When, my dear Briefless, you are a judge (as I make no doubt you will be, when you have left off the club all night, cigar-smoking of mornings, and reading novels in bed), will you ever find it in your heart to order a fellow-sinner’s head off upon such evidence as this? Because a romantic Substitut du Procureur de Roi chooses to compose and recite a little drama, and draw tears from juries, let us hope that severe Rhadamanthine judges are not to be melted by such trumpery. One wants but the description of the characters to render the piece complete, as thus:— Personages. Costumes. SEBASTIAN PEYTAL Meurtrier Habillement complet de notaire perfide: figure pâle, barbe noire, cheveux noirs. LOUIS REY Soldat rétiré, bon, Costume ordinaire; il porte sur brave, franc, jovial ses épaules une couverture de aimant le vin, les cheval. femmes, la gaieté, ses maîtres surtout; vrai Français, enfin WOLF Lieutenant de gendarmerie. FÉLICITÉ D’ALCAZAR Femme et victime de Peytel. Médecins, Villageois, Filles d’Auberge, Garçons d’Ecurie, &c. &c. La scène se passe sur le pont d’Andert, entre Macon et Belley. Il est minuit. La pluie tombe: les tonnerres grondent. Le ciel est convert de nuages, et sillonné d’éclairs. All these personages are brought into play in the Procureur’s drama; the villagers come in with their chorus; the old lieutenant of gendarmes with his suspicions; Rey’s frankness and gayety, the romantic circumstances of his birth, his gallantry and fidelity, are all introduced, in order to form a contrast with Peytel, and to call down the jury’s indignation against the latter. But are these proofs? or anything like proofs? And the suspicions, that are to serve instead of proofs, what are they? “My servant, Louis Rey, was very sombre and reserved,” says Peytel; “he refused to call me in the morning, to carry my money-chest to my room, to cover the open car when it rained.” The Prosecutor disproves this by stating that Rey talked with the inn maids and servants, asked if his master was up, and stood in the inn-yard, grooming the horses, with his master by his side, neither speaking to the other. Might he not have talked to the maids, and yet been sombre when speaking to his master? Might he not have neglected to call his master, and yet have asked whether he was awake? Might he not have said that the inn-gates were safe, out of hearing of the ostler witness? Mr. Substitute’s answers to Peytel’s statements are no answer at all. Every word Peytel said might be true, and yet Louis Rey might not have committed the murder; or every word might have been false, and yet Louis Rey might have committed the murder. “Then,” says Mr. Substitute, “how many obstacles are there to the commission of the crime? And these are—