seats. My position at this
moment was, I believe, without parallel in the annals of the profession.
I at once came to the resolution of abandoning the case, and so I told
my colleague. He strongly and urgently remonstrated against it, but in
vain. At last he suggested our obtaining the opinion of the learned
judge, who was not trying the cause, upon what he considered to be the
professional etiquette under circumstances so embarrassing. In this I
very willingly acquiesced. We obtained an interview, and Mr. Baron
Parke requested to know distinctly whether the prisoner insisted on my
defending him, and, on hearing that he did, said, I was bound to do so,
and to use all fair arguments arising on the evidence. I therefore
retained the brief, and I contend for it, that every argument I used was
a fair commentary on the evidence, though undoubtedly as strong as I
could make them. I believe there is no difference of opinion now in the
profession that this course was right. It was not until after eight
hours' public exertion before the jury that the prisoner confessed; and
to have abandoned him then would have been virtually surrendering him to
death. This is my answer to the first charge.

I am accused, secondly, of having "appealed to Heaven as to my belief in
Courvoisier's innocence," after he had made me acquainted with his
guilt. A grievous accusation! But it is false as it is foul, and carries
its own refutation on its face. It is with difficulty I restrain the
expression of my indignation; but respect for my station forbids me to
characterize this slander as it deserves. It will not bear one moment's
analysis. It is an utter impossibility under the circumstances. What!
appeal to Heaven for its testimony to a lie, and not expect to be
answered by its lightning? What! make such an appeal, conscious that an
honorable colleague sat beside me, whose valued friendship I must have
forever forfeited? But above all and beyond all, and too monstrous for
belief, would I have dared to utter that falsehood in the very presence
of the judge to whom, but the day before, I had confided the reality!
There, upon the Bench above me, sat that time-honored man--that upright
magistrate, pure as his ermine, "narrowly watching" every word I said.
Had I dared to make an appeal so horrible and so impious--had I dared so
to outrage his nature and my own conscience, he would have started from
his seat and withered me with a glance. No, Warren, I ne