“The act is certainly unprecedented,” said the Judge, dryly, “but unless the counsel for the plaintiff expects the jury to _sing_ from these hymn-books, their introduction is not improper, and I cannot admit the objection. As defendant’s counsel are furnished with copies also, they cannot plead ‘surprise,’ as in the introduction of new matter, and as plaintiff’s counsel relies evidently upon the jury’s attention to his opening, he would not be the first person to distract it.” After a pause he added, addressing the Colonel, who remained standing, “The Court is with you, sir; proceed.” But the Colonel remained motionless and statuesque, with folded arms. “I have overruled the objection,” repeated the Judge; “you may go on.” “I am waiting, your Honor, for the—er—withdrawal by the defendant’s counsel of the word ‘tampering,’ as refers to myself, and of ‘impertinent,’ as refers to the sacred volumes.” “The request is a proper one, and I have no doubt will be acceded to,” returned the Judge, quietly. The defendant’s counsel rose and mumbled a few words of apology, and the incident closed. There was, however, a general feeling that the Colonel had in some way “scored,” and if his object had been to excite the greatest curiosity about the books, he had made his point. But impassive of his victory, he inflated his chest, with his right hand in the breast of his buttoned coat, and began. His usual high color had paled slightly, but the small pupils of his prominent eyes glittered like steel. The young girl leaned forward in her chair with an attention so breathless, a sympathy so quick, and an admiration so artless and unconscious that in an instant she divided with the speaker the attention of the whole assemblage. It was very hot; the court was crowded to suffocation; even the open windows revealed a crowd of faces outside the building, eagerly following the Colonel’s words.