MOVING THE JURY.

A Canadian barrister named McSweeny was a thorough student of human nature, and master of the art of observation. Nothing escaped his notice. While engaged upon a case, he watched the jury as a cat watches a mouse, and frequently astonished his clients by ending his arguments very abruptly and submitting the matter to the jury.

“I’ve known many a case to be talked to death after it had been won,” he said. “What is the use of wasting time and breath after the jury is converted to your way of thinking? I believe I can tell when I have my jury well in hand. At that point I stop, no matter in what shape it leaves my speech. I take it that a client employs a lawyer to win his case, and not to display his oratorical abilities.”

The peculiarity of the great criminal lawyer was well known at a murder trial in Montreal a few years ago. Mr. McSweeny appeared for the defendant. The state had apparently made out a very clear case against the prisoner. When Mr. McSweeny arose to make his address to the jury, he carefully avoided any reference to the facts set forth in the evidence or the laws governing them. He pointed out the terrible responsibility resting upon the twelve men who were sitting in judgment upon the life of one of their fellow citizens. He added that the verdict of guilty would not fall heaviest upon the prisoner, but upon his family. He asked the jury to think for a moment of the effect of an adverse verdict upon the wife and little ones of the prisoner.

Then the lawyer drew a word picture which was a marvel of artistic rhetorical work. He brought before the eyes of the jurymen the home of the accused man. He showed the patient and loving wife leaving her work to cast many an anxious glance down the road to see if her husband was yet in sight, eager to be the first to catch a glimpse of his figure in the distance, that a steaming supper might await him upon his arrival. He pictured these ruddy-faced children swinging upon the old gate waiting till papa should come home to them.

At this point the lawyer noticed that one of the jurymen had considerable difficulty in swallowing a large lump which choked him, and that there was a suspicious moisture in his eye.

The speaker paused. Turning toward that juror, he held out both hands as a little child might have done to its father, and said, in a tone that was scarcely audible:

“Gentlemen, you must send him home to them.”

Shifting uneasily in his seat, the juror blurted out:

“Yes, we’ll do it, too.”

McSweeny instantly sat down. The case was won. His client was acquitted. But the most interesting point in this case, perhaps, was the fact, which the lawyer afterward learned, that the prisoner at the bar was an unmarried man.