ved. The
trial, which took place in April 1779, excited the most extraordinary
public curiosity. By the statement of the witnesses, it appeared that a Mr
Macnamara, being in the lobby of Covent Garden Theatre when the audience
were coming away, and seeing Miss Ray making her way with some difficulty
through the crowd to her carriage, he went forward with Irish gallantry to
offer her his arm, which she accepted; and as they reached the door of the
carriage, a pistol was fired close to them, when Miss Ray clapped her hand
to her forehead and fell, when instantly another pistol-report followed.
He thought that she had fainted away through fright; but when he raised
her up, he found that she was wounded, and assisted the people in carrying
her into the Shakspeare Tavern; and on Hackman's being seized, and being
asked what could possess him to be guilty of such a deed, his only answer
was to give his name, and say, "It is not a proper place to ask such
questions." It appeared in evidence, that Hackman had been waiting some
time for Miss Ray's coming out of the theatre; that he followed her to the
carriage door, and pulling out two pistols, fired one at the unfortunate
woman, the ball of which went through her brain, and the other at himself,
crying out as he fell, "Kill me--kill me!"

Of course, after evidence like this, there could be no defence, and none
as attempted. Hackman evidently wished to have died by his own hand; but
having failed there, his purpose was to perish by the law, and plead
guilty. However, on being brought to trial, he said that he now pleaded
not guilty, that he might avoid the appearance of contemning death--an
appearance not suitable to his present condition; that, on second thoughts,
he had considered the plea of guilty as rendering him accessory to a
second peril of his life; and that he thought that he could pay his debt
more effectually to the justice of the country by suffering his offences
to be proved by evidence, and submitting to the forms of a regular trial.
This, though it was penitence too late, was at least decorous language.
His whole conduct on the trial showed that, intemperate as his passions
were, he possessed abilities and feelings worthy of a wiser career, and a
less unhappy termination. Part of his speech was even affecting.

"I stand here this day," he said, "the most wretched of human beings, and
confess myself criminal in a high degree; yet while I acknowledge, with
shame and