cian in the loftier character of representative of
Sacred Justice. Yet, gentlemen, holding those views, I would,
nevertheless, protest against and denounce such a trial as that in
Manchester, if it had taken place here in Ireland. For, what we
contend is that the men in Manchester would never have been found
guilty on such evidence, would never have been executed on such a
verdict, if time had been given to let panic and passion pass
away--time to let English good sense and calm reason and, sense of
justice have sway. Now, gentlemen, judge ye me on this whole case;
for I have done. I have spoken at great length, but I plead not
merely my own cause but the cause of my country. For myself I care
little. I stand before you here with the manacles, I might say, on my
hands. Already a prison cell awaits me in Kilmainham. My doom, in any
event, is sealed. Already a conviction has been obtained against me
for my opinions on this same event; for it is not one arrow alone
that has been shot from the crown office quiver at me--at my
reputation, my property, my liberty. In a few hours more my voice
will be silenced; but before the world is shut out from me for a
term, I appeal to your verdict--to the verdict of my
fellow-citizens--of my fellow-countrymen--to judge my life, my
conduct, my acts, my principles and say am I a criminal. Sedition, in
a rightly ordered community, is indeed a crime. But who is it that
challenges me? Who is it that demands my loyalty? Who is it that
calls out to me, "Oh, ingrate son, where is the filial affection, the
respect, the obedience, the support, that is my due? Unnatural,
seditious, and rebellious child, a dungeon shall punish your crime!"
I look in the face of my accuser, who thus holds me to the duty of a
son. I turn to see if there I can recognise the features of that
mother, whom indeed I love, my own dear Ireland. I look into that
accusing face, and there I see a scowl, and not a smile. I miss the
soft, fond voice, the tender clasp, the loving word. I look upon the
hands reached out to grasp me--to punish me; and lo, great stains,
blood red, upon those hands; and my sad heart tells me it is the
blood of my widowed mother, Ireland. Then I answer to my
accuser--"You have no claim on me--on my love, my duty, my
allegiance. You are not my mother. You sit indeed in the place where
she should r