The Fairfield Herald

From the New York Tribune,
An Interesting Description of Surratt.
As Surratt sits in court with his hat removed, we see his face more clearly. A small head, long, glossy, light brown hair, brushed up from a full fair brow; small aquiline nose, so hollow at its parting from the forehead that a child's finger laid across would hardly fill the indentation; eyes gray, deep-set, near together, earnest, secretive, but with a good deal of composure, gained perhaps in so long daring fate to do its worst; mouth weak, half hidden by a light auburn mustache, and a long, narrow-pointed tuft of beard pendant from the narrow chin. The face is almost a triangle, narrowing down regularly from the forehead on each side to the pointed chin.
So the young prisoner sits, slowly moving a palm fan, noticing each little detail in lawyer, witness, and spectator, usually serene, sometimes smiling, through the summer days, while the scales vibrate, weighing his life and death. What memories must crowd upon him! His youth at the Jesuit College; his deep zeal for the rebel cause; his long night journeys with information from Washington to Richmond: then with money and messages from Richmond to Montreal: running pickets: shot at by scouts; sad partings and glad meetings with his betrothed, who waits here to take the stand and give her woman's voice for his life; the long Canadian hiding, going out only by night and in priestly vestments; tidings of the trial and execution of his familiars; of the impending fate of his mother--for human nature's sake his counsel should prove their assertion that he desired to come and save her, but was not allowed to)--then of her ignominious death; the secret ocean passage: the counsels in England and France; the half year's service as a common soldier: talking everywhere of the one great subject that filled his thoughts: his arrest at the little Italian village; his leap of thirty-seven feet over the parapet to escape, with the connivance of his guards; his flight to Naples; then up the Mediterranean; no permanent refuge--no rest for the sole of his foot; his landing at Alexandria to find the file of Janissaries waiting to arrest him again, and St. Marie, like an avenger of blood, standing by to identify him. Then ship-board, prison, manacles, and this long waiting for the verdict.