invest yourselves with attributes which belong only to Omniscience; and
now I warn you--and it is a voice from the tomb, in whose shadow I
already stand, which addresses you--that you are about to commit a most
cruel and deliberate murder."

He paused, and the jury looked into each other's eyes for the courage
they could not find in their own hearts. The voice of conscience spoke,
but was only for a few moments audible. The suggestions that what grave
parliaments, learned judges, and all classes of "respectability"
sanctioned, could not be wrong, much less murderous or cruel, silenced
the "still, small" tones, and tranquilized the startled jurors.

"Prisoner at the bar," said the judge with his cold, calm voice of
destiny, "I cannot listen to such observations: you have been found
guilty of a heinous offence by a jury of your countrymen after a patient
trial. With that finding I need scarcely say I entirely agree. I am as
satisfied of your guilt as if I had seen you commit the act with my own
bodily eyes. The circumstance of your being a person who, from habits and
education, should have been above committing so base a crime, only
aggravates your guilt. However, no matter who or what you have been, you
must expiate your offence on the scaffold. The law has very properly, for
the safety of society, decreed the punishment of death for such crimes:
our only and plain duty is to execute that law."

The prisoner did not reply: he was leaning with his elbows on the front
of the dock, his bowed face covered with his outspread hands; and the
judge passed sentence of death in the accustomed form. The court then
rose, and a turnkey placed his hand upon the prisoner's arm, to lead him
away. Suddenly he uncovered his face, drew himself up to his full
height--he was a remarkably tall man--and glared fiercely round upon the