“It is beginning to be dawn. I am glad my window faces east. The sky is pale golden. There is something about the dawn, something sacred. It is like her; I cannot describe how.
“I cannot write any more. I will go out and take another walk until breakfast. Perhaps I will go over to the East River. Yes, I will go over to the East River and look at the boats. There is something magnificent about boats.”
“To-day we went out to Pelham Bay Park. We went early in the morning and stayed all day. We took a boat-ride over to Closson’s Point, and sat under a tree, and I let her read the book--all there was in it. She did not reproach me for the many things that I regret I ever wrote in it. At times she laughed, and at times I am sure that there were tears in her eyes. I could not well understand her at all times, even when she explained to me why it made her feel as she said it did.
“Yesterday paid the first instalment of $200. $1000 more, and that unfortunate episode in my life will be closed forever.
“I do not seem to take as much interest in the book as I once did. For the first time in many years I have let nearly a week go by without a record in it.
“Shall I tell what happened when I left her at her door at midnight less than an hour ago? I have long made it a point to be sincere and frank in these pages, but I cannot always write down the most important things in my life, especially now. I will only write that ineffable joy surrounded me.
‘O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?’”
[Illustration: Half-tone plate engraved by H. C. Merrill
FROM A CHARCOAL PORTRAIT BY JOHN SARGENT]
Author of “American Traits,” “Psychology and Life,” etc.
Every lawyer knows some good stories about some wild juries he has known, which made him shiver and doubt whether a dozen laymen ever can see a legal point. But every newspaper reader, too, remembers an abundance of cases in which the decision of the jury startled him by its absurdity. Who does not recall sensational acquittals in which sympathy for the defendant or prejudice against the plaintiff carried away the feelings of the twelve good men and true? For them are the unwritten laws, for them the mingling of justice with race hatreds or with gallantry. And even in the heart of New York a judge recently said to a chauffeur who had killed a child and had been acquitted, “Now go and get drunk again; then this jury will allow you to run over as many children as you like.”