CLERK OF THE ARRAIGNS—­Mary Blandy, hold up thy hand.  Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner and hearken to her charge.  She stands indicted by the name of Mary Blandy, of the parish of Henley-upon-Thames, in the county of Oxford, spinster, daughter of Francis Blandy, late of the same place, gentleman, deceased, for that she not having [as in the indictment before set forth].  Upon this indictment she has been arraigned, and upon her arraignment has pleaded not guilty, and for her trial has put herself upon God and her country, which country you are.  Your charge therefore is to inquire whether she be guilty of the felony and murder whereof she stands indicted, or not guilty.  If you find her guilty you shall inquire what goods or chattels, lands or tenements she had at the time of the felony committed, or at any time since.  If you find her not guilty you shall inquire whether she fled for the same.  If you find that she did fly for the same you shall inquire of her goods and chattels as if you had found her guilty.  If you find her not guilty, and that she did not fly for the same, say so, and no more; and hear your evidence.

The Hon. Mr. Barrington then opened the indictment.  After which,

[Sidenote:  Mr. Bathurst]

The Hon. Mr. BATHURST[1] spoke as follows:—­

May it please your lordships and you gentlemen of the jury, I am counsel in this case for the King, in whose name and at whose expense this prosecution is carried on against the prisoner at the bar, in order to bring her to justice for a crime of so black a dye that I am not at all surprised at this vast concourse of people collected together to hear and to see the trial and catastrophe of so execrable an offender as she is supposed to be.

For, gentlemen, the prisoner at the bar, Miss Mary Blandy, a gentlewoman by birth and education, stands indicted for no less a crime than that of murder, and not only for murder, but for the murder of her own father, and for the murder of a father passionately fond of her, undertaken with the utmost deliberation, carried on with an unvaried continuation of intention, and at last accomplished by a frequent repetition of the baneful dose, administered with her own hands.  A crime so shocking in its own nature and so aggravated in all its circumstances as will (if she is proved to be guilty of it) justly render her infamous to the latest posterity, and make our children’s children, when they read the horrid tale of this day, blush to think that such an inhuman creature ever had an existence.

I need not, gentlemen, paint to you the heinousness of the crime of murder.  You have but to consult your own breasts, and you will know it.

Has a murder been committed?  Who ever beheld the ghastly corpse of the murdered innocent weltering in its blood and did not feel his own blood run slow and cold through all his veins?  Has the murderer escaped?  With what eagerness do we pursue?  With what zeal do we apprehend?  With what joy do we bring to justice?  And when the dreadful sentence of death is pronounced upon him, everybody hears it with satisfaction, and acknowledges the justice of the divine denunciation that, “By whom man’s blood is shed, by man shall his blood be shed.”