essed a sort of glamour; but it failed of real distinction
and the quality proper to greatness, even as the crimes it recorded
and the man responsible for them. Pendean's confession revealed an
insensibility, a faulty sense of humour, an affectation and a love
for the glittering and the grandiose that robbed it of any supreme
claim in the annals or literature of murder. The document ended with
an assurance that Michael would never die at the hands of his fellow
man. He had repeated this assertion on several occasions and every
conceivable precaution was taken to prevent evasion of his
sentence--an issue to be recorded in its proper place.

Here is his statement, word for word as he wrote it.

* * * * *

MY APOLOGIA

"_Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is
before the deed. Ah! Ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!
Thus speaketh the red judge: 'Why did this criminal commit murder?
He meant to rob.' I tell you, however, that his soul hungered for
blood, not booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!_"

And again:

"_What is this man? A coil of wild serpents at war against
themselves--so they are driven apart to seek their prey in the
world._"

So wrote one whose art and wisdom are nought to this rabbit-brained
generation; but it was given to me to find my meat and drink within
his pages and to see my own youthful impressions reflected and
crystallized with the brilliance of genius in his stupendous mind.

Remember I, who write, am not thirty years old.

As a young man without experience I sometimes asked myself if some
spirit from another order of beings than my own had not been slipped
into my human carcase. It seemed to me that none with whom I came in
contact was built on, or near, my own pattern, for I had only met
one person as yet--my mother--who did not suffer from the malady of
a bad conscience. My father and his friends wallowed in this
complaint. They declared themselves openly to be miserable sinners
and apparently held that the one respectable attitude for humanity
at large. "Safety" was the only state to seek; "danger" the only
condition to avoid. A very cowardice of curs are the Cornish!

I soon found, however, that history abounded in great figures who
had thought and acted otherwise; and presently, in the light thrown
from the theatre of the past, I recognized myself for what I was.

In what is comprehended under the gene