forehead was painfully anxious and intent as she
gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she
stopped for the Judge to write it down, watched
its effect upon the Counsel for and against.
Among the lookers-on there was the same
expression in all quarters of the court; insomuch,
that a great majority of the foreheads there,
might have been mirrors reflecting the witness,
when the Judge looked up from his notes to
glare at that tremendous heresy about George
Washington.

Mr. Attorney-General now signified to my
Lord, that he deemed it necessary, as a matter
of precaution and form, to call the young lady's
father, Doctor Manette. Who was called accordingly.

"Doctor Manette, look upon the prisoner.
Have you ever seen him before?"

"Once. When he called at my lodgings in
London. Some three years, or three years and a
half, ago."

"Can you identify him as your fellow-
passenger on board the packet, or speak to his
conversation with your daughter?"

"Sir, I can do neither."

"Is there any particular and special reason for
your being unable to do either?"

He answered, in a low voice, "There is."

"Has it been your misfortune to undergo a
long imprisonment, without trial, or even
accusation, in your native country, Doctor
Manette?"

He answered, in a tone that went to every
heart, "A long imprisonment."

"Were you newly released on the occasion in
question?"

"They tell me so."

"Have you no remembrance of the
occasion?"

"None. My mind is a blank, from some
time—I cannot even say what time—when I
employed myself, in my captivity, in making
shoes, to the time when I found myself living in
London with my dear daughter here. She had
become familiar to me, when a gracious God
restored my faculties; but, I am quite unable
even to say how she had become familiar. I
have no remembrance of the process."

Mr. Attorney-General sat down, and the
father and daughter sat down together.

A singular circumstance then arose in the
case. The object in hand, being, to show that
the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotter
untracked, in the Dover mail on that Friday night
in November five years ago, and got out of the
mail in the night, as a blind, at a place where he
did not remain, but from which he travelled back
some dozen miles or more, to a garrison and
dockyard, and there collected information; a
witness was called to identify him as having
been at the precise time required, in the coffee-
room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyard
town, waiting for another person. The prisoner's
counsel was cross-examining this witness with
no result, except that he had never seen the
prisoner on any other occasion, when the wigged
gentleman who had all this time been looking at
the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two on
a little piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossed
it to him. Opening this piece of paper in the
next pause, the counsel looked with great attention
and curiosity at the prisoner.

"You say again you are quite sure that it was
the prisoner?"

The witness was quite sure.

"Did you ever see anybody very like the
prisoner?"

Not so like (the witness said), as that he could
be mistaken.

"Look well upon that gentleman, my learned
friend there," pointing to him who had tossed
the paper over, "and then look well upon the
prisoner. How say you? Are they very like
each other?"

Allowing for my learned friend's appearance
being careless and slovenly, if not debauched,
they were sufficiently like each other to surprise,
not only the witness, but everybody present,
when they were thus brought into comparison.
My Lord being prayed to bid my learned friend
lay aside his wig, and giving no very gracious
consent, the likeness became much more
remarkable. My Lord inquired of Mr. Stryver
(the prisoner's counsel), whether they were next
to try Mr. Carton (name of my learned friend)
for treason? But, Mr. Stryver replied to my
Lord, no; but he would ask the witness to tell
him whether what happened once, might happen
twice; whether he would have been so
confident if he had seen this illustration of his
rashness sooner; whether he would be so confident,
having seen it; and more. The upshot of
which, was, to smash this witness like a crockery
vessel, and shiver his part of the case to useless
lumber.

Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite
a lunch of rust off his fingers, in his
following of the evidence. He had now to
attend while Mr. Stryver fitted the prisoner's
case on the jury, like a compact suit of clothes;
showing them how the patriot, Barsad, was
a hired spy and traitor, an unblushing
trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest
scoundrels upon earth since accursed Judas—
which he certainly did look rather like. How
the virtuous servant, Cly, was his friend and
partner, and was worthy to be; how the watchful
eyes of those forgers and false swearers had
rested on the prisoner as a victim, because some
family affairs in France, he being of French
extraction, did require his making those passages
across the Channel—though what those affairs
were, a consideration for others who were near
and dear to him, forbad him, even for his life,
to disclose. How the evidence that had been
warped and wrested from the young lady, whose
anguish in giving it they had witnessed, came to
nothing, involving the mere little innocent
gallantries and politenesses likely to pass between
any young gentleman and young lady so thrown
together:—with the exception of that reference
to George Washington, which was altogether too
extravagant and impossible, to be regarded in any
other light than as a monstrous joke. How it