Amongst the friends who clustered round the dock in which the patriot leader stood, and watched the progress of his trial with beating hearts, was Mr. James Martin, one of the prisoner’s brothers.  During the three long weary days occupied by the trial, his post had been by his brother’s side listening to the proceedings with the anxiety and solicitude which a brother alone can feel, and revealing by every line of his countenance the absorbing interest with which he regarded the issue.  The verdict of the jury fell upon him with the bewildering shock of an avalanche.  He was stunned, stupified, amazed; he could hardly believe that he had heard the fatal words aright, and that “guilty” had been the verdict returned. He guilty! he whose life was studded by good deeds as stars stud the wintry sky; he guilty, whose kindly heart had always a throb for the suffering and the unfortunate, whose hand was ever extended to shield the oppressed, to succour the friendless, and to shelter the homeless and the needy; he “inspired by the devil,” whose career had been devoted to an attempt to redress the sufferings of his fellow-countrymen, and whose sole object in life seemed to be to abridge the sufferings of the Irish people, to plant the doctrines of peace and good-will in every heart, and to make Ireland the home of harmony and concord, by rendering her prosperous and free.  It was a lie, a calumny, a brutal fabrication!  It was more than his sense of justice could endure, it was more than his hot Northern blood could tolerate.  Beckoning a friend, he rushed with him into the street, and drove direct to the residence of Mr. Waterhouse, the foreman of the jury.  The latter had barely returned from court, when he was waited upon by Mr. Martin, who indignantly charged him with having bullied the jury into recording a verdict of guilty—­an accusation which current report made against him—­and challenged the astonished juryman to mortal combat.  Mr. Waterhouse was horror-struck by the proposal, to which he gasped out in response, a threat to call in the police.  He never heard of anything so terribly audacious.  He, a loyal Castle tradesman, who had “well and truly” tried the case according to the recognised acceptance of the words, and who had “true deliverance made” after the fashion in favour with the crown; he whose “perspicuity, wisdom, impartiality,” &c., had been appealed to and belauded so often by the Attorney-General, to be challenged to a hostile meeting, which might end, by leaving a bullet lodged in his invaluable body.  The bare idea of it fairly took his breath away, and with the terrible vision of pistols and bloodshed before his mind, he rushed to the police office and had his indignant visitor arrested.  On entering the Green-street courthouse next day, Mr. Waterhouse told his woeful story to the judge.  The judge was appalled by the disclosure; Mr. Martin was brought before him and sentenced to a month’s imprisonment, besides being bound over to keep the peace towards Mr. Waterhouse and everyone else for a period of seven years.