“I have to say that I have been found guilty by a packed jury—­by the jury of a partizan sheriff—­by a jury not empanelled even according to the law of England.  I have been found guilty by a packed jury obtained by a juggle—­a jury not empanelled by a sheriff but by a juggler.”

This was touching the high sheriff on a tender place, and he immediately called out for the protection of the court.  Whereupon Baron Lefroy interposed, and did gravely and deliberately, as is the manner of judges, declare that the imputation which had just been made on the character of that excellent official, the high sheriff, was most “unwarranted and unfounded.”  He adduced, however, no reason in support of that declaration—­not a shadow of proof that the conduct of the aforesaid official was fair or honest—­but proceeded to say that the jury had found the prisoner guilty on evidence supplied by his own writings, some of which his lordship, with a proper expression of horror on his countenance, proceeded to read from his notes.  In one of the prisoner’s publications, he said, there appeared the following passage “There is now growing on the soil of Ireland a wealth of grain, and roots, and cattle, far more than enough to sustain in life and comfort all the inhabitants of the island.  That wealth must not leave us another year, not until every grain of it is fought for in every stage, from the tying of the sheaf to the loading of the ship; and the effort necessary to that simple act of self-preservation will at one and the same blow prostrate British dominion and landlordism together.”  In reference to this piece of writing, and many others of a similar nature, his lordship remarked that no effort had been made to show that the prisoner was not responsible for them; it was only contended that they involved no moral guilt.  But the law was to be vindicated; and it now became his duty to pronounce the sentence of the court, which was—­that the prisoner be transported beyond the seas for a term of fourteen years.  The severity of the sentence occasioned general surprise; a general suspiration and low murmur were heard through the court.  Then there was stillness as of death, in the midst of which the tones of John Mitchel’s voice rang out clearly, as he said:—­

“The law has now done its part, and the Queen of England, her crown and government in Ireland are now secure, pursuant to act of parliament.  I have done my part also.  Three months ago I promised Lord Clarendon, and his government in this country, that I would provoke him into his courts of justice, as places of this kind are called, and that I would force him publicly and notoriously to pack a jury against me to convict me, or else that I would walk a free man out of this court, and provoke him to a contest in another field.  My lord, I knew I was setting my life on that cast, but I knew that in either event the victory should be with me, and it is with me.  Neither the jury, nor the judges, nor any other man in this court presumes to imagine that it is a criminal who stands in this dock.”

Here there were murmurs of applause, which caused the criers to call out for “Silence!” and the police to look fiercely on the people around them.  Mr. Mitchel resumed:—­