right, which no act of parliament, no proclamation, can take away from them.  It is, I repeat, their inalienable right.  I advised them to keep their arms; and further, I advised them to use their arms in their own defence, against all assailants—­even assailants that might come to attack them, unconstitutionally and improperly using the Queen’s name as their sanction.  My object in all my proceedings has been simply to assist in establishing the national independence of Ireland, for the benefit of all the people of Ireland—­noblemen, clergymen, judges, professional men—­in fact, all Irishmen.  I have sought that object:  first, because I thought it was our right—­because I think national independence is the right of the people of this country; and secondly, I admit that, being a man who loved retirement, I never would have engaged in politics did I not think it was necessary to do all in my power to make an end of the horrible scenes that this country presents—­the pauperism, starvation, and crime, and vice, and hatred of all classes against each other.  I thought there should be an end to that horrible system, which, while it lasted, gave me no peace of mind; for I could not enjoy anything in my native country so long as I saw my countrymen forced to be vicious—­forced to hate each other—­and degraded to the level of paupers and brutes.  That is the reason I engaged in politics.  I acknowledge, as the Solicitor-General has said, that I was but a weak assailant of the English power.  I am not a good writer, and I am no orator.  I had only two weeks’ experience in conducting a newspaper until I was put into jail; but I am satisfied to direct the attention of my countrymen to everything I have written and said, and to rest my character on a fair and candid examination of what I have put forward as my opinions.  I shall say nothing in vindication of my motives but this—­that every fair and honest man, no matter how prejudiced he may be, if he calmly considers what I have written and said, will be satisfied that my motives were pure and honourable.  I have nothing more to say.”

Then the judge proceeded to pass sentence.  In the course of his remarks he referred to the recommendation to mercy which came from the jury, whereupon Mr. Martin broke in.  “I beg your lordship’s pardon,” he said, “I cannot condescend to accept ‘mercy,’ where I believe I have been morally right; I want justice—­not mercy.”  But he looked for it in vain.

“Transportation for ten years beyond the seas” is spoken by the lips of the judge, and the burlesque of justice is at an end.  Mr. Martin heard the sentence with perfect composure and self-possession, though the faces of his brothers and friends standing by, showe signs of the deepest emotion.  “Remove the prisoner,” were the next words uttered, and then John Martin, the pure-minded, the high-souled, and the good, was borne off to the convict’s cell in Newgate.