"We feel it our duty, as the one independent paper of this city,
to insist upon the right of a man to the consideration of the
public till a jury of his peers has pronounced upon his guilt and
thus rendered him a criminal before the law. The way our hitherto
sufficiently respected citizen, John Scoville, has been maligned
and his every fault and failing magnified for the delectation of a
greedy public is unworthy of a Christian community. No man saw him
kill Algernon Etheridge, and he himself denies most strenuously
that he did so, yet from the first moment of his arrest till now,
not a voice has been raised in his favour, or the least account
taken of his defence. Yet he is the husband of an estimable wife
and the father of a child of such exceptional loveliness that she
has been the petted darling of high and low ever since John
Scoville became the proprietor of Claymore Tavern.

"Give the man a chance. It is our wish to see justice vindicated
and the guilty punished; but not before the jury has pronounced
its verdict."

"The Star was his only friend," sighed Deborah Scoville, as she
laid this clipping aside and took up another headed by a picture
of her husband. This picture she subjected to the same scrutiny
she had just given to her own reflection in the glass: "Seeing him
anew," as she said to herself, "after all these years of
determined forgetfulness."

It was not an unhandsome face. Indeed, it was his good looks which
had prevailed over her judgment in the early days of their
courtship. Reuther had inherited her harmony of feature from him,-
-the chiselled nose, the well-modelled chin, and all the other