forward. The zingaro proceeded: "You, who read each day the book of our prophet, and explain it to the people, sovereign judge of the empire, tell this man how avarice and usury ought to be punished; what penalty awaits him who shelters himself in retirement that he may break the laws, who intoxicates himself during the hours of purification, and who, stained with every crime, has never used his power but to oppress the weak. to spoil thc rich, to ruin innocence, and to sacrifice virtue!"

Great excitement now prevailed, and Mustapha, pale, and deprived of all self-possession, sought the hilt of his dagger!

The mufti replied in a low and grave tons "The least of these crimes is deserving of death"

"Thou hearest, Mustapha, it is the prophet who condemns thee!" As he said this, ht beckoned to the mutes; Mustapha tried to rush to the divan, but he was seized by the slaves, who passed the cord around his neck.

"Yes, thine hour is come," pursued the diviner; "the lives of so many victims must be paid for by thine own; I am at length come to avenge them."

"And who art thou?"

"It needs not I should tell thee, for thou knowest me! On this day fifteen years, a man fell, pierced with wounds by the hands of thy soldiers, on the very spot where within this hour thou shalt die. Thou didst seize on his possessions, thou didst invest thyself with his turban, but it wanted then those feathers dyed in his blood. That man was my father; he was the caliph. Yes! I am the son of Soliman. Thou hast massacred my family. Thou hast reckoned their heads also. Thou hast confounded the son of thy master with the child of the slave. I am the evening star—I am the sultan Amurath!"

As he thus spoke, the young prince made a step forward. His lofty brow, his features, his voice, the almost supernatural majesty of his countenance, inspired a deep emotion in the assembly. All the courtiers prostrated themselves upon the marble floor. They thought they saw again the young and glorious Soliman in one of those audiences when ho made tho rebellious pashas quail before him.

After a moment of respectful silence, the cry of " Long live Amurath!" shook the roof of the seraglio, and was echoed in the distanco by the crowd who were thronging toward Saint Sophia. At the same moment the body of Mustapha fell lifeless to the ground. The time-piece slowly struck the hour, and the muezzin, in a solemn voice, repeated from the cupola, "It is eight o'clock!"


OF all public duties there is none of such fearful responsibility, if we except the dissemination of divine truth, as that which devolves on the empanneled jury, who are to decide on facts on which human life depends. The unbiased judgment, notwithstanding appearances and circumstances—the undeviating attention to conflicting evidence, intricate details, and trifling incidents, which become important from their bearing, the charitable feeling which should keep alive all doubts of guilt till fully proved, are, indeed, mental exercises of the highest order. They may be tasked too much in decisions where all rests on circumstantial evidence—the fallibility of such evidence has not been rare, even in cases where

common sense could have no doubt. The consciousness that such has been tho case, and the conviction that such may often be the case, are strong arguments against the forfeiture of life on circumstantial evidence. Wherever there exists a moral possibility that the criminal act may not have been tomrnitted by the accused, the safer course the law could take would be not to demand the dreadful sacrifice—that should be for proof which could not be set aside—it is a contested point whether capital punishment should be altogether abolished, and much may bo said on both sides.

It is essential to the well-being of society that the secrecy with which crimes are committed, is not sufficient to prevent their discovery. Crimes of great enormity seldom escape detection, and there are few aphorisms more true than that "murder will out." Some vestige is constantly left in tho hurry and confusion attending an act of violence. Nay, the very means taken for concealment often lead to detection. It is justly remarked by Starkie, that the consideration of the nature of circumstantial evidence, and of the principles on which it is founded, merits the most profound attention. Scientific assistance has been eminently useful in saving the innocent and detecting tho guilty. In some remarkable trials for murder many offenders have been detected by the observation of medical men, who have traced the facts by slight and unexpected circumstances. Many cases mentioned in TaylorU Medical Jurisprudence, to whom we arc indebted for most interesting information, illustrate this statement. He mentions that when Sir Astley Cooper was called to see Mr. Blight, of Deptford, who had been mortally wounded by a pistol shot, in the year 1806, ho inferred from an examination of the localities, that tho shot must have been fired by a left-handed man. The only left-handed man near the premises at the time was a Mr. Patch, a particular friend of the deceased, who was not in the least suspected. The man was afterward tried and convicted of the crime, and he made a full confession of his guilt before execution. Yet medical evidence is not always bome out by the fact. A man was stabbed by another in the face. A knife, with the blade entire, was brought forward as evidence against the prisoner at the trial, the surgeon having declared that the wound must have been caused by this knife; the wounded person recovered, but a year afterward a fistula formed in the face, and the broken point of the real weapon was discharged from the sinus; the wound could not, therefore, have been produced by the knife brought forward against tha prisoner at the trial.

We may reasonably conclude that marks, mistaken for blood-stains, found on the clothes of persons suspected of murder, have often been taken as conclusive evidence against them; but the noble science of chemistry can ascertain when the marks are vegetable stains, however closely resembling those of blood. By an ingenious process suggested by M. Taddie, of Florence, human blood can be distinguished from animal, and the blood of various animals from that of each other. The microscope, in the hands of a competent person, is eminently useful in discovering the distinction. The benefit resulting from chemistry may be appreciated, when we consider what the fate of many innocent individuals would have been without its aid. In March, 1840, a person was murdered at Islington; a man was taken up on suspicion; a sack was found in his possession, having upon it many red stains, supposed to be blood. Professor Graham examined them, and found them to be from red paint, containing peroxide of iron, and it was proved that the sack had been worn as an apron by a boy who had been apprentice to a paper-stainer; the accused had received it a few days before wrapped round a parcel. A farmer's lad was taken up on suspicion of murder. His blue blouse and trowsers were marked with red and brown stains, apparrently blood, and it appeared as if blood-stained fingers had been wiped on them. The articles were chemically examined, and the marks found to have been caused by vegetable juice. The boy, on being questioned, said that he had the day before he was taken up gathered a quantity of red poppies, which had been bruised by his treading on them: he took them homo in his blouse. If the poor boy had not been bome out in his statement by the chemical process, his little span of life might have been cut short. Nothing, indeed, is more common than stains resembling blood, and there are many on whose persons or instruments such have been found, who would have met the fate of murderers had they not been living in times of scientific discoveries. A man was accused of having murdered his uncle, to whom he was heir. The knife which was found on him was brought in evidence against him. It was stained with dark spots declared to be blood. It was discovered that it had been used a short time before by a person cutting a lemon, and as it had not been wiped, the acid acting on the metal had caused the appearance. A few years since a man was arrested on suspicion of murder. The collar and upper part of his shirt were stained with large spots of a deep pinkish color, which appeared like blood that had been attempted to be washed out; but as none of the color was discharged by the application of water, and being turned of a light crimson by ammonia, it was proved not to be blood, and the stain was accounted for when it was found that the man had wom a red handkerchief tied round his neck one wet night, while taking violent exercise.

There are few who have not met with cases where the most overwhelming circumstantial evidence might have been brought forward to criminate, had not light been fortunately thrown on the facts. Accidental injuries may be attributed to design, if sufficient motive for such can be proved. It is recorded that two persons who had been hunting during the day, slept together at night. One of them was renewing the chase in his dreams, and imagining himself present at the death of the stag, cried out, " I'll kill him, I'll

kill him." The other, awakened by the noise, got out of bed, and by the light of the moon beheld the sleeper give several deadly stabs with a knife on that part of the bed which his companion had just quitted. Suppose a blow given in this way, and that the two men had been fhown to have quarreled previously to retiring to rest? Perhaps there can not be found a moie curious case than one which occurred a few years since at the British Museum, by which a gentleman might have been made liable for a disgraceful transaction. He requested the attendant w ho w as with him to let him sec a particular coin; ho opened the drawer of coins, and pointing it out, obterved that it was the only coin of that stamp. The gentleman asked if he was sure of that, and was answered that it was a known fact. The visitor requested leave to take it in his hand, and on being told it was against rule, drew a written order from his pocket, which he had procured frcm one of the members. The coin was then placed in his hand, and he examined it closely for a few minutes, and then returned it to the drawer, which the man closed, and took his leave. Before he had time to reach the street the man iushed after him, demanding the coin. The gentleman said he had placed it in the drawer. It was positively declared not to be there. After a sharp altercation on both sides, the man declared that he must search the gentleman; this he protested he would not allow, and insisted on his again locking in the drawer—the coin was not to be fcund! The police were called, and told to search the gentleman. He insisted vehemently that he would allow no such thing, and desired the attendant to go back and look better in the draw er In a few minutes he returned with many apologies, and the coin in his hand; it had slipped into a chink in the drawer, where fortunately it was at last found. Had it remained undiscovered, the gentleman would have been placed in a most pitiable situation, for he took frem his purse a coin exactly like that just found. Having heard that there was one of the same stamp in the British Museum, he had gone for the puipoEC of examining it, and comparing it with his own. The other gone—which was believed to l:e the only one in existence, and this found on the gentleman, would have been an everlasting stain upon his character. There is a case recorded, where the accused escaped the fate which every one believed he deserved. About fifty years since, a man was brought to trial for the murder of a fellow-laborer. The evidence against him was very strong. They had been digging together in the field where the murder took place. The victim was found lying dead upon the ground—the fatal wound was inflicted by the stroke of a spade, which was found beside him; the edge covered with hair and blood. His companion was not in the field, but his was the spade which had given the death-blow—it was marked with his name. In further evidence it came out that they had had a violent dispute the night before about the division of the sum to be paid for the digging of the field. To the surprise of every one who attended the trial, the jury could not agree; there was one who refused to join in a verdict of guilty. After having held out for the allotted time, they were taken to the usual confines, and there dismissed. The man was liberated; but though he had escaped with life, he was looked on as a murderer. It was not for many years after that his character was cleared. The person who had put the poor man to death was a sporting gentleman, who had gone out hunting early in the morning. Some of the hounds had bounded over the hedge, and the gentleman followed them. One man was in the field alone, the other having gone to light his pipe at the nearest cabin. He spoke insolently to the gentleman, as ha came forward to order him out of the field. The gentleman made a lash at him with his whip, and the man hurrying aside to avoid it, slipped, and fell on the edge of the spade which was in the ground; his head was cloven, and he laid dead upon the ground. The gentleman, in an agony, went to a friend and told what had happened. Acting on his advice, he immediately took ship and went abroad. On finding shortly after that the poor man was arraigned for the murder, the friend of the gentleman managed to have his name on the panel, for the' purpose of saving the man—he was the juror who refused to affix his name to the verdict of guilty.

A. respect for justice appears to be inherent in our nature, and the impression left on the public mind, by the chance that an innocent person may have suffered for a crime which he did not commit, tends to lessen the reverence for laws which may operate unjustly; the possibility and the probability of innocence are frequently one and the same in popular estimation, and wo know that the possibility and the probability of guilt have in some cases been considered the same by those who have carried on prosecutions—thus, on one side, the delinquent has been frequently elevated to the position of the martyr; and, on the other, the guiltless have been degraded to that of the criminal—a difference in the penalty awarded for supposed and for positive guilt would generate more reasonable views. The impression that Elizabeth Fenning was innocent of the crime for which she suffered was very general. She was tried for having poisoned the family with whom she lived with some dumplings made by herself. She was convicted on circumstantial evidence, and executed on the 26th of July, 1815. An opinion prevailed that her guilt had not been clearly established. She persevered in declaring her innocence, and appeared to be supported by the trust that it would soon be manifest; her demeanor and her previous excellent character— her last affecting interview with her parents, when she comforted them by the most solemn assurance of her innocence. The confidence in her dying declaration was evinced in the exhibition of public feeling at her funeral, which took place on the 31st. There was an order and decorum in the average merits of the vast assemblage who attended her remains to the burying-place, which marked respect for the deceased. The windows

and the railings, and even the roofs of the houses, were thronged with persons to witness the mournful procession, which few could see without the most melancholy feelings. The pall was supported by six young girls attired in white; eight chief mourners, led by the bereft parents, followed; and then hundreds of persons, walking two abreast. Thousands followed the train.

In Germany, the sentence of death is not carried into effect till there is a confession of guilt; but the durance in which the condemned is kept is worse than death itself. When his judges believe his denial proceeds from obstinacy, he is confined in a subterraneous dungeon—here no ray of light is admitted, but all is dark, cold, and damp —the horrors of solitary confinement are enhanced by an abode so loathsome—the wretched prisoner is allowed no sustenance but a pittance of bread and water—the dimensions of his cell are so contracted, that he can not stretch his limbs, and the grave itself is looked to as a release from such misery. The mind and body soon sink under such wretchedness, and it sometimes happens that the innocent avow a crime which they never committed. Between thirty and forty years since, a woman, convicted of murder, was consigned to the dungeon, to be kept there till she made a full confession of her guilt. For a fortnight she asserted her innocence of the crime, but at the end of that time her courage and her strength forsook her—she confessed the murder. She could scarcely totter to the place of execution, where the sentence of the law was accomplished. In the year 1821, Kugeleher, the most celebrated German painter of his day, was robbed and murdered in the neighborhood of Dresden. A soldier of the name of Fischer was taken up and brought to trial. The circumstantial evidence against him left no doubt of his guilt on the minds of his judges, and he was condemned to die; but as he had not confessed, he was sent to the dungeon; but his powers of endurance failed after some months, and he acknowledged the murder. We are told that "he had not yet been broken on the wheel," when circumstances came out, which raised suspicion against Kalkofen, another soldier, as having been an accomplice in the crime. The result of the now inquiry was the complete proof of Fischer's innocence: not a shadow of doubt remained. The real criminal confessed that he had committed the robbery and murder. The liberty now accorded to Fischer was cruelly embittered by the effects of the fatal confinement. He had, when liberated, to be carried from the prison to the hospital; he said that he had made the false confession, that he might be released by death from a situation so intolerable. Nothing, as we perceive, can be more subversive of justice than this mode of dealing with cases of presumptive evidence; but such an unhappy example does not prevent its being desirable that some change should take place. It is true that circumstantial evidence may be so convincing, it may not admit of a shadow of doubt; but as recorded instances of such have been proved to have led to false conclusions and fatal results, it would be happy if some new mode of

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