It is agreed that the affidavit of the prisoner should be received as
evidence of what his brother, Samuel H. Knapp, would testify if present.
Samuel H. Knapp says, that, about ten minutes past ten o'clock, his
brother, Frank Knapp, on his way to bed, opened his chamber door, made
some remarks, closed the door, and went to his chamber; and that he did
not hear him leave it afterwards. How is this witness able to fix the
time at ten minutes past ten? There is no circumstance mentioned by
which he fixes it. He had been in bed, probably asleep, and was aroused
from his sleep by the opening of the door. Was he in a situation to
speak of time with precision? Could he know, under such circumstances,
whether it was ten minutes past ten, or ten minutes before eleven, when
his brother spoke to him? What would be the natural result in such a
case? But we are not left to conjecture this result. We have positive
testimony on this point. Mr. Webb tells you that Samuel told him, on the
8th of June, "that he did not know what time his brother Frank came
home, and that he was not at home when _he_ went to bed." You will
consider this testimony of Mr. Webb as indorsed upon this affidavit; and
with this indorsement upon it, you will give it its due weight. This
statement was made to him after Frank was arrested.

I come to the testimony of the father. I find myself incapable of
speaking of him or his testimony with severity. Unfortunate old man!
Another Lear, in the conduct of his children; another Lear, I apprehend,
in the effect of his distress upon his mind and understanding. He is
brought here to testify, under circumstances that disarm severity, and
call loudly for sympathy. Though it is impossible not to see that his
story cannot be credited, yet I am unable to speak of him otherwise than
in sorrow and grief. Unhappy father! he strives to remember, perhaps
persuades himself that he does remember, that on the evening of the
murder he was himself at home at ten o'clock. He thinks, or seems to
think, that his son came in at about five minutes past ten. He fancies
that he remembers his conversation; he thinks he spoke of bolting the
door; he thinks he asked the time of night; he seems to remember his
then going to his bed. Alas! these are but the swimming fancies of an
agitated and distressed mind. Alas! they are but the dreams of hope, its
uncertain lights, flickering on the thick darkness of parental distress.
Alas! the miserable