ed
during the sham trial for the counsel for the defence. As yet they were
only occupied by the junior advocates, Sir Colman O'Loghlen and John
O'Hagan. The benches at the right of the dock, and nearer to the bench,
reserved for the Attorney-General and his retainers, were vacant. The
Sheriff and his white stick occupied their box, and the galleries to the
right and left were crowded with jurymen--those who "had done their
business," and those who were eager for employment to do more. The bench
of the judges held two empty chairs. And police officers and other
mercenaries, dotted thickly over the court, "concluded and set off the
arrangements."

An old man, low of stature, and stooped, passed through a side door, and
walked slowly and decrepidly into the benches of the prisoner's counsel.
Whispers, and then applause from the galleries, were heard and passed
by him unheeded. Quietly and unostentatiously he moved to his seat--the
junior advocates, and all the Confederates in the body of the court,
rising and bowing to him in silence. It was the solitary Republican of
the United Irish day, Robert Holmes, coming to discharge his last duty
to the great Republican of a younger century.

The applause of the galleries was hushed by the crier's voice--"Silence!
take off your hats"; and on the right stalked in the gaunt figure of
James Henry Monahan. Triumph, animosity and fear marked his night-bird
face. Even yet it was hoped the great opponent of his "government," whom
by rascality alone he could convict, would strike his colours, and sue
for mercy. Even yet it was feared that a rescue would be attempted. How
possible the former was, the reader may judge. The latter was rendered
impossible by the council of the Confederation, and the few who
cherished the design in the council's despite, had attempted an _emeute_
the night previous, and were beaten and placed _hors de combat_. As
Monahan and his retainers entered, the red face of Lefroy oozed through
the bench curtains, and followed by the pale Moore, "the court was
seated."

As yet the dock was empty, save that the jailor of Newgate and his
deputy occupied each a corner.

There was a dead silence.

"Jailor, put forward John Mitchel," said the official, whose duty is to
make such orders.

A grating of bolts--a rustling of chains, were heard behind. The low
door-way at the back of the dock opened, and between turnkeys Mitchel
entered.

Ascending the steps to the front