"Was this inscription also in the handwriting of your late husband?"
Now many noted that she had said "Judge Parlin," and not "my late husband," as if she would remind them from the start of the public's share in his acts, rather than of her own.
"It was."
"Please produce that paper."
The witness drew forth a large square envelope and handed it to the coroner, who said to the jury:
"I regret that I am compelled to read to you a paper which was evidently intended for one person's reading only, and that Mrs. Parlin or Mr. Wing, according as the one or the other should be the longest-lived. The circumstances of the death which placed this in the hands of the other for perusal, leaves no alternative. Before reading, let me say, I was a townsman of Judge Parlin: I had the honour to know him intimately, and notwithstanding what I am about to read you, I still hold it an honour. He was an able lawyer, an upright judge, a good citizen, and, I may add, a noble man. If he sinned, who of us is there that is without sin? If there be such, let
