The Experiences of a Barrister, and Confessions of an Attorney | Page 6

sobbing and clinging to their
shrieking mother's dress, she and they were hurried out of court The
clerk, after a painful pause, repeated the solemn formula. By a strong
effort the doomed man mastered his agitation; his pale countenance
lighted up with indignant fire, and firm and self-possessed, he thus
replied to the fearful interrogatory:--
"Much could I say in the name, not of mercy, but of justice, why the
sentence about to be passed on me should not be pronounced; but
nothing, alas! that will avail me with you, pride-blinded ministers of
death. You fashion to yourselves--out of your own vain conceits do you
fashion--modes and instruments, by the aid of which you fondly
imagine to invest yourselves with attributes which belong only to
Omniscience; and now I warn you--and it is a voice from the tomb, in
whose shadow I already stand, which addresses you--that you are about
to commit a most cruel and deliberate murder."
He paused, and the jury looked into each other's eyes for the courage

they could not find in their own hearts. The voice of conscience spoke,
but was only for a few moments audible. The suggestions that what
grave parliaments, learned judges, and all classes of "respectability"
sanctioned, could not be wrong, much less murderous or cruel, silenced
the "still, small" tones, and tranquilized the startled jurors.
"Prisoner at the bar," said the judge with his cold, calm voice of destiny,
"I cannot listen to such observations: you have been found guilty of a
heinous offence by a jury of your countrymen after a patient trial. With
that finding I need scarcely say I entirely agree. I am as satisfied of
your guilt as if I had seen you commit the act with my own bodily eyes.
The circumstance of your being a person who, from habits and
education, should have been above committing so base a crime, only
aggravates your guilt. However, no matter who or what you have been,
you must expiate your offence on the scaffold. The law has very
properly, for the safety of society, decreed the punishment of death for
such crimes: our only and plain duty is to execute that law."
The prisoner did not reply: he was leaning with his elbows on the front
of the dock, his bowed face covered with his outspread hands; and the
judge passed sentence of death in the accustomed form. The court then
rose, and a turnkey placed his hand upon the prisoner's arm, to lead him
away. Suddenly he uncovered his face, drew himself up to his full
height--he was a remarkably tall man--and glared fiercely round upon
the audience, like a wild animal at bay. "My lord," he cried, or rather
shouted, in an excited voice. The judge motioned impatiently to the
jailor, and strong hands impelled the prisoner from the front of the dock.
Bursting from them, he again sprang forward, and his arms outstretched,
whilst his glittering eye seemed to hold the judge spell-bound,
exclaimed, "My lord, before another month has passed away, you will
appear at the bar of another world, to answer for the life, the innocent
life, which God bestowed upon me, but which you have impiously cast
away as a thing of naught and scorn!" He ceased, and was at once
borne off. The court, in some confusion, hastily departed. It was
thought at the time that the judge's evidently failing health had
suggested the prophecy to the prisoner. It only excited a few days'
wonder, and was forgotten.
The position of a barrister in such circumstances is always painful. I
need hardly say that my own feelings were of a very distressing kind.

Conscious that if the unfortunate man really was guilty, he was at least
not deserving of capital punishment, I exerted myself to procure a
reprieve. In the first place I waited privately on the judge; but he would
listen to no proposal for a respite. Along with a number of
individuals--chiefly of the Society of Friends--I petitioned the crown
for a commutation of the sentence. But being unaccompanied with a
recommendation from the judge, the prayer of our petition was of
course disregarded: the law, it was said, must take its course. How
much cruelty has been exercised under shelter of that remorseless
expression!
I would willingly pass over the succeeding events. Unable to save his
life, I endeavored to soothe the few remaining hours of the doomed
convict, and frequently visited him in the condemned cell. The more I
saw of him, the deeper grew my sympathy in his case, which was that
of no vulgar felon. "I have been a most unfortunate man," said he one
day to me. "A destiny towards ruin in fortune and in life has pursued
me. I feel as if deserted by