THE LAW OF THE HEART

By Selma Klein George, Author of "Truth" Series.

It is not a battle of wits or of technical skill that counts most in a courtroom; nor is it a matter of oratory, as understood in years gone by, which brings results. What is it then? you ask, and in all good conscience my reply is that human nature, as displayed by the parties, their attorneys, and last, but not least, by the jury, is the all-controlling factor.

The battle is not, as a rule, over points of law. It is based on a keen insight into the human nature of all concerned. Most cases are lost or won on the shrewd observation of the twelve men in the jury box, of the parties in interest and the witnesses examined pro and con.

How often in the criminal courts will be found men and women defendants, grey-faced, showing the falling embers of life's fires. They are tasting the last bitterness, the very, dregs of life, which come to those who mourn a lost opportunity, or, perchance, realize they are victims of the law's stupidity.

It is refreshing to find here and there a Judge on the bench who shows that he is endowed with the attributes of human kindness, which he permits to govern, in a degree at least, his official acts. No matter how strong he may be in his likes and dislikes the man part of the individual is bound to show itself. The Judge who has loved and been loved is the one who can be depended on, whether it be "on the firing line," in the ditch, or on the bench.

Not so long ago it was my pleasure to meet a physician, a gentleman of the old school, and to witness his examination as an expert in the trial of a case, which told plainer than words can express the truth of the adage, "Greater love hath no man." I was reminded by this witness of an oldtime friend who, as I write, is sojourning in Florida. Dr. Marshall D. Ewell of Chicago, the famous handwriting expert-a gentleman every inch, whether measured up and down, or round and about-a man whose sense of honor and of honesty is a part of his everyday life's work. In giving testimony Dr. Ewell can be as technical as the most learned, but he is seen at his best when reciting his expert conclusions in his own way, and this is the road to conviction-to the truth.

The court scene portrayed is typical of many others which might be pen painted. The Assisting Prosecuting Attorney was no better nor worse than the most of his kind. He was the result of a vicious pug-ugly political system, which took a very ordinary young lawyer, best suited to the collecting of bills, and made him over night a legal representative of the people for the prosecution of crimes alleged to have been committed.

Mary Sheehan was on trial for her life, charged with the killing of her husband. The circumstances were all against the girl-for such she was, though wearing an expression of age fostered by cruelty and mistreatment.

She had long suffered, if the strained eyes could be accepted as any criterion. She seemed to be thinking of the baby which never came, as she occupied the prisoner's chair near the counsel that the Court had assigned her.

In his opening of the case, the Prosecuting Attorney had urged that the whole concern of the jury should be along the line of duty, leaving consequences to take care of themselves. They would receive the law from the Court. They were the judges of the whole case. Their's was a plain, straightforward duty. Toward the girl-wife, the defendant, the law inculcates no hostility, but the demands for justice require no mercy. Their consciences must be satisfied, that was enough.

In closing, he said that against the prisoner he had not the slightest prejudice. He would not do her the smallest injury or injustice, but he could not be indifferent to the discovery and punishment of guilt. The case was truly an extraordinary one, in which the present actress in it could not claim suddenly ungovernable rage. It was a bloody drama, depicting a deed not intended to glut savage vengeance or satiate long-settled or deadly hate. A husband had been assassinated by the wife of his bosom; the deed committed in cold blood. Here was a new lesson for poets and painters. Whosoever should hereafter draw a portrait of murder, if it be shown as it would be exhibited, should not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with hate, the blood-shot eyes emitting vivid fires of malice. Rather should it be drawn as a smooth, bloodless creature, a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature in its depravity and its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal being, a female fiend in the very ordinary display and development of character.

Witness after witness was called to the stand and examined by the State until every link in the chain of circumstances going to show guilt was forged and completed. Counsel for the defense waived his opening argument. Justice seemed to be doing its legitimate work without elements of hatred, sympathy or emotion.

With the calling of the first witness for the defense, the courtroom seemed surcharged with a suppressed mental contagion. A feeling of spontaneous, unrefiecting, irrational impulse prevailed. It was such as would set aside one's own personality, thereby partaking of the pains or pleasure, the misery or happiness of others. In the air seemed to be existent a common kind of sorrow, expending itself without appropriate acts or words for humanity. The whole was an exhibition of mind-matter, in which empirical psychology displayed its methods of induction. From this all the jury was supposed to understand the situation, through introspection and observation, based upon all the circumstances of the case. They needed a keen insight, a knowledge of the law of evolution, rather than of revolution.

on

"Doc Jones," called the clerk. A moment later all eyes were focused a round-faced, sturdy-built man of perhaps sixty-odd years. He pushed his way down the aisle toward the witness chair, by the end of the Judge's bench. He turned, facing the jury.

As he passed the counsel's table, the prisoner sitting there looked up. It was a decided shock to him-she wore a dress which he at once recognized as having belonged to his wife. It was a white muslin garment with little blue figures representing angels with arms outstretched. For an instant the chubby hand of the physician rested on the girl's shouider; he patted her all the way across and down the back, much as a mother would fondle a child. A whispered word or two of comfort, and then the big body pushed forward, finding emplacement between the arms of the chair.

"Your name is Hugh Jones-by profession a physician?" asked the counsel for the defense.

"Yes, sir." The face of the witness was pink and perspiry-it was alive with emotion, with human interest.

"Address, please."

"My office is down near Hell's Acre; I live or reside on Lake Park Avenue."

The doctor was trying to find his handkerchief; he ransacked first one pocket and then another. At last, reaching into his coat, he withdrew his hand holding a long piece of white linen, which clearly was not a conventional wipe. As he pulled it out, an ivory ring, yellowed with age and use, fell to the floor. Had the Doctor been attending a teething infant? was the mental inquiry of the women in the court audience. The ring rattled down the steps leading from the witness chair; it rolled along toward the little gate that separated the judicial from the free and equal side of the courtroom. It trundled along almost to the prisoner's, feet.

"It's for a baby to bite on, Judge; it's better than a rag, and it can't be swallowed like a button." This information was for the ear of the court alone.

"Dr. Jones, you know my client here I believe." Counsel nodded toward the silent figure in the chair beside him.

The face of the witness sobered mightily, as he replied, "Yes, I knew her long before she was married-when she was a little girl."

"Object to the answer," said the prosecuting attorney, springing to his feet. "Right here, Your Honor-I object to questions being answered in this way."

Pleasantly the Judge turned toward the witness. "Whenever it is possible, Doctor, answer the questions 'yes or no.'”

"How long have you known my client?" counsel for the defense asked, as he smiled toward the prosecuting attorney.

"Several years-since she was a little girl," answered the Doctor. "You were often called in a professional way to see her?"

Again on his feet, the prosecuting attorney tried to object, but the Doctor replied, "Never."

The next instant the.objection was renewed, when the Doctor, looking intently at the jury, said, "Down in that section, gentlemen, where Mary lived, I was never called. I'd just drop in in a friendly way, feeling I was needed."

The jury was interested several moved forward in their chairs one slightly coughed. They wanted to know all about it.

"Did you just drop in or call upon the defendant here about six months' ago?"

"I object." The prosecuting attorney was in fighting spirit now. "I object to any testimony antedating the time the alleged crime was committed, as irrelevant and immaterial. If counsel for defense desires to withdraw his plea of 'not guilty' and substitute a plea of guilty to a lesser degree than charged, justifying it by terrible provocation, the question then might possibly be competent."

Right here was a sign of weakness. The Doctor saw it as he smiled first at the Judge and then at the jury.

"Objection overruled. You may proceed, Doctor," said the Court.
"Exception," retorted the prosecuting attorney.

"The exception will be noted," said the Court. "You will proceed, Doctor."

The physician turned toward the Judge. "I don't just remember where we were at, your Honor. Shall I start with the time I met Pat Sheehan coming out of the tenement drunk-?"

"Wait!" fairly yelled the prosecuting attorney. Shaking his fist at the Doctor, with hard-set red face, he sprang up. "I object, your Honor. This line of questioning and answering is all incompetent. Such testimony has nothing to do with the issues in this case. I know this man of old-he conducts such defenses as these himself; more he goes on and proves the case. I don't propose to "

The Judge interrupted to ask: "Will counsel for defense state what the purpose of this line of questioning is?"

The legal representative of the girl came to his feet, he hesitated. "I am trying to get at the facts-to bare the reason. I think I should be allowed-"

Slowly the Doctor crossed and then uncrossed his legs. He wrapped and then unwrapped the cloth thing in his hands. He wiped his nose with it, and then seemed to smell it. With eyes fixed on the floundering attorney, he turned to the Judge: "It hasn't anything in the world to do with the issues, with the case, your Honor. No. All I know hasn't any more to do with the case than the mother had to do with his being a practicing attorney."

The Doctor's eyes were wet but twinkling. Together with his mouth, they were like buttons. A juryman broke the silence to say: "Your Honor, we would like to hear the Doctor's story told in his own way."

"The evidence may be now admitted," ruled the Judge. "If it later develops that it is improper, it may be stricken then from the record and the jury will be instructed not to consider it. Objection overruled. Proceed, Doctor."

jury.

"Note an exception," interpolated the district attorney.

"Hell," was heard in a low voice from among the chairs occupied by the

"First knew her when I was on the Board of Charity; later on the Board of Health, Judge. This girl-Mary-was going to school then. Worked off and on, as she could, in a department store; was a weak, frail child, but was a good one. God-yes, Judge-that girl was good. She sort of grew up like Topsy, and first I knew Pat Sheehan was courting her-half of his time-and sobering up the other half. Somehow-she fell for him; the sex call that is in every woman did it, I s'pose, and Pat married her, and then after that he didn't sober up at all."

He was slowing down a bit, but continued: "And then, Judge, Pat lost his job, he hung around the saloons, he put this little girl back to work in the department store, where she labored from early morning till ten o'clock at night, and she furnished him money to live on and to drink with, until— they couldn't keep her in the store any longer. She went to her home, if the hovel they lived in could be called a home. Then one piece of furniture after another disappeared, until there was only a chair and a stove, and a mattress over in the corner-and the baby was coming." The Doctor looked toward the ceiling, above the heads of all those in the courtroom, toward the top of the outer doorway. "Hunger and sorrow, Judge, were battling every minute with a mother's love. 'Twas an affection that was planted deep in the soil God loves.

"One day I was sort of passing down in the miserable district Sheehan lived in when I came to the door of the tenement. I saw him coming outdrunk-beastly drunk. He was muttering to himself. I heard a word or two of what he said."

The Doctor tightly clasped his hands on the arms of the chair, as though filled with an uncontrollable emotion. His body moved toward the edge, a little toward the jury.

"From what he said I knew that something bad had happened. I pushed open the door and went in, Judge-and Mary was lying on the floor-she couldn't speak-she was suffering the torments of the damned." The Doctor was struggling for words to describe his feelings. He seemed to have the scene that he then witnessed upon a screen before him. "She had been kicked, Judge-kicked- He swallowed hard. "Kicked by that big brute of a husband, and she was in that condition. I stayed with the girl. All night long I spent in that miserable hovel. I had a settlement nurse helping me, and for hours we were tearing dead-dead heartstrings out of this girlwe couldn't wait to take her to the hospital."

Talk about intense emotion. It was in every atom of the atmosphere which filled the courtroom. There was a dynamic something which seemed likely to explode and end all creation. The baby's cloth that the doctor held in his hand had become a ball. The witness, red-eyed, his face alive with human passion, half-laughed in the Judge's face. Somewhere in the courtroom the baliff was telling a man "to bring a glass of water quick." Way over in a corner a woman sobbed. There was an air of relief when the Doctor, with his face all wrinkled, Leave him-where would she go to?" have become of her?" he fairly yelled.

said, "No, she didn't leave him then. He turned to the Court. "What would "She was in the bottom of the very