AT the upper end of the hall was a low platform, on the left side of which sat twelve men on benches. At the right end of the platform stood that familiar oblong box that contained the last tabernacle of Hannah Atkins. The covers were off. There were signs about her of considerable investigation. A table stood in the centre of the platform and behind it sat a very small man, with a long silky black beard and very delicate features.

Gentlest and suavest of men! He was called “Louisa,” this magistrate. For if he had, hanging disconsolately in the rear of his history, the family name of “Bumper,” it was nothing to the point. The sure taste and discretion of Zionville always refused it.

At that time he was Justice of the Peace, and Coroner, and some other things, and in after days Mayor of Zionville. His voice was sweet, tender, soothing, a sort of a tenor warble; his manners were beautiful, and language flowed from him like molasses from a spigot.

In front of the platform stood a man of features reminding one of the Sahara Desert. This was William C. Jones, the Public Prosecutor.

Dr. Ulswater was in a condition of wrath. With him a condition of wrath implied a condition of eloquence. We being hauled up before that soft and subtle child, Louisa, with Louisa, W. C. Jones, and all Zionville wanting to know all about Hannah Atkins all at once,—being, in fact, for the first time face to face with Zionville, that unique phenomenon,—any kind of behaviour on our part would be likely enough; but on account of haste, and on account of some punches in the back due to the ardour of the occasion, Dr. Ulswater had emotions in his head that kept discharging his hand upwards from his head in a series of explosions, and he started in to give his opinion of Zionville, and let off opinions in volleys and artillery playing wonderful. But Louisa flowed over him like molasses over a hot griddle cake:

“Later, sir, later, we shall be happy to discuss with you the foibles of our society, but what we are interested in now is how this party, in this here truncated coffin, came to be travelling through Zionville in this here noncommittal manner; also, as to what may be the names, titles, pretensions, antecedents, residences, of yourself and friend; also of the noncommittal party aforesaid; also what may be your connection with that party. These, sir, are the points on which Zionville desires to be informed. But perhaps this other gentleman can give us some succinct statement, some short cut to the information this community is after.”

I gave Louisa our names, and told him the party he referred to was a foreign lady that went by the name of “Hannah Atkins,” at least lately she been so called though I had reason to believe it was an alias, or a corruption of her title and pretension.

“I thank you, sir,” said Louisa, sweetly. “We progress, and your statements reasonably agree with the information we already have. And now possibly Dr. Ulswater will entertain us with some still eloquent but more pertinent remarks, some exhilarating but not too gruesome anecdotes, illustrating the immediate causes of this lady's decease.”

The doctor took a new start. He made some flourishing archaeological statements about the Incas and the antiseptic qualities of the Andean climate, and then he sailed off on the high seas of South-American lore and his own enthusiasm over Hannah Atkins. But he was still somewhat flustered and confused. There was a growing tumult round about. I judged Zionville didn't follow him. Louisa said it wouldn't do, and William C. Jones rose up gloomy and bleak, and his forefinger started arguing up and down like a walking beam. He wanted to know:

—Whether them hideous words, unaccounted for by any civilised alphabet, was the names of Mrs. Atkins' ancestors, or of the last heathen jurymen that had tried him (Dr. Ulswater) for some previous harrowing crime; and if so, whether remarks made in the Choctaw language on insurance statistics, such as his (Dr. Ulswater's) remarks appeared to him (the speaker) to be, were not likely to impress an intelligent jury as intended to mislead and deceive; and if so, whether he (Dr. Ulswater) didn't mean,—before justice was summarily executed upon him by the aroused public spirit of Zionville,—to brush his hair and procure a set of whiskers less weedy and revolting; and if so, whether he meant to depose that this here deceased party came by her death naturally or not; and if so, whether he hadn't no better account to give of his possession of the same than incoherent statements, which plainly was meant to evade inquiry with irrelevant excursions into doubtful tradition——

“Doctor,” said Louisa, “I grieve to have misled you. I intended to make plain the desire of the jury for information, not on the subject of this lady's remote ancestry, but as to how she came by her death, and why she was travelling around, not as an authenticated corpse, but as an inorganic freight, addressed to some more or less mythological institution, some abstract idea on the other side of the continent. Do I now make myself clear, sir? Do I understand you to depose her death to have been violent or natural?”

“How the blazes should I know?” cried the doctor, exasperated.

“The defendant, gentlemen, deposes that he don't know. The defendant, in fact, declines to testify on the point.”

“She's a mummy!” shouted the doctor. “A mummy! What's the matter with this maniac of a town? If you don't know what a mummy is, I'm telling you. I know all about her that anybody knows,” and he went on to tell what he knew, but William C. Jones bore him down, inquiring with the voice of calamity:

—Whether them figures he (Dr. Ulswater) was giving was the dimensions of the city of Cuzco, or the age of Mrs. Atkins' parents at the time of her death, or the geography of the Andes, or the story of Mrs. Atkins' young romance; and if so, whether he (Dr. Ulswater) was acquainted with her in youth; and if so, whether she was as yellow at that time or affected since by a fever of that colour; and if so, inasmuch as his (Dr. Ulswater's) statements seemed to imply that he was no relative but only an admirer of Mrs. Atkins, whether his (Dr. Ulswater's) manifestly false and absurd statement that she was upwards of four hundred years old and her complexion complicated with considerable paint, wasn't an unchivalrous statement, that throwed doubts on the genuineness of his (Dr. Ulswater's) boasted admiration; and if so, and there was any museum in Connecticut unscrupulous enough for such barbarous inhumanity, and Mrs. Atkins and Dr. Ulswater ever arrived there—in defeat of justice—whether they was intended to be exhibited in the same show case; and if so, whether the promiscuous and opprobrious language he (Dr. Ulswater) was at present using was by him thought calculated to benefit his case——

“Doctor,” said Louisa, “Zionville is pleased to know you. Under other circumstances your evanescent humour would delight us beyond measure. But it is the opinion of the Court you ought to be informed that this is a moral town. Yes, sir. Not insanity but morality is what's hit us. It's the moralest town this side the Divide. We've got that reputation with the sweat of our virtues. There was a time when anybody found in possession of a corpse might be asked what he was going to do with it, or he might not, according to idle curiosity or intelligent interest. But times are changed. We make a point now of asking where he got it; which is, of course, a sacrifice of perfect courtesy to exacting morals. We admit it. But, sir, you have projected this here casket loaded with moral dynamite—if I may so state it—into this here moral community, and yet you claim not to know 'What the blazes'—if I quote correctly— she died of. The Court deprecates this distrustful attitude. The Court regards such reserve as suspicious, incriminating. In response to pertinent and proper questions you indulge some humorous statements regarding—if I caught the word—“mummies,” some jocular reference to the venerable appearance of the deceased—as the Court supposes. The Court has already inferred deceased was an Injun, and therefore don't care about the rest of her ancestry. You admit, sir, you know all about her, that you are in complete possession of the facts so far as known to any one. And yet, omitting the one pertinent fact, namely the cause and circumstances of her death, you deliver an uncalled-for lecture on Injun customs. The Court deprecates this learned frivolity. The Court penetrates your foolish subterfuge. The Court proposes to inform you of the evidence in its possession bearing on this case.”

Here Louisa took a document from his pocket.

“The following letter,” he said, “was received day before yesterday, addressed 'To The Magistrates of Zionville.'

“'Gentlemen:—-

“'On the 14th, probably on the afternoon east-bound freight, there will enter Zionville and endeavour to pass through a suspicious looking box addressed to some institution in Connecticut that may or may not exist. The undersigned is not informed. But the undersigned is well informed that the consignor of said box passes under the name of James Ulswater.” Now, if on examination of that there box, the Magistrates of Zionville is of the opinion that this yere “James Ulswater” is a party that oughtn't to be at large, the undersigned ain't going to dispute that opinion, undersigned being of the opinion the contents of said box is, or was once, a respectable middle-aged woman, with some Injun blood in her, and named Hannah Atkins, as to occasions of whose death it ain't for him to say. Only he don't take no stock in “James Ulswater's” remarks on the subject. They don't inspire no respect in his bosom. As to how “James Ulswater” came into possession of Mrs. Atkins' remains, the undersigned believes James Ulswater has something up his sleeve that he dassent tell. To what end then is “James Ulswater” shipping Mrs. Atkins, without sign of mourning or mortuary symbol, but with stealth, concealment and disrespect, over the innocent track and guileless freight agencies of the S. P. R. R.?

“'Yours truly,

“'A Former Citizen of Zionville who Believes in her Destiny and Honours her Morals.'”

“Gentlemen,” said Louisa, “do the suspicions of our fellow citizen appear to you justified?”

The jurymen nodded one after another, like a row of tenpins.

“Do the prisoner's remarks inspire confidence in your bosoms?”

One after another the jurymen shook their heads.

“Then the Court directs the sheriff to remove the elderly party calling himself 'Ulswater,' and his presumable accomplice, the younger party with the particular necktie and advantageous trousers, calling himself 'Kirby,' and that the sheriff hold these parties for further action. The Court is adjourned.”