or a few moments, until his eyes rested upon Mr. Acres, whom he
regarded for some time with a fixed, penetrating, and meaning look.
Then, turning to the Bench, he said in a firm, distinct voice:

"YOUR HONOUR--Although I have nothing to urge against the execution of
the laws by which I am condemned, I would yet crave the privilege of
making a few remarks, which may, perhaps, be useful. The principal
witness against me is Mr. Acres,--and upon his testimony, mainly, so far
as positive proof goes, I am convicted of a crime, the commission of
which I have no particular reason for wishing to deny. But, if I have
wronged him, how far more deeply has he wronged me. If I have robbed him
of a few paltry dollars, he has robbed me of that which he can never
restore, either here or hereafter. In a word, your honour, I stand here,
in the presence of this court, and the people of this town, and charge
upon that man (pointing to Acres) the cause of my present condition. My
real name is Richard Lawson!"

As he said this, the prisoner's voice failed him, and he paused for a
few moments, overcome with emotion. A universal exclamation of surprise
passed through the court-room, and there was scarcely an individual
present who did not wonder why he had not discovered this fact for
himself long before. For, sure enough, it was Dick Lawson, and no one
else, who stood there humbled under the iron hand of the law. As for Mr.
Acres, he became instantly pale and agitated--and when the prisoner
again looked up and fixed his eyes upon him, his own fell to the floor,
as if he were conscience-stricken.

"To that man," resumed the individual, at the bar, pointing steadily
toward the farmer, "as I just said, am I indebted for my ruin. A wild,
but innocent boy, he first led me into conscious wrong, by tempting me
with money to rob a bird's nest. The young mocking-bird was procured for
him, but at the expense of a violated conscience; for a voice within me
spoke loudly against the act of cruelty about to be practised upon the
mother-bird and her young. But I stifled that inward monitor, and
stilled the voice that urged me to depart not from the path of
innocence. I saw that the act was a cruel one, and felt that it was a
cruel one--but to be asked to do even a wrong act by a man to whom I
looked up, as I then did to Mr. Acres, was to rob the wrong act of more
than half of its apparent evil--and so I performed the cruel deed, small
as it was, deliberate