was no less a personage than Dr. John W. Webster, who was afterwards
executed for the murder of Dr. Parkman. Webster was a great glutton, and
thought of nothing but his stomach, even up to the very hour of his
death. On account of his "position in society," (!) every officer of the
prison became his waiter; and a certain ruffianly turnkey, who was in
the habit of abusing poor prisoners in the most outrageous manner, would
fawn to the Doctor like a hungry dog to a benevolent butcher.

Webster was very polite to me, frequently sending me books and
newspapers--favors which I as often reciprocated. He once sent me a jar
of preserves, a box of sardines and a bottle of wine. The latter gift I
highly appreciated, wines and liquors of every kind being prohibited
luxuries. That night I became very happy and jovial; but I did not leave
the house.

Dr. Webster was confident of being acquitted; but the result proved how
terribly he was mistaken. Probably, in the annals of criminal
jurisprudence, there never was seen a more striking instance of equal
and exact justice, than was afforded by the trial, conviction and
execution of John W. Webster. Money, influential friends, able counsel,
prayers, petitions, the _prestige_ of a scientific reputation failed to
save him from that fate which he merited as well as if he had been the
most obscure individual in existence.

After six weeks imprisonment, I was brought to trial before Chief
Justice Wells. I was defended by a very tolerable lawyer, to whom I paid
twenty-five dollars in consideration of his conversing five minutes with
a jury of my peers, the said jury consisting of twelve hungry
individuals who wanted to go out to dinner. When my legal adviser had
made a few well-meaning remarks, the jury retired to talk the matter
over among themselves; and, after about fifteen minutes absence, they
returned and expressed their opinion that I was "not guilty." This
opinion induced me to believe that they were very sensible fellows
indeed. Not for a moment did I think of demanding a new trial; that
would have been impertinent, as doubting the sagacity of the jury. My
two Irish prosecutors left the court-room in a rage; and two more
chop-fallen disappointed and mortified Greeks were never seen. The Judge
took his departure, the spectators dispersed, and I crossed the street
and dined sumptuously at Parker's, with a large party of friends.

Very many of my Boston readers will remember a long