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Characteristics of Leading Counsel and Their Arguments.

Washington, March 14, 1868.

With lightning leap the historical proceedings of the “High Court of Impeachment” have flashed all over the country. The bone and sinew of the matter have been given to the people, but the delicate life-currents and details which go to make the creation perfect, if not gathered by the pen, must be buried in the waste-basket of old Father Time. Decorum, dignity, solemnity, are the order of the day, and one might as well attempt a “glowing description” of a funeral as to weave in bright colors the opening scenes of the greatest trial on record.

Outside the Capitol, in the crowd, the incidents are beyond description. Men are there from all parts of the country, pleading, swearing for admittance—offering untold sums for a little insignificant bit of pasteboard. But the police, stony, frightful as the “head of Medusa,” shut the doors in their faces, inexorable as the fiat of the tomb. A limited number of honest, tender-hearted Senators are trying to smuggle in a few beloved “outsiders;” but the police are instantly convened into a “court of impeachment,” and the unfortunate Senator has to bow before the majesty of the law. A ticket is the only open sesame, and a bit of yellow pasteboard so dazzles the multitudes that even Andrew Johnson is forgotten for a time. But the fortunate ticket-holder, when once beyond the hurly-burly outside, finds that an entrance to a different atmosphere has been attained. It is like leaving the famished, parched plain at the mountain’s foot and climbing up into the cool region, almost among the eternal snows. The Senate chamber, always chilly in comparison with the warm, leaping blood of the House, is now wrapped in judicial robes of coldest gray. When it is remembered that Senators were allowed four tickets and members half that number, it will readily be understood that even the aristocracy had to be skimmed to fill the galleries, and with the exception of a few newspaper correspondents, the chosen ones belong to or are attaches of the proudest families in the land. And it is a most significant fact that women hold nearly all the tickets. They sail into the gentlemen’s gallery like a real “man of war,” shake out the silken, feathery crinoline, rub their little gloved hands in an ecstasy of delight, and while perching their heads significantly on one side, gaze sorrowfully at the few forlorn men stranded amongst their number, either through accident or to prove to the world that the genus man under the most trying circumstances is not extinct. As the Senate clock points to the hour of 1, Senator Wade leaves the chair, and Chief Justice Chase, robed in his judicial drapery, enters at a side door and takes the vacant seat. Very soon the managers of the impeachment file in, Bingham and Boutwell taking the lead. A table for their accommodation has been prepared, and as they take their seats the silence seems like the dead, unbroken calm inhabited only by time and space. The moment has arrived for the utterance of the most solemn words ever echoed in the Senate of the United States—the proclamation of the Sergeant-at-Arms calling a recreant President to stand forth and prove his innocence or else meet the just punishment of his crime. A momentary silence follows, and the counsel for the accused advance and take their seats. That which was uncertainty is now a positive fact.

Andrew Johnson will not meet the august tribunal face to face. There is to be a state dinner in the evening at the White House, and if feasting can be thought of at such an hour, it may be possible that he is engaged on the bill of fare. Louis XV was engaged with his powders and paint box, Dubarry, Pompadour, and venison, when the storm was brewing that destroyed his family and swept the innocent with the guilty off the face of the earth. The counsel, three in number, face the tribunal. Mr. Stanbery is the first of the number to speak. Keen and hair-splitting, he seems to think he is going to carry the day by storm. He rather demands forty days for preparation instead of requesting it. He is followed by Mr. Bingham, who confines himself entirely to the law, without the least flourish of rhetoric or word painting. Very soon the Senate retires for consultation. Then an hour and a half are devoted to gossip in the gallery, and one has time to sweep the rows of seats with an opera glass and glean all the handsome faces; and if the whole truth and nothing but the truth must be told, old Mother Nature (the more shame on her) has been just as niggardly and mean in dealing out “magnificent eyes” and “voluptuous forms” to the creme de la creme as if she were only managing the family affairs of some poor nobody who has not a ghost of a chance for Congressional or any other honor in our beloved country. A limited number of large solitaire diamonds were visible; but good taste excludes nearly all diamonds except in full dress. As this was the highest court in the land amongst men, it might as justly be said that it was the highest court of culture, refinement, fashion, and good taste amongst the women. If all the elements which make men great, just, and wise were found on the floor, it can as truthfully be said that the galleries were never filled by so much purity, so much that goes to make woman the connecting link between men and the angels. Who is that noble woman with the silver hair? The mother-in-law of Edwin M. Stanton. The other whose face time has mellowed to autumnal sweetness and perfection? The mother of Senator Trumbull. No, no; that picture of delicacy and grace, arrayed in silk tinted with the shade of a dead forest leaf, with dead gold ornaments to match? Why, that is the queen of fashion—the wife of a Senator, the daughter of Chief Justice Chase.

No more time to notice those chosen amongst the women. The Senate has assembled, and General Butler has the floor. He takes the largest, most comprehensive view of the case. He is going to make his mark upon the age, if he has not already. He seems the very incarnation of force and will. He is followed by Judge Nelson of Tennessee, one of the President’s counsel. Originally a preacher, I am told, he brings the same kind of persuasion to bear upon the Senate that he would upon rebellious sinners. As the Senate do not look upon themselves in that light, it follows that something more substantial will have to be used; but, as the President has chosen each of his counsel for certain personal qualifications, it is very probable that he expects nothing but flowery sentiment from him—the ornamental, instead of the useful. Judge Curtis, the ablest of the President’s counsel, said but very little, seeming well content with Judge Nelson’s waste of words. Wilson, of Iowa, one of the ablest judicial minds in the country, made a few remarks, of which law was the cubic measure; and, after some amendments and voting, the day and the people vanished; and thus ended one of the great historical days of the age.

Olivia.