interest in the matter. But when
we see it inflicted on a woman whom we love--what then? Just think
of what your own feelings would have been, each of you, at the
prisoner's age; and then look at him. Well! he is hardly the
comfortable, shall we say bucolic, person likely to contemplate with
equanimity marks of gross violence on a woman to whom he was
devotedly attached. Yes, gentlemen, look at him! He has not a
strong face; but neither has he a vicious face. He is just the sort
of man who would easily become the prey of his emotions. You have
heard the description of his eyes. My friend may laugh at the word
"funny"--I think it better describes the peculiar uncanny look of
those who are strained to breaking-point than any other word which
could have been used. I don't pretend, mind you, that his mental
irresponsibility--was more than a flash of darkness, in which all
sense of proportion became lost; but to contend, that, just as a man
who destroys himself at such a moment may be, and often is, absolved
from the stigma attaching to the crime of self-murder, so he may, and
frequently does, commit other crimes while in this irresponsible
condition, and that he may as justly be acquitted of criminal intent
and treated as a patient. I admit that this is a plea which might
well be abused. It is a matter for discretion. But here you have a
case in which there is every reason to give the benefit of the doubt.
You heard me ask the prisoner what he thought of during those four
fatal minutes. What was his answer? "I thought of Mr. Cokeson's
face!" Gentlemen, no man could invent an answer like that; it is
absolutely stamped with truth. You have seen the great affection
[legitimate or not] existing between him and this woman, who came
here to give evidence for him at the risk of her life. It is
impossible for you to doubt his distress on the morning when he
committed this act. We well know what terrible havoc such distress
can make in weak and highly nervous people. It was all the work of a
moment. The rest has followed, as death follows a stab to the heart,
or water drops if you hold up a jug to empty it. Believe me,
gentlemen, there is nothing more tragic in life than the utter
impossibility of changing what you have done. Once this cheque was
altered and presented, the work of four minutes--four mad minutes
--the rest has been silence. But in those four minutes the boy
before you has slipped through a do