Almost every year, New York witnesses a noted criminal trial, which frequently becomes a sensation in the community. For weeks beforehand the newspapers give an excruciating account of all the horrors of the case—involving the past history of the defendant; nor do they fail to drag in his father, mother, uncles and aunts, besides his business relations. When the day of trial comes, if the defendant happens to be at the bar for murder or some other noted crime, all the sickening details are re-hashed in the evening and morning papers. Sometimes the trial lasts from one week to three months, dragging itself slowly along, till everybody in the city becomes disgusted. All this, of course, is distinctively American, and as the people call for it, they are sure to get it. The New York editors are great literary caterers, and seem to know how to satisfy such depraved tastes. It has come to be an admitted fact that a criminal trial in New York is a most exciting experience, and for a time stirs the community, making it the main topic of interest at meals, clubs and society gatherings. [Illustration: Criminal Branch of the Supreme Court on Centre Street, where the great murder trials of the past decade took place.] To watch the selection of the jury, and see panel after panel of intelligent men excused on the flimsiest grounds, is enough to make the Goddess of Justice open her eyes and weep. During the past twelve years we have witnessed some of the most tragic murder trials in the history of the New York Bar, in which money and brains were used on both sides. When Roland B. Molineux, Dr. Kennedy, Albert T. Patrick and Harry K. Thaw were placed on trial, the courts were thronged daily with gaping crowds of men and women, breaking their necks to get a look at the defendants, and using all sorts of “pulls” to secure a seat in the court. And as the jury is called and examined one by one, to read their real character as depicted on their faces when they take their seats to decide the fate of some weakling, a good judge of human nature can readily discern the result of the trial long before it is finished. Then, listen to the testimony that is presented; hear the lawyers wrangle for and against the prisoner, and, finally, watch the judge as he charges the jury, and then see the prisoner as he stands at the bar for sentence or acquittal. All this becomes a fearfully interesting piece of realism. But the glorious uncertainty of the law leaves so many loopholes for the real criminal to escape punishment, and the innocent to get a term of imprisonment, that some of the rulings made in our courts are tragic enough to make angels weep.