As it is usual and necessary for the use of counsel to have the witnesses' names which they are to prove arranged in the brief, I have given directions to my agent to wait on you for that purpose whenever it may be convenient to you, as also to go through the form of giving you a summons.

Your very much obliged and grateful Friend,
Henry Sheares.

Kilmainham Gaol: July 10, 1798.

The superscription of this letter has been removed—probably by the recipient—and it seems very likely that he left his friend in the lurch, and did not come forward for his defence. The prosecuting counsel of those days loved to taunt such witnesses with a participation in the views held by the accused; they were browbeaten and bullied, and often left the court wincing under some dark innuendo, dropped with jibing leer.

John, the younger brother, wrote two letters to his sister, from which it is clear that—constituted as the jury panel was at that day—he had no hope of acquittal. The matter omitted deals with sundry small debts which he desired should be paid:—

Kilmainham Prison: July 10, 1798.

The troublesome scene of life, my dear Julia, is nearly closed, and the hand that now traces these lines will in a day or two be no longer capable of communicating to a beloved and affectionate family the sentiments of his heart. A painful task yet awaits me. I do not allude to my trial, or my execution. These—were it not for the consciousness I feel of the misery you all will suffer on my account—would be trivial in comparison with the pain I endure in addressing you for the last time. You, Julia, who have been kind to me beyond example; your solicitudes for my welfare have been unremitting, nor did they leave you a moment's happiness. As a wayward fate seems from the earliest moment of my life to have presided over my days, I will not now recapitulate the instances of a perverse destiny that seems to mark me out as the instrument of destruction to all I love. Robert—Richard—and Christopher, dear, valued brothers! If it be true that the mind survives the body, I shall shortly join you, and learn for what wise purpose Heaven thought fit to select me as your destroyer! My mother too—Oh! God! my tender revered mother, I see her torn looks—her broken heart—her corpse! What have I done to deserve this misery? I must forbear these thoughts as much as possible, or I must forbear to write.

My trial comes on the day after to-morrow, and the event is unequivocal. You must summon up all the resolution of your soul, my dear Julia; if there be a chance of snatching my afflicted mother from the grave, that chance must arise from your exertions; my darling Sally, too, will aid you; she will, for a while, suspend her joy at the restoration of her husband to her arms—for of his escape I have no more doubt than I have of my own conviction and its consequences. All, all of you must forget your individual griefs and joys, and unite to save that best of parents from the grave; stand between her and despair; if she will speak of me, sooth her with every assurance calculated to carry consolation to her heart; tell her that my death—though nominally ignominious—should not light up a blush in her face; that she knew me incapable of a dishonourable action or thought; that I died in full possession of the esteem of all those who knew me intimately; that justice will yet be paid to my memory, and my fate be mentioned rather with pride than shame by my friends and relations. Yes, my dear sister, if I did not expect the arrival of this justice to my memory, I should indeed be afflicted at the nominal ignominy of my death, lest it should injure your welfare, and wound the feelings of my family. But, above all things, tell her that at my own request I have been attended in my latest moments by that excellent and pious man, Doctor Dobbin, and that my last prayer was offered up for her. While I feared for Harry's life, hell itself could have no tortures for the guilty beyond what I suffered. I pictured you all, a helpless, unprotected group of females, left to the miseries of your own feelings, and to the insults of a callous, insensible world. Sally, too, stripped of a husband on whom she tenderly doats, and the children of their father—and all by my cursed interloping, and by my residence with them! Yet, Heaven is my witness, how assiduously I sought to keep aloof in any of my political concerns from him. My efforts, however, have kept him clear of any of those matters that have involved me in destruction. When Sally has got him back to her arms, and that I, who caused his danger, and her unhappiness, am no more, she will cease to think of me, perhaps, with reproach. This I trust she will do; she ought, for she herself could never have done more for his salvation than I endeavoured to do. But the scene is changed, I am no longer the frantic thing I was while his danger appeared imminent. A calm sorrow for the sufferings that await you on my account, and a heart-felt regret at being obliged to quit your beloved society for ever, has succeeded; yet all this will soon have an end, and with comfort I already anticipate the moment when your subsiding grief gives you back to the enjoyment of each other. Still, my dearest Julia, even when I shall be no more, your plagues on my account are not likely to cease....

Good night, Julia. I am going to rest, thank God! free from the consciousness of intentional offence, and from any wish tainted with personal resentment.

John when in France had been an ardent admirer of Rousseau, whose style he now unconsciously catches:—