Oxford was in another part of the building, standing alone, at the extremity of a long corridor, gazing through a heavily-grated window, towards the new Houses of Parliament. His hat was on; he was dressed like M'Naughten, and his jacket was buttoned. We scarcely recognised him, owing to the change of his dress. He is fond of attracting the notice of anybody; and conversed about himself and his offence in the most calm and rational manner conceivable. He has lost much of his hair—a circumstance which he appeared somewhat to regret—for the front of his head is bald; but he looks no older than his real age, thirty. He is mortally weary of his confinement, and says he has been terribly punished for "his foolish act." "Foolish!" we exclaimed—"is that all you can say of your attempt to shoot her Majesty?" He smiled, and said, "Oh, sir, I never attempted to shoot her; I never thought of such a thing. I aimed at the carriage-panels only." "Then why did you put balls in your pistols?" "I never did," he replied quickly. "I never dreamed of such a thing. There were no balls." "Oh, then you have not heard of the discovery that has just been made—eh?" "Discovery—what?" "The bullets." "Oh, there have been more found than ever I used at least; for I assure you I never used any!" "What made you do what you did?" "Oh, I was a fool; it was just to get myself talked about, and kick up a dust. A good horse-whipping was what I wanted," he added, with a faint sigh. These were his very words. "Should you have done it, if you had thought of coming here?" "No, indeed I should not; it has been a severe punishment!... I dare say public opinion says nothing about me now; I dare say it thinks I have got what I very well deserve—and perhaps I have; but possibly if I were put quietly out of the way, and sent abroad somewhere, public opinion might take no notice of it." He has taught himself French, Italian, and German, of which he has a fair knowledge. He also used to draw a little, and began to write a novel; but it proved a sorry affair, and, being discouraged, he threw it up. "Do you recollect hearing the condemned sermon preached to Courvoisier?" "Oh, yes, very well. It was a most excellent sermon." "Did Courvoisier seem to attend to it?" "Oh yes, very much; and he seemed very much affected. It was certainly a very appropriate sermon; I liked it much." "Did not you think that it might soon be your fate to sit where he was?" "What, in the condemned seat?" "Yes." "Oh, no; that never occurred to me. I never expected to be condemned for high treason. Some gentleman—I forget who he was—said I should be transported for fourteen years. I thought that was the worst they could do to me; for I knew I had never meant to do any harm, nor tried to do it." "Yes; but the judge and jury thought very differently." "Oh, I was very fairly tried; but I never expected to be brought in mad. I was quite surprised at that, for I knew I was not mad, and I wondered how they were going to prove it." We asked him if he had ever seen us; to which he replied, gazing steadily, "Yes, I think I have—either at the Privy Council, or in Newgate Chapel." "Where did you sit on the Sunday when the condemned sermon was preached to Courvoisier?" "I sate on the steps near the altar." "How were you dressed?" "Oh, a blue surtout, with velvet collar;" and he proceeded to describe his dress almost exactly as we have described it at the commencement of the article. He exhibits considerable cleverness: whatever he does, whether in playing at fives, or working, (e. g. making gloves, &c.) he does far better than any one else, and shows considerable tact and energy in setting his companions to work, and superintending them. He admits that he committed a very great offence in having done anything to alarm the Queen, and attributes it entirely to a mischievous and foolish love of notoriety. He said, "I thought it would set everybody talking and wondering;" but "never dreamed of what would have come of it—least of all that I was to be shut up all my life in this place." ... "That list of conspirators, and letters from them, that were found in your lodgings—were they not real?" "Oh, no," he replied, with rather an anxious smile, "all mere sham—only nonsense! There was never anything of the sort!" "Then, why did you do it?" "It was only the folly of a boy; I wasn't nineteen then—it was very silly no doubt." "And their swords and dresses, and so forth—eh?" "Entirely nonsense! It was a very absurd joke. I did not think it would come out so serious. I did not appreciate the consequences, or I never would have done it." The word "appreciate" he used with a very marked emphasis.
We entertain no doubt whatever of his perfect sanity; and, if so, as his crime was great, so his punishment is fearful.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Modern State Trials: Revised and Illustrated, with Essays and Notes. By William C. Townsend, Esq., M.A., Q.C., Recorder of Macclesfield. In 2 vols. 8vo. Longman & Co. 1850.
[3] How must the following verses in the Psalms of the day have effected him, if the wretched being were not too bewildered to appreciate them!—"Turn thee unto me, and have mercy upon me, for I am desolate and in misery. The sorrows of my heart are enlarged; O bring thou me out of my troubles. Look upon my adversity and misery, and forgive me all my sins."—Ps. xxv. 15, 16, 17. "O shut not up my soul with the sinners, nor my life with the blood-thirsty."—Ps. xxvi. 9. If the murderer's heart did not thrill when these last words were read out by the chaplain, with fearful distinctness, it must have been the only one that did not.
[4] He was subsequently respited, owing to the zealous interference of some medical men, who succeeded in satisfying the Secretary of State of the prisoner's insanity. See Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence, p. 792.
[5] Ibid. p. 803-4.
[6] Rex v Reynolds. Taylor's Med. Jurisp. p. 801.