"Yes, your crimes, committed through a long course of years; not with the bravery and boldness of the highway robber, but with the cowardice and low cunning of the sneak and swindler, who robs within the letter of the law. Crimes committed, not upon the wealthy and the strong, but upon the weak, the poor, the helpless--the widow, by her fireless hearth--the orphan, by his father's grave. Oh, sir--we have just tried a bold, bad man; a colossal criminal, whose very errors wear something of the gloomy grandeur of the thunder-cloud. To put you on trial, after him, is like leaving the presence of Satan, his forehead yet bearing some traces of former splendor, to find ones-self confronted by Mammon, that most abased of all the damned. Yes, sir,--an apology is due to human nature, by this court, for stooping so low as to put _you_ on your trial. And yet, even you derive some sort of consequence from the vast field of your crimes,--the wide-spread and infernal results of your life-long labors." Israel crouched in his chair, as though he expected the ceiling to fall on him. "What d'ye mean by crimes?" he cried, grasping the arms of the chair with both hands;--"and what right have you to try me?" The judge briefly but pointedly, and in a clear voice, which penetrated every nook of the chamber, explained the peculiar features of the court. Its power, backed by ten millions of silver dollars; its jurisdiction, over crimes committed by those who seek the fruits of labor, without its work, or who use the accident of wealth and social position to oppress or degrade man--their brother; its stern application to criminals, who, clad in wealth, had trampled all justice under foot of their own terse motto, "MIGHT MAKES RIGHT." The explanation of the judge was brief, but impressive. Israel began to feel conviction steal into his soul. "Might makes right!" Oh, how like the last nail in the coffin, are those simple words, to a wealthy scoundrel, who suddenly finds himself helpless in the grasp of a mightier power! "Of--what--am--I--accused!" faltered Israel; thus recognising the jurisdiction of the court. The judge answered him: "Of every crime that can be committed by the man, who makes it his sole object in life to coin money out of the life and blood of the helpless and the poor;--and who pursues this object steadily, by day and night, for twenty years, with the untiring scent of the bloodhound on the track of blood. Survey your life for the last twenty years. You have appeared in various characters: as the trustee, as the executor, as the speculator, the landlord, and the financier." He paused. Israel found himself listening with intense interest.