my knowledge yesterday!  I will not refer with any bitter feeling to the fact that whilst the validity of the conviction so obtained was still pending in the Court of Criminal Appeal, the Right Hon. and Noble the Chief Secretary for Ireland declared in the House of Commons that ’that conviction was the most important one at the Commission’—­thus prejudicing my case, I will not say willingly; but the observation was, at least, inopportune, and for me unfortunate.

“I will not speak my feeling on the fact that in the arguments in the case in the Court for Reserved Cases, the Right Hon. the Attorney-General appealed to the passions—­if such can exist in judges—­and not to the judgment of the court, for I gather from the judgment of Mr. Justice O’Hagan, that the right hon. gentleman made an earnest appeal ‘that such crimes’ as mine ’should not be allowed to go unpunished’.—­forgetful, I will not say designedly forgetful, that he was addressing the judges of the land, in the highest court of the land, on matters of law, and not speaking to a pliant Dublin jury on a treason trial in the court-house of Green-street.

“Before I proceed further, my lords, there is a matter which, as simply personal to myself I should not mind, but which as involving high interests to the community, and serious consequences to individuals, demand a special notice.  I allude to the system of manufacturing informers.  I want to know, if the court can inform me, by what right a responsible officer of the crown entered my solitary cell at Kilmainham prison on Monday last—­unbidden and unexpected—­uninvited and undesired.  I want to know what justification there was for his coming to insult me in my solitude and in my sorrow—­ostensibly informing me that I was to be brought up for sentence on Thursday, but in the same breath adroitly putting to me the question if I knew any of the men recently arrested near Dungarvan, and now in the prison of Kilmainham.  Coming thus, with a detective dexterity, carrying in one hand a threat of sentence and punishment—­in the other as a counterpoise and, I suppose an alternative, a temptation to treachery.  Did he suppose that seven months of imprisonment had so broken my spirit, as well as my health, that I would be an easy prey to his blandishments?  Did he dream that the prospect of liberty which newspaper rumour and semi-official information held out to me was too dear to be forfeited for a trilling forfeiture of honour?  Did he believe that by an act of secret turpitude I would open my prison doors only to close them the faster on others who may or may not have been my friends—­or did he imagine he had found in me a Massey to be moulded and manipulated into the service of the crown, or a Corridon to have cowardice and cupidity made the incentives to his baseness.  I only wonder how the interview ended as it did; but I knew I was a prisoner, and self-respect preserved my patience and secured his safety.  Great, my lords, as