The fourth day of the trial of the great impeachment case is made memorable by the speech of Benjamin F. Butler. Whilst he was completing his tower of brilliancy and logic, the lightning was playing with the beginning of it, and when he had finished the great cities of the Union were as wise as we who sat within the sound of his voice. The struggle to obtain tickets equalled, if it did not exceed, the opening day of the trial, and the same elegant, aristocratic crowd filled the galleries, the women, as usual, outnumbering the men. The only really odious thing connected with the trial is the ticket system. Suppose a crowd does gather in the Capitol, the most perfect order prevails, and there are so many police on duty that it is very easy to protect the Senate and push back the waves of humanity. The grocer’s wife, the humblest citizen, has just as much right to hear the impeachment trial as the wife or the friend of a Congressman; and when the galleries are properly filled, what hinders the police from meeting the late comers and turning their unwilling footsteps away? Anything that smacks of aristocracy or exclusiveness should instantly be put under the feet of every American citizen. It is the masses who are the real aristocracy, because they are the source of all power; and the moment our public servants dare to draw lines that in any way interfere with this great, good-natured maelstrom, the least of this mass can put a stone in a sling which will do as good execution as the pebble of the immortal David.