The jury consulted together about five minutes and then turned to the Court.

CLERK OF ARRAIGNS—­Gentlemen, are you all agreed on your verdict?

JURY—­Yes.

CLERK OF ARRAIGNS—­Who shall say for you?

JURY—­Our foreman.

CLERK OF ARRAIGNS—­Mary Blandy, hold up thy hand (which she did).  Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner.  How say you, is Mary Blandy guilty of the felony and murder whereof she stands indicted or not guilty?

JURY—­Guilty.

CLERK OF ARRAIGNS—­What goods or chattels, lands or tenements, had she at the time of the same felony and murder committed, or at any time since to your knowledge?

JURY—­None.

CLERK OF ARRAIGNS—­Hearken, to your verdict as the Court hath recorded it.  You say that Mary Blandy is guilty of the felony and murder whereof she stands indicted, and that she has not any goods or chattels, lands or tenements, at the time of the said felony and murder committed, or at any time since, to your knowledge, and so you say all.

CLERK OF ARRAIGNS—­Mary Blandy, hold up thy hand.  You have been indicted of felony and murder.  You have been thereupon arraigned, and pleaded thereto not guilty, and for your trial you have put yourself upon God and your country, which country have found you guilty.  What have you now to say for yourself why the Court should not proceed to give judgment of death upon you according to law?

CRYER—­Oyez!  My lords the King’s justices do strictly charge and command all manner of persons to keep silence whilst sentence of death is passing on the prisoner at the bar, upon pain of imprisonment.

Mr. Baron Legge—­Mary Blandy, you have been indicted for the murder of your father, and for your trial have put yourself upon God and your country.  That country has found you guilty.

You have had a long and a fair trial, and sorry I am that it falls to my lot to acquaint you that I am now no more at liberty to suppose you innocent than I was before to presume you guilty.

You are convicted of a crime so dreadful, so horrid in itself, that human nature shudders at it—­the wilful murder of your own father!  A father by all accounts the most fond, the most tender, the most indulgent that ever lived.  That father with his dying breath forgave you.  May your heavenly Father do so too!

It is hard to conceive that anything could induce you to perpetrate an act so shocking, so impossible to reconcile to nature or reason.  One should have thought your own sense, your education, and even the natural softness of your sex, might have secured you from an attempt so barbarous and so wicked.

What views you had, or what was your intention, is best known to yourself.  With God and your conscience be it.  At this bar we can judge only from appearances and from the evidence produced to us.  But do not deceive yourself; remember you are very shortly to appear before a much more awful tribunal, where no subterfuge can avail, no art, no disguise can screen you from the Searcher of all hearts—­“He revealeth the deep and secret things, He knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with Him.”