the sincere and heartfelt thanks of an honest man.  I offer them, too, in the name of America, the thanks of the Irish people.  I know that I am here without a relative—­without a friend—­in fact, 3,000 miles away from my family.  But I know that I am not forgotten there.  The great and generous Irish heart of America to-day feels for me—­to-day sympathises with and does not forget the man who is willing to tread the scaffold—­aye, defiantly—­proudly, conscious of no wrong—­in defence of American principles—­in defence of liberty.  To Messrs. Butt, Dowse, O’Loghlen, and all the counsel for the prisoners, for some of whom I believe Mr. Curran will appear, and my very able solicitor, Mr. Lawless, I return individually and collectively, my sincere and heartfelt thanks.

“I shall now, my lords, as no doubt you will suggest to me, think of the propriety of turning my attention to the world beyond the grave.  I shall now look only to that home where sorrows are at an end, where joy is eternal.  I shall hope and pray that freedom may vet dawn on this poor down-trodden country.  It is my hope, it is my prayer, and the last words that I shall utter will be a prayer to God for forgiveness, and a prayer for poor old Ireland.  Now, my lords; in relation to the other man, Corridon, I will make a few remarks.  Perhaps before I go to Corridon, I should say much has been spoken on that table of Colonel Kelly, and of the meetings held at his lodgings in London.  I desire to state, I never knew where Colonel Kelly’s lodgings were.  I never knew where he lived in London, till I heard the informer, Massey, announce it on the table.  I never attended a meeting at Colonel Kelly’s; and the hundred other statements that have been made about him.  I now solemnly declare on my honour as a man—­as a dying man—­these statements have been totally unfounded and false from beginning to end.  In relation to the small paper that was introduced here, and brought against me as evidence, as having been found on my person in connexion with that oath, I desire to say that that paper was not found on my person.  I knew no person whose name was on that paper.  O’Beirne, of Dublin, or those other delegates you heard of, I never saw or met.  That paper has been put in there for some purpose.  I can swear positively it is not in my handwriting.  I can also swear I never saw it; yet it is used as evidence against me.  Is this justice?  Is this right?  Is this manly?  I am willing if I have transgressed the laws to suffer the penalty, but I object to this system of trumping up a case to take away the life of a human being.  True, I ask for no mercy.  I feel that, with my present emaciated frame and somewhat shattered constitution, it is bettor that my life should be brought to an end than that I should drag out a miserable existence in the prison dens of Portland.  Thus it is, my lords, I accept the verdict.  Of course my acceptance of it is unnecessary, but I am satisfied with it.  And