The court was crowded to excess, as was but natural, for the case had excited a very deep interest throughout almost the whole country.

At length the judge was seated, and in a few minutes Cornelius Dalton was put to the bar, charged with the wilful murder of Bartholomew Sullivan, by striking him on the head with a walking-stick, in the corner of a field, near a place called the Grey Stone, &c, &c, situate and being in the barony of, &c, &c.

When the reverend looking old man stood up at the bar, we need scarcely say that all eyes were immediately turned on him with singular interest.  It was clear, however, that there was an admission of guilt in his very face, for, instead of appearing with the erect and independent attitude of conscious innocence, he looked towards the judge and around the court with an expression of such remorse and sorrow, and his mild blue eye had in it a feeling so full of humility, resignation and contrition, that it was impossible to look on his aged figure and almost white hairs with indifference, or, we should rather say, without sympathy.  Indeed, his case appeared to be one of those in which the stern and unrelenting decree of human law comes to demand its rights, long after the unhappy victim has washed away his crime by repentance, and made his peace with God, a position in connection with conventional offences that is too often overlooked in the administration of justice and the distribution of punishment.

It was not without considerable difficulty that they succeeded in prevailing on him to plead not guilty; which he did at length, but in a tone of voice that conveyed anything but a conviction of his innocence to the court, the jury, and those about him.

The first witness called was Jeremiah Sullivan, who deposed that he was present in one of the Christmas Margamores [Big Market] in the year 1798, when an altercation took place between his late brother Bartle and the prisoner at the bar, respecting the price of some barley, which the prisoner had bought from his brother.  The prisoner had bought it, he said, for the sum of thirty-five pounds fifteen shillings, whilst his brother affirmed that it was only thirty-five pounds thirteen shillings—­upon which they came to blows; his brother, when struck by the prisoner, having returned the blow, and knocked the prisoner down.  They were then separated by their friends, who interposed, and, as the cause of the dispute was so trifling, it was proposed that it should be spent in drink, each contributing one-half.  To this both assented, and the parties having commenced drinking, did not confine themselves to the amount disputed, but drank on until they became somewhat tipsy, and were, with difficulty, kept from quarrelling again.  The last words he heard from them that night were, as far as he can remember—­“Dalton,” said his brother, “you have no more brains than the pillar of a gate.”  Upon which the other attempted to strike him, and, on being prevented,