a
crime. Forbid it, the spirit of the British Constitution--forbid it,
heaven--forbid it, Protestantism. No, gentlemen of the jury," etc., etc.

We need not go further, because we have condensed in the few sentences
given the gist of all he said.

When the case was closed, the jury retired to their room, and as Sir
Robert Whitecraft's fate depends upon their verdict, we will be kind
enough to avail ourselves of the open sesame of our poor imagination to
introduce our readers invisibly into the jury-room.

"Now," said the foreman, "what's to be done? Are we to sacrifice a
Protestant champion to Popery?"

"To Popery! To the deuce," replied another. "It's not Popery that is
prosecuting him. Put down Popery by argument, by fair argument, but
don't murder those that profess it, in cold blood. As the Attorney*
General said, let us make it our own case, and if the Papishes treated
us as we have treated them, what would we say? By jingo, I'll hang
that fellow. He's a Protestant champion, they say; but I say he's a
Protestant bloodhound, and a cowardly rascal to boot."

"How is he a cowardly rascal, Bob? Hasn't' he proved himself a brave man
against the Papishes? eh?"

"A brave man! deuce thank him for being a brave man against poor devils
that are allowed nothing stouter than a horse-rod to defend themselves
with--when he has a party of well-armed bloodhounds at his back. He's
the worst landlord in Ireland, and, above all things, he's a tyrant to
his Protestant tenants, this champion of Protestantism. Ay, and fierce
as he is against Popery, there's not a Papish tenant on his estate that
he's not like a father to."

"And how the deuce do you know that?"

"Because I was head bailiff to him for ten years."

"But doesn't all the world know that he hates the Papists, and would
have them massacred if he could?"

"And so he does--and so he would; but it's all his cowardice, because
he's afraid that if he was harsh to his Popish tenants some of them
might shoot him from behind a hedge some fine night, and give him a
leaden bullet for his supper."

"I know he's a coward," observed another, "because he allowed himself to
be horsewhipped by Major Bingham, and didn't call him out for it."

"Oh, as to that," said another, "it was made up by their friends; but
what's to be done? All the evidence is against him, and we are on our
oaths to find a verdict according to the evidence."

"Evidence be hanged," said another; "I'll sit