y peculiar to that amiable lady. She demanded an
audience of the queen, and laid before her the whole series of his
mother's cruelty, exposed the improbability of her accusation of murder,
and pointed out all the circumstances of her unequall'd barbarity.

The interposition of this lady was so successful, that he was soon after
admitted to bail, and on the 9th of March 1728, pleaded the king's
pardon.[2]

Mr. Savage during his imprisonment, his trial, and the time in which he
lay under sentence of death, behaved with great fortitude, and confirmed
by his unshaken equality of mind, the esteem of those who before admired
him for his abilities. Upon weighing all the circumstances relating to
this unfortunate event, it plainly appears that the greatest guilt could
not be imputed to Savage. His killing Sinclair, was rather rash than
totally dishonourable, for though Marchant had been the aggressor, who
would not procure his friend from being over-powered by numbers?

Some time after he had obtained his liberty, he met in the street the
woman of the town that had swore against him: She informed him that she
was in distress, and with unparalleled assurance desired him to relieve
her. He, instead of insulting her misery, and taking pleasure in the
calamity of one who had brought his life into danger, reproved her
gently for her perjury, and changing the only guinea he had, divided it
equally between her and himself.

Compassion seems indeed to have been among the few good qualities
possessed by Savage; he never appeared inclined to take the advantage of
weakness, to attack the defenceless, or to press upon the falling:
Whoever was distressed was certain at last of his good wishes. But when
his heart was not softened by the sight of misery, he was obstinate in
his resentment, and did not quickly lose the remembrance of an injury.
He always harboured the sharpest resentment against judge Page; and a
short time before his death, he gratified it in a satire upon that
severe magistrate.

When in conversation this unhappy subject was mentioned, Savage appeared
neither to consider himself as a murderer, nor as a man wholly free from
blood. How much, and how long he regretted it, appeared in a poem
published many years afterwards, which the following lines will set in a
very striking light.

Is chance a guilt, that my disast'rous heart,
For mischief never meant, must ever smart?
Can self-defence be sin?--Ah! plead no more!