I beg, sir, to know what would be your feelings, your honor, your rage; would you not compare the Attorney-General to the gambler who played with a loaded die? and then you would hear him talk, in solemn and monotonous tones, of his conscience! Oh, his conscience, gentlemen of the jury!
But the times are altered. The Press, the Press, gentlemen, has effectuated a salutary revolution; a commission of defective titles would no longer be tolerated; the judges can no longer be bribed with money, and juries can no longer be——I must not say it. Yes, they can, you know—we all know they can be still inquired out, and “packed,” as the technical phrase is. But you, who are not packed, you, who have been fairly selected, will see that the language of the publication before us is mildness itself, compared with that which the truth of history requires—compared with that which history has already used.
I proceed with this alleged libel.
The next sentence is this:—
“The profligate, unprincipled Westmoreland”—I throw down the paper and address myself in particular to some of you. There are, I see, amongst you some of our Bible distributors, “and of our suppressors of vice.” Distributors of Bibles, suppressors of vice—what call you profligacy? What is it you would call profligacy? Suppose the peerage was exposed to sale—set up at open auction—it was at that time a judicial office—suppose that its price, the exact price of this judicial office, was accurately ascertained by daily experience—would you call that profligacy? If pensions were multiplied beyond bounds and beyond example—if places were augmented until invention was exhausted, and then were subdivided and split into halves, so that two might take the emoluments of each, and no person do the duty—if these acts were resorted to in order to corrupt your representatives—would you, gentle suppressors of vice, call that profligacy?
If the father of children selected in the open day his adulterous paramour—if the wedded mother of children displayed her crime unblushingly—if the assent of the titled or untitled wittol to his own shame was purchased with the people’s money—if this scene—if these were enacted in the open day, would you call that profligacy, sweet distributors of Bibles? The women of Ireland have always been beauteous to a proverb; they were, without an exception, chaste beyond the terseness of a proverb to express; they are still as chaste as in former days, but the depraved example of a depraved court has furnished some exceptions, and the action of criminal conversation, before the time of Westmoreland unknown, has since become more familiar to our courts of justice.
Call you the sad example which produced those exceptions—call you that profligacy, suppressors of vice and Bible distributors? The vices of the poor are within the reach of control; to suppress them, you can call in aid the churchwarden and the constable; the justice of the peace will readily aid you, for he is a gentleman—the Court of Sessions will punish those vices for you by fine, by imprisonment, and, if you are urgent, by whipping. But, suppressors of vice, who shall aid you to suppress the vices of the great? Are you sincere, or are you, to use your own phraseology, whitewashed tombs—painted charnel-houses? Be ye hypocrites? If you are not—if you be sincere, (and, oh, how I wish that you were)—if you be sincere, I will steadily require to know of you, what aid you expect, to suppress the vices of the rich and great? Who will assist you to suppress those vices? The churchwarden!!—why he, I believe, handed them into the best pew in one of your cathedrals, that they might lovingly hear Divine service together. The constable!! Absurd. The justice of the peace!!—no, upon his honor. As to the Court of Sessions, you cannot expect it to interfere; and my lords the judges are really so busy at the assizes, in hurrying the grand juries through the presentments, that there is no leisure to look after the scandalous faults of the great. Who, then, sincere and candid suppressors of vice, can aid you?—The Press; the Press alone talks of the profligacy of the great; and, at least, shames into decency those whom it may fail to correct. The Press is your, but your only assistant. Go, then, men of conscience, men of religion—go, then, and convict John Magee, because he published that Westmoreland was profligate and unprincipled as a Lord Lieutenant—do, convict, and then return to your distribution of Bibles and to your attacks upon the recreations of the poor, under the name of vices!
Do, convict the only aid which virtue has, and distribute your Bibles that you may have the name of being religious; upon your sincerity depends my client’s prospect of a verdict. Does he lean upon a broken reed?
I pass on from the sanctified portion of the jury which I have latterly addressed, and I call the attention of you all to the next member of the sentence:—
“The cold-hearted and cruel Camden.”