ust sometime arrive for that day's work: that Eternal
Justice would sooner or later exact a fit penalty for the cruel
perversion of right which was then and there being consummated. It would
be interesting to know what, at that particular moment, were the
innermost sensations of William Dickson and William Claus, both of whom
sat within a few feet of their victim, and both of whom had repeatedly
received offices of kindness at his hands.

Strange to say, the miserable man's memory was merely suspended, and he
afterwards recalled with much clearness the thoughts and reflections
which passed through his mind during that delirium of more than two
hours. He even remembered the senseless bray of laughter which, to the
sympathetic mind, is not the least impressive feature of that iniquitous
trial. His overwrought nerves being temporarily relieved by the
cachinnation, he regained for a few minutes some measure of composure
and sanity. With the return of reason came a returning sense of
injustice and oppression. He made a brief but ineffectual attempt to
argue the matter with the Chief Justice, who informed him that the facts
had been dealt with by the jury, and that he could be permitted to speak
only on questions of law. The sentence of the Court was then pronounced.
It was to the effect that the prisoner must quit the Province within
twenty-four hours. He was reminded of the risk he would run in the event
of his presuming to disobey, or to return to Upper Canada after his
departure therefrom. He would be liable, according to the words of the
Act of 1804, to suffer death as a felon, without benefit of clergy. The
Chief Justice finally proceeded to read him a severe lecture upon his
past course since his arrival in Canada, and furthermore to give him
some excellent advice. He informed him that in this country the law is
supreme; that no man can be permitted to run counter to it with
impunity; that those who administer the law should be no respecters of
persons; that justice is even-handed, and metes out impartially to the
poor man and the rich. He advised him to turn his great abilities to
practical account, whereby he would no doubt win happiness and
distinction. "Perhaps," says George Eliot, "some of the most terrible
irony of the human lot is to hear a deep truth uttered by lips that have
no right to it." Poor Gourlay was conscious of some feeling of this sort
when he heard such truths proclaimed from such lips. To his
morb