you to sit in that box. If you do not fairly
represent the community, and if you are not empanelled
indifferently in that sense, you are no jury in
the spirit of the constitution. I care not
how the crown practice may be within the technical
letter of the law, it violates the intent and meaning
of the constitution, and it is not “trial
by jury.” Let us suppose the scene removed,
say, to France. A hundred names are returned
on what is called a panel by a state functionary
for the trial of a journalist charged with sedition.
The accused is powerless to remove any name from the
list unless for over-age or non-residence.
But the imperial prosecutor has the arbitrary power
of ordering as many as he pleases to “stand
aside.” By this means he puts or allows
on the jury only whomsoever he pleases. He
can, beforehand, select the twelve, and, by wiping
out, if it suits him, the eighty-eight other names,
put the twelve of his own choosing into the box.
Can this be called trial by jury? Would not
it be the same thing, in a more straightforward way,
to let the crown-solicitor send out a policeman
and collect twelve well-accredited persons of his
own mind and opinion? For my own part, I would
prefer this plain-dealing, and consider far preferable
the more rude but honest hostility of a drum-head
court martial (applause in the court). Again
I say, understand me well, I am objecting to the principle,
the system, the practice, and not to the twelve gentlemen
now before me as individuals. Personally, I
am confident that being citizens of Dublin, whatever
your views or opinions, you are honourable and
conscientious men. You may have strong prejudices
against me or my principles in public life—very
likely you have; but I doubt not that though these
may unconsciously tinge your judgment and influence
your verdict, you will not consciously violate the
obligations of your oath. And I care not whether
the crown, in permitting you to be the twelve,
ordered three, or thirteen, or thirty others to
“stand by”—or whether those
thus arbitrarily put aside were Catholics or Protestants,
Liberals, Conservatives, or Nationalists—the
moment the crown put its finger at all on the panel,
in a case where the accused had no equal right, the
essential character of the jury was changed, and
the spirit of the constitution was outraged.
And now, what is the charge against my fellow-traversers
and myself? The solicitor-general put it very
pithily awhile ago when he said our crime was “glorifying
the cause of murder.” The story of the
crown is a very terrible, a very startling one.
It alleges a state of things which could hardly be
supposed to exist amongst the Thugs of India.
It depicts a population so hideously depraved that
thirty thousand of them in one place, and tens
of thousands in various other places, arrayed themselves
publicly in procession to honour and glorify murder—to
sympathise with murderers as murderers. Yes,
gentlemen, that is the crown case, or they have