Various

Impelled by motives which we own to be with difficulty effectively justifiable, and which we must resolve into an overmastering anxiety to behold how doomed human nature can confront terror-inspiring circumstances, felt sufficient to palsy one's own soul, we found ourselves, on Sunday morning, the 5th of July 1840, in the front seat of the stranger's gallery in the Chapel of Newgate, in order to hear the condemned sermon preached to Benjamin Courvoisier, and witness the demeanour of one who was to be publicly strangled on the ensuing morning, and in the ensuing evening buried within the precincts of the prison. Callous must he have been who could witness the scene of that morning without being profoundly affected. It was the house of God; and yet, (with reverence be the allusion made,) in one sense, alas! a den of thieves—of outcasts from society; whose laws they had, or were charged with having, disregarded and openly violated. Some were there under the pressure of violent suspicion—amounting to a moral, soon to pass into a legal, certainty—of various kinds and degrees of guilt: others bore the blighting brand of established crime, and were suffering, or about to suffer, its penalty. With what feelings would they enter the house of Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity—to Whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from Whom no secrets are hid! Would any of that guilty throng take their places there, brutally ignorant, indifferent, reckless, or desperate? Would their polluted souls be swelling with ill-suppressed feelings of impiety and blasphemy? Would any approach with broken and contrite spirits, having been shaken, by the stern hand of offended human law alone, out of a life's lethargy and insensibility? How would the holy accents of warning, of expostulation, of mercy, of dread denunciation, sound in the ears of those who were presently to fill that dismal chapel—dismal, only from its locality, and the character of its occupants? With what feelings would one enter—the death-doomed—for whom, and for whom alone, was reserved that solitary, central, ominous black bench? who was so terribly far advanced in his passage from a human tribunal to that of the dread Eternal!—on whose brow already faintly glistened the dread twilight between here and hereafter,—the black night of time breaking before the dawning of an eternal day!

They come! Yonder gallery, curtained off, is filling with the female prisoners; no sounds audible but their rustling dresses, and perhaps a half-choked sigh or sob. It is well, poor souls! that you are hidden from the public gaze—from the rude eye of your male comrades in crime! They are now entering below, silent and orderly, the eye of the governor upon them, as they are led by burly turnkeys and inspectors to their appropriate places, classed as untried and convicted—the latter according to their respective kinds and degree of punishment. All, at length, are seated. What an assemblage! Almost all clad in prison costume; many with sullen, determined countenances—others with harassed features and downcast look—one or two exhibiting unequivocally an air of insolent and reckless defiance—but all conscious of the stern surveillance under which they sate. Alas, those boys! some already, others about to be, condemned—all gazing, terror-struck, at the black seat in the centre!

The chaplain enters the desk immediately under the pulpit, which, attached to the blank wall, faces the communion-table. He, also, casts an ominous glance at the black bench before him, in the centre of the floor, to which all faces are directed, amidst moody and troubled silence. At length a door on the left is heard being unbolted; a turnkey enters, followed by the great criminal—one whose name was ringing in the ears of the public—one on whom every eye is instantly fixed with sickening intensity. It is Courvoisier—the monster who, a few weeks before, had barbarously murdered his sleeping lord!—He was led to his seat, a glass of water being placed near him, in case of his faintness, and on one side of him sate a turnkey. Courvoisier knelt down; and then, a prayer-book having been given him, (which he held in an untrembling hand,) took his seat, not far from the reading-desk, covering his eyes for a few moments with his left hand. His demeanour was signally calm and self-possessed, and his motions were deliberate. He was a man about twenty-four years of age. His countenance wore such an expression of pensive good-nature and docility, as rendered it a consolatory reflection that he had unequivocally and spontaneously confessed the fiendish act of which the law had pronounced him guilty, and for which, under holy sanctions, it was on the morrow to take away his life.[3] Yes—there he sate, where we had seen sitting, also, his blood-stained predecessor Greenacre; and, moreover, Fauntleroy the forger; also a young banker's clerk—a widowed mother's sole support, her only child—for forging a trifling check. Alas, alas! how he wept during the whole service!—but how calmly he behaved the next morning on the gallows!

After gazing long and earnestly on the central figure in the gloomy picture, our eyes were casually attracted by a very different one,—that of a youth sitting on the steps of the altar, as though he had been a privileged spectator. We regarded him as a friend of some subordinate functionary of the gaol. He seemed a silly, vulgar, little dandy, who had put on his very best clothes for the occasion. He looked about eighteen or nineteen years old, and was of slender figure, and a little under the average height. His hair was full and curly—displayed in a very affected style. He wore a sort of second-hand blue surtout with velvet collar, a black satin stock, a light figured waistcoat, and light slate-coloured trousers—the latter a trifle too short, and strained down by a pair of elongated straps, so as to reach as nearly as possible to the brightly-polished boots. Beside him was a hat, of which he seemed very careful, and smoothed it round delicately, once or twice, with his hand. His eyes were quick, and inquisitive; and he seemed to share the interest with which others contemplated Courvoisier. Several times, during the service, his fingers passed jauntily through his hair, as if to dispose it effectively round his temples. A prayer-book was handed to him, to which he seemed tolerably attentive; but during the sermon he was evidently more occupied with his dress than the exciting and instructive topics of the chaplain—frequently pulling off and putting on his gloves, and arranging different portions of his dress, as though he feared they did not sit upon him sufficiently becomingly. When, however, the chaplain addressed himself personally, and with fearful solemnity, to the murderer before him, the young occupant of the altar-steps was roused into attention, and he listened a few minutes—his eyes fixed now on the preacher, then on the condemned. When the service was over, Courvoisier (whose demeanour had been throughout most satisfactory—solemn, composed, and reverent) was beckoned out to the door through which he had entered, and he obeyed, walking with complete self-possession.—We had looked our last on him!—"Do you see that young fellow on the altar-steps?—do you know who he is?" said a gentleman who approached us for the purpose. "No; he seems a vulgar little puppy," we exclaimed, "whoever he may be." "It is Oxford, who shot at the Queen, and is to be tried this week!" was the reply; and while we turned round to gaze at him, he was in the act of quitting the chapel, holding his hat very carefully, and gazing towards the gallery with an expression of cheerful inquisitiveness. Had it occurred to him that, in all human probability, a week or two would behold him an occupant of the black bench just quitted by the murderer?

Yes! that was Edward Oxford, the little caitiff, first of a small and ignominious series of similar ones, who had, on the preceding 9th of June, twice deliberately fired at his young Queen, as she was driving, in fancied security, with her consort, up Constitution Hill, and on each occasion apparently with ball! The following was his own free-and-easy account of the matter, on being examined before the Privy Council:—

"A great many witnesses against me. Some say I shot with my left, others with my right. They vary as to the distance. After I had fired the first pistol, Prince Albert got up, as if he would jump out of the coach, and sate down again, as if he thought better of it. Then I fired the second pistol. This is all I shall say at present."

(Signed) "Edward Oxford."

In the case of this young miscreant, (for it is difficult to speak of him temperately,) however, was, within four days' time, to be resolved a problem of unspeakable difficulty and moment, by such means as the law of the country could command,—viz., responsibility or irresponsibility for criminal acts, according to the state of mind existing at the time of committing them. It is needless to affirm that this is a question of public, permanent, universal interest; one in which every individual, young or old, may become personally concerned; one which no humane jurist, practical or speculative, can approach without lively anxiety; one worthy of frequent and deep consideration by every one concerned in the administration of criminal justice. To punish an individual utterly unconscious of the difference between right and wrong at the time of committing the alleged crime, shocks one's sense of natural justice, and confounds all the principles on which it can be administered by man. How can we hang a maniac who, in a paroxysm of madness, kills the keeper who was endeavouring to soothe or to restrain him? Or one who shoots another whom, under the veritable and sole influence of delusion, he believed to be in the act of killing him, and that he was therefore acting solely in self-defence? These are plain cases, as stated; but still they require, of course, very clear proof of the facts from which the law is to deduce a perfect irresponsibility for his acts. The subject is one environed with immense practical difficulties, which are often unexpectedly visible in applying apparently clear and correct principles to simple combinations of fact. The most sagacious judges, the most conscientious juries, have grievously miscarried in such cases; some sending persons to the scaffold under circumstances far weaker than those held by others demonstrative of irresponsibility, and, consequently, demanding an acquittal. Many painful and dreadful cases might be cited; but two shall suffice. In the year 1837, an industrious, affectionate, poverty-stricken father strangled his four children, avowedly to prevent their being turned into the streets. They all slept in one room. Having strangled two, he left the room; but, after meditating for some time, came to the conclusion that he might as well be hanged for killing all four; on which he returned, and strangled the other two—having shaken hands with them before he did it! He then quitted the house, and went to a neighbour's, to whom he did not mention what he had done; but on being apprehended the next day, and taken before the coroner, he confessed the above facts. No witness had ever observed a trace of insanity about him. The physician to a lunatic asylum offered to prove that the prisoner's grandmother and sister had been under his care, the latter for entertaining a desire to destroy herself and her children—evidence which the judge rejected; and under his direction the jury convicted, and he passed sentence of death on the prisoner.[4] In the year 1845, a young servant girl, quiet and docile, having taken a knife from the kitchen, on some trivial pretence, went up to the room where her master's child lay, and killed it. She then went downstairs, and told the horrifying fact to her master. She was quite conscious of the crime she had committed, and showed much anxiety to know whether she would be hanged or transported. There was not the slightest tittle of evidence that she had been labouring under any delusion; yet she was acquitted on the ground of insanity![5] Can anything be more grievously unsatisfactory than such a state of things as this, in the administration of the criminal justice of the country? One of the causes which conduced to such results was the too ready deference paid to speculative medical men, professing to have made disordered intellects their peculiar study, and who came forward, from time to time, confidently and authoritatively pronouncing that such and such circumstances indicated unequivocally the existence of "insanity," of "moral insanity," at the time of the act committed. Nay, they would sit in court, listening to a detail of facts, from which they would then enter the witness-box, and authoritatively declare their opinion that, if such were the facts, the prisoner was insane, and therefore irresponsible, when the act in question was committed! Many held that the mere absence of assignable motive indicated such insanity! and many, that the mere committal of the particular act should be so regarded! Notions more dangerous and monstrous cannot be conceived. Well might the late Mr. Baron Gurney declare, "that the defence of insanity had lately grown to a fearful height, and the security of the public required that it should be watched."[6] There are two Trials contained in Mr Townsend's first volume, which afford memorable illustrations of the difficulty with which these questions are encountered in our courts of justice. They are those of Oxford, for shooting at the Queen, and of M'Naughten for the murder of Mr Drummond, the private secretary of the late Sir Robert Peel. In both cases there were acquittals, on the alleged ground of insanity; and we take leave to intimate that, in our opinion, there should have been convictions in both. The escape of the cold-blooded murderer, M'Naughten, who deliberately shot his unsuspecting victim in the back, horrified and disgusted the public. "It had not been anticipated," says Mr Townsend, "and created a deep feeling in the public mind, that there was some unaccountable defect in our criminal law. People of good sense appeared panic-stricken, by this new danger, from venturing into the London streets; and called upon the legislature to discover some preservative against the attacks of insane passengers in public thoroughfares."[7] Indignation was loudly expressed in Parliament. In the House of Commons, an honourable Irish baronet moved for leave to bring in a bill to abolish the plea of insanity in cases of murder, except where it could be proved that the person accused was publicly known and reputed to be a maniac; and he asked the House to suspend the standing orders to accelerate the progress of his bill. His motion, however, found no seconder. A similar casualty had befallen Mr Windham, in 1800, who, in the course of a debate which ensued in bringing in a bill to meet such cases as that of Hadfield, (who had just been acquitted, on the ground of insanity, from the charge of firing at George III.,) suggested that an offender, even if insane, should be subjected to some sort of punishment, for the sake of example! On the same evening in which the attempt of Sir Valentine Blake was made in the House of Commons, the matter was discussed anxiously in the House of Lords, by Lords Lyndhurst, Brougham, Cottenham, Campbell, and Denman. Lord Campbell expressed the general feeling of the House, when he said—"There may be great difficulty in convicting persons who are not in a state of mind to be responsible for their actions; but it is monstrous to think that society should be exposed to the dreadful dangers to which it is at present liable, from persons in that state of mind going at large."[8] At length, on the suggestion of the Lord Chancellor, (Lord Lyndhurst,) it was agreed that the judges should be called upon to declare the true state of the criminal law on this momentous subject; and five questions were carefully framed for that purpose, and submitted to them for grave consideration. The following are these questions and answers—both of which, as containing a solemn and authoritative enunciation of the law of the land, we shall present to our readers, whom we request to give them a careful perusal, before proceeding to read what we have to offer on the two trials above alluded to. We are the more anxious that they should do so, because of the recent very remarkable case of Pate, who struck her Majesty with a cane last summer; and whose case was dealt with in strict conformity with the rules which follow:—

Question I.—"What is the law respecting alleged crimes committed by persons afflicted with insane delusion, in respect of one or more particular subjects, or persons:—as for instance, where, at the time of the commission of the alleged crime, the accused knew he was acting contrary to law, but did the act complained of, with a view, under the influence of insane delusion, of redressing or revenging some supposed grievance or injury, or of producing some public benefit?"

Answer.—"Assuming that your lordships' inquiries are confined to those persons who labour under such partial delusions only, and are not in other respects insane, we are of opinion, that, notwithstanding the party did the act complained of with a view, under the influence of insane delusion, of redressing or revenging some supposed grievance or injury, or of producing some public benefit, he is nevertheless punishable according to the nature of the crime committed, if he knew, at the time of committing such crime, that he was acting contrary to law; by which expression we understand your Lordship to mean the law of the land."

Questions II. and III. (1.)—"What are the proper questions to be submitted to the jury, when a person alleged to be afflicted with insane delusion, respecting one or more particular subjects or persons, is charged with the commission of a crime (murder, for example) and insanity is set up as a defence?"

(2.) "In what terms ought the question to be left to the jury, as to the prisoner's state of mind at the time when the act was committed?"

Answers.—"The jury ought to be told, in all cases, that every man is presumed to be sane, and to possess a sufficient degree of reason to be responsible for his crimes, until the contrary be proved to their satisfaction; and that, to establish a defence on the ground of insanity, it must be clearly proved that, at the time of the committing of the act, the party accused was labouring under such a defect of reason, from disease of the mind, as not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing; or, if he did know it, that he did not know he was doing what was wrong. The mode of putting the latter part of the question to the jury, on these occasions, has generally been whether the accused, at the time of doing the act, knew the difference between right and wrong—which mode, though rarely if ever leading to any mistake with the jury, is not, as we conceive, so accurate when put generally and in the abstract, as when put to the party's knowledge of right and wrong with respect to the very act with which he is charged. If the question were to be put as to the knowledge of the accused, solely and exclusively with reference to the law of the land, it might tend to confound the jury, by inducing them to believe that an actual knowledge of the law of the land was essential in order to lead to a conviction, whereas the law is administered upon the principle that every one must be taken conclusively to know it, without proof that he does know it. If the accused was conscious that the act was one which he ought not to do, and if that act was at the same time contrary to the law of the land, he is punishable; and the usual course, therefore, has been to leave the question to the jury—whether the party accused had a sufficient degree of reason to know that he was doing an act that was wrong; and this course, we think, is correct, accompanied with such observations and explanations as the circumstances of each particular case may require."

Question IV.—"If a person, under an insane delusion as to the existing facts, commits an offence in consequence thereof, is he thereby excused?"

Answer.—"The answer must of course depend on the nature of the delusion; but making the same assumption as we did before—that he labours under such partial delusion only, and is not in other respects insane—we think he must be considered in the same situation, as to responsibility, as if the facts with respect to which the delusion exists were real. For example—if, under the influence of his delusion, he supposes another man to be in the act of attempting to take away his life, and he kills that man, as he supposes, in self-defence, he would be exempt from punishment. If his delusion were that the deceased had inflicted a serious injury to his character and fortune, and he killed him in revenge for such supposed injury, he would be liable to punishment."

Question V.—"Can a medical man, conversant with the disease of insanity, who never saw the prisoner previously to the trial, but who was present during the whole trial and the examination of all the witnesses, he asked his opinion as to the state of the prisoner's mind at the time of the commission of the alleged crime, or his opinion whether the prisoner was conscious, at the time of doing the act, that he was acting contrary to law, or whether he was labouring under any and what delusion at the time?"

Answer.—"We think the medical man, under the circumstances supposed, cannot in strictness be asked his opinion in the terms above stated; because each of those questions involves the determination of the truth of the facts deposed to, which it is for the jury to decide; and the questions are not mere questions upon a matter of science, in which case such evidence is admissible. But where the facts are admitted, or not disputed, and the question becomes substantially one of science only, it may be convenient to allow the question to be put in that general form, though the same cannot be insisted on as a matter of right."

Such being the authoritative enunciation of the law by its legitimate exponents, which superseded the necessity of legislative interference, it is right to observe that it has by no means satisfied the professors of medical jurisprudence, and the members of the medical profession. One of them, Mr Taylor, has observed,[9] that the law here appears to "look for a consciousness of right and wrong, and a knowledge of the consequences of the act." This legal test "is insufficient for the purpose intended: it cannot, in a large majority of cases, enable us to distinguish the insane homicide from the sane criminal.... A full consciousness of the illegality or wrongfulness of the act may exist in a man's mind, and yet he may be fairly acquitted on the ground of insanity.... There are no certain legal or medical rules whereby homicidal mania may be detected. Each case must be determined by the circumstances attending it; but the true test for irresponsibility in these ambiguous cases appears to be, whether the individual, at the time of committing the act, had, or had not, a sufficient power of control to govern his actions. If, from circumstances, it can be inferred that he had this power, he should be made responsible, and rendered liable to punishment. If, however, he was led to the perpetration of the act by an uncontrollable impulse, whether accompanied by deliberation or not, then he is entitled to an acquittal as an irresponsible agent."[10] This doctrine is utterly repudiated, however, by our judges, as will appear from two very decisive instances. In directing the jury, in Pate's case, in July last, Mr Baron Alderson thus somewhat sarcastically disposed of the dangerous plea of "uncontrollable impulse."—"The law does not recognise such an impulse. If a person was aware that it was a wrong act he was about to commit, he was answerable for the consequences. A man might say that he picked a pocket from some incontrollable impulse; and in that case the law would have an incontrollable impulse to punish him for it!" Another acute and eminent judge, Baron Rolfe, on a recent occasion, in trying a boy aged twelve years, for deliberately and cunningly poisoning his aged grandfather, thus gravely dispelled this favourite delusion of the medical jurists.—"The witnesses called for the defence had described the prisoner as acting from 'uncontrollable impulse.' In my opinion, such evidence ought to be scanned by juries with very great jealousy and suspicion, because it may tend to the perfect justification of every crime that may be committed. What is the meaning of not being able to resist moral influence? Every crime is committed under an influence of such a description, and the object of the law is to compel persons to control these influences. If it be made an excuse for a person who has committed a crime, that he has been goaded to it by some impulse, which medical men may choose to say he could not control, I must observe, that such a doctrine is fraught with very great danger to society." This stern and sound good sense prevailed; and the youthful murderer was convicted. We have been thus full and distinct in explaining the wholesome doctrine of our English law, because of its immense importance; and we desire it to be understood, far and wide, especially by the medical profession, that these fashionable but dangerous modern paradoxes, borrowed from Continental physicians, concerning the co-existence of moral insanity with intellectual sanity, will not be tolerated in English courts of justice.

Let us now proceed to deal with the two remarkable cases of Oxford and M'Naughten—the former of whom was placed at the bar of the Old Bailey four days after the execution of Courvoisier.

It is unspeakably painful, and humiliating, and disgusting, to reflect that our Queen, who has always shown a disposition to intrust herself unreservedly among her subjects, should have been subjected to no fewer than five public outrages—the last of which inflicted actual injury on the royal person,—that of a lady, a young queen, ascending the throne of this mighty empire at the age of eighteen!—outrages in every instance perpetrated by despicable beings of the male sex, properly characterised by Mr Townsend as "crazed knaves, or imbecile monomaniacs." First came, on the 10th June 1840, Edward Oxford, aged nineteen; then, on the 30th May 1842, John Francis, aged twenty; then, on the 3d July 1842, John William Bean, a deformed stripling aged seventeen; then, on the 19th May 1849, William Hamilton; finally—God grant that the degraded series may never be increased!—on the 27th June 1850, Robert Pate—alas! a gentleman of birth and fortune, and who had recently borne her Majesty's commission!

We shall place our readers, briefly and distinctly, in possession of the state of the law applicable to wilfully injuring, or attempting to injure the royal person. Its progress is painfully interesting. The attempt to inflict, and the actual infliction of such injury, are of course high treason; both the trial and punishment being attended, till recently, with all the solemn formalities of high treason as explained in our last Number. This heinous offence comes under the first head of the statute of treason, (25 Edward III. c. 2,) viz., "When a man doth compass or imagine[11] the death of our Lord and King." By "compass and imagine" is signified the purpose or design of the mind or will, evidenced by an open or overt act. On the 15th May 1800, James Hadfield fired a horse-pistol, loaded with two slugs, at King George III., as he was entering his box at Drury Lane Theatre.[12] He was tried for high treason in the Court of Queen's Bench, and defended by Mr Erskine with splendid eloquence.[13] He was acquitted on the ground of insanity, committed at once to Bedlam, and died there in January 1841, after forty years' incarceration. In the course of his defence, Mr Erskine made an observation which led to an immediate interposition of the legislature. In speaking of the state of the law which interposed protective delay in cases of high treason, Mr Erskine observed: "Where the intent charged affected the political character of the sovereign, the delay, and all the other safeguards provided, were just and necessary; but a mere murderous attack on the King's person, not at all connected with his political character, seemed a case to be ranged and dealt with like a similar attack upon any private man."[14] On the 28th July in the same year, were passed statutes 39 and 40 Geo. III. c. 93, carrying out Mr Erskine's judicious suggestion, by enacting that, where the overt act of this head of treason should be the assassination of the King, or any direct attempt against his life or person, whereby his life might be endangered or his person suffer bodily harm, the trial should be conducted in every respect like a simple trial for murder; but, on conviction, the sentence should be pronounced and carried into effect as in other cases of high treason. On the same day was passed another statute—also occasioned by the trial of Hadfield—that in all cases of trial for treason, murder, or felony, if evidence be given of the prisoner's insanity at the time of the commission of the offence, and he be acquitted, the jury shall be required to find specially whether he was insane at the time of committing the offence, and to declare whether they acquit on account of such insanity; and if they do, the court shall order the prisoner to be confined in strict and safe custody during his Majesty's pleasure. Under the former of these two wholesome statutes were tried Oxford and Francis, the latter being convicted of having fired a pistol against the Queen, loaded with powder and "certain other destructive materials and substances unknown;" on which sentence of death was pronounced by Chief-Justice Tindal, as in other cases of high treason. He sobbed piteously[15] on being convicted; but after two consultations of the Cabinet had been held on his case, his life was spared, in contemptuous clemency to the worthless offender, and in deference to the humane feelings of her Majesty, and he was transported for life. Within almost one month after this questionable act of mercy, her Majesty was subjected to a similar outrage—a pistol being presented towards her, by Bean, on Sunday, as she was going to the Chapel Royal. The pistol was cocked, and the click of the hammer against the pan was heard, but there was no explosion; and the pistol was loaded with only powder, wadding, and one or two minute fragments (about the size of ordinary shot) of pipe. He was tried for misdemeanour, and sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment in the penitentiary; Lord Abinger remarking, at the conclusion of the trial, that "whipping at the cart's tail should be the petty sentence in future." The public disgust and indignation demanded some more effectual remedy to be provided for such disgraceful cases, should any unhappily occur in future; and within a fortnight of Bean's conviction—viz. on the 16th July 1842—was passed statute 5 & 6 Vict. c. 51, entitled "An act for providing for the further security and protection of her Majesty's person;" and recites the expediency of extending the provisions of statute 39 & 40 Geo. III. c. 93, to "any attempt to injure in any manner whatsoever the person of the Queen," and of "making further provision by law for the protection and security of the person of the sovereign of these realms." It then proceeds to enact, that—

"If any one shall wilfully discharge or attempt to discharge, or point, aim, or present, at or near to the person of the Queen, any gun, pistol, or other description of firearms, or of other arms whatever—whether the same shall or shall not contain any explosive or destructive material; or discharge, or attempt to discharge, any explosive substance or material near to the Queen's person; or wilfully strike, or attempt to strike, or strike at the Queen's person with any offensive weapon, or in any other manner whatsoever; or wilfully throw or attempt to throw any substance, matter, or thing whatsoever at or upon the Queen's person, with intent to break the public peace, or whereby the public peace may be endangered, or to alarm her Majesty; or if any person shall, near to the Queen's person, wilfully produce or have any gun, pistol, or other description of firearms, or other arms whatsoever, or any explosive, destructive, or dangerous matter or thing whatsoever, with intent to use the same to injure the Queen's person or alarm her Majesty, the offender shall be guilty of a high misdemeanour, and liable at the discretion of the Court to be transported for seven years, or imprisoned with or without hard labour for any period not exceeding three years; and during such imprisonment to be publicly or privately whipped, as often and in such manner and form as the Court shall direct, not exceeding thrice."

This salutary statute (proposed by the late Sir Robert Peel) was passed unanimously; Lord John Russell justly remarking, that "as the offence to be punished was that of bad and degraded beings, a base and degrading punishment was most fitly applied to it." Her Majesty enjoyed a seven years' respite from the insufferable annoyance to which she had been subjected—viz., till the 19th May 1849—when, about four o'clock in the afternoon, as she was driving in an open carriage with three of her children, a pistol was fired in the direction of the carriage by "one William Hamilton, an Irish bricklayer." The pistol was fired point-blank at the person of General Wemyss, one of her equerries, who happened to be in the line of her Majesty's person. This stolid wretch was tried on the 14th June ensuing, under the above statute, when he pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to be transported for seven years. Again, on the 12th of July last, it was rendered lamentably necessary to call this statute into operation, and with the like effect as in the preceding case: but we shall reserve our observations upon the case of Pate till after we have completed what we have to offer on those of Oxford and M'Naughten. We have just returned from an examination of those two notorious persons in Bethlehem Hospital, and shall by and by convey to the reader the result of our own careful observations, made since the earlier portions of this article were committed to the press.

Oxford's Case.

The judges who presided at the trial—which took place at the Old Bailey, and lasted three days, (the 9th, 10th, and 11th July 1840)—were Lord Denman, Baron Alderson, and Justice Maule. The counsel for the crown were—the Attorney and Solicitor Generals, (Sir John Campbell and Sir Thomas Wilde), Sir Frederick Pollock, the present Mr Justice Wightman, Mr Adolphus, and Mr Gurney; those for the prisoner were the late Mr Sydney Taylor and Mr Bodkin. The indictment contained two counts—respectively applicable, in precisely the same terms, to the two acts of firing—charging that Oxford, "as a false traitor, maliciously and traitorously did compass, imagine, and intend to put our lady the Queen to death; and, to fulfil and bring into effect his treason and treasonable compassing, did shoot off and discharge a certain pistol loaded with gunpowder and a bullet, and thereby made a direct attempt against the life of our said lady the Queen,"—in the words of statute 39 and 40 Geo. III., c. 93, § 1. The trial, as already observed, differed in no respect from an ordinary trial for felony; and neither the Crown nor the prisoner challenged a single juryman. "Oxford," says Mr Townsend, "stepped into the dock with a jaunty air, and a flickering smile on his countenance; glanced at the galleries, as if to ascertain whether he had a large concourse of spectators; and, leaning with his elbow on the ledge of the dock, commenced playing with the herbs[16] which were placed there before him. He kept his gaze earnestly fixed on the Attorney-general during the whole of his address, twirling the rue about in his fingers, and became more subdued in manner towards the close of the speech."[17] The facts constituting the outrage lie in a nutshell: The prisoner was seized instantly after having discharged two pistols, as the Queen and the Prince-consort were driving up Constitution Hill, in a low open carriage. He had been observed, for some time before the approach of the royal carriage, walking backwards and forewards with his arms folded under his breast. As the carriage approached, he turned round, nodded, drew a pistol from his breast, and discharged it at the carriage, when it was nearly opposite to him. As it advanced, after looking round to see if he were observed, he took out a second pistol, directed it across the other to her Majesty, who, seeing it, stooped down; and he fired a second time—very deliberately—at only about six or seven yards' distance. The witnesses spoke to hearing distinctly a sharp whizzing sound "close past their own ears." The prisoner, on seeing the person who had snatched from him the pistols mistaken for the person who had fired, said, "It was me—I did it. I give myself up—I will go quietly." At the police-office he said, "Is the Queen hurt?" Some one observed, "I wonder whether there was any ball in the pistol?" on which the prisoner said, "If the ball had come in contact with your head, if it were between the carriage, you would have known it." The witness who spoke to these words appears, however, to have somewhat hesitated when pressed in cross-examination; but he finally adhered to his statement that the prisoner declared there were balls in the pistols. A few days previously he had purchased the pistols for two sovereigns, about fifty percussion-caps, a powder-flask, which, with a bullet-mould and five bullets fitting the pistols, were found at his lodgings. He had also been practising firing at a target, and, on purchasing the pistols, particularly asked how far they could carry. The Earl of Uxbridge deposed that, when he saw Oxford in his cell, he asked, "Is the Queen hurt?" on which Lord Uxbridge said, "How dare you ask such a question?" Oxford then stated that "he had been shooting a great deal lately—he was a very good shot with a pistol, but a better shot with a rifle." "You have now fulfilled your engagement," said the Earl. "No," replied Oxford, "I have not." "You have, sir," rejoined Lord Uxbridge, "as far as the attempt goes." To that he was silent. The most rigid search was made to discover any bullets; but in vain. Two witnesses, gentlemen of rank, and well acquainted with the use of firearms, spoke confidently to having seen bullet-marks on the wall, in the direction in which Oxford had fired; but the Attorney-general expressed his opinion that the evidence was entitled to no weight, as probably mistaken; declaring himself, however, positive that there must have been balls in the pistols, but that the pistols had been elevated so high that the balls went over the garden-wall. One of the witnesses said to the other, immediately after seizing Oxford, "Look out—I dare say he has some friends;" to which he replied, "You are right—I have." At his lodgings were found some curious papers, in Oxford's handwriting, purporting to be the rules of a secret club or society called Young England; the first of which was, "that every member shall be provided with a brace of pistols, a sword, a rifle, and a dagger—the two latter to be kept at the committee-room." A list of members-factitives' [sic] names were given. "Marks of distinction: Council, a large white cockade; President, a black bow; General, three red bows; Captain, two red bows; Lieutenant, one red bow." There were also found in Oxford's trunk a sword and scabbard, and a black crape cap with two red bows—one of the "rules" requiring every member to be armed with a brace of loaded pistols, and to be provided with a black crape cap to cover his face, with his marks of distinction outside. Three letters were also found in his pocket-book, addressed to himself at three different residences, purporting to be signed by "A. W. Smith, secretary," and to contain statements of what had taken place, or was to take place, at the secret meetings of the society. They were all headed "Young England," and dated respectively "16th May 1839," "14th Nov. 1839," and "3d April 1840." Oxford said he had intended to destroy these papers in the morning, before he went out, but had forgotten it. All these papers—the "rules" and letters—were sworn by Oxford's mother to be in his own handwriting; and it should have been mentioned that there was not a tittle of evidence adduced to show that there were, in fact, any such society in existence, or any such persons as these papers would have indicated; nor, up to the present moment, has there been the least reason for believing that such was the case.

Thus closed the case for the Crown, undoubtedly a very formidable one. No attempt was made by the prisoner's counsel—who appear to have conducted the defence temperately and judiciously—to alter by evidence the position of the proved facts; which, therefore, were allowed to stand before the jury as almost conclusively establishing the case of high treason. Mr Taylor, however, strongly impaired the Attorney-general's notion that there had been in the pistols balls, which had gone over the wall; because his own witnesses had spoken decisively to the bullet-marks on the wall; yet no flattened balls had been produced, after all the search that had been made. Mr Taylor, therefore, inferred that the pistols had contained powder only: "a great outrage, unquestionably, but still not the treason charged." There was, again, he contended, there could have been, no motive for killing the Queen; and the idea of the Treasonable Society was mere moonshine—a pure invention concocted by a lunatic—one who had inherited insanity, and himself exhibited the proofs of its existence: for Mr Taylor undertook to prove the insanity of Oxford's grandfather, his father, and himself. The proof broke down as far as concerned the grandfather, a sailor in the navy; for it was clear that his alleged violent eccentricities had been exhibited when he was under the influence of liquor. The insanity of Oxford's father was sought to be established by his widow, the mother of the prisoner. If her story, "told with unfaltering voice and unshaken nerve," were correct, her husband had undoubtedly been a very violent and brutal fellow, with a dash of madness in his composition. It is possible that the mother, in her anxiety to save her son from a traitor's death on the scaffold, had, by a quasi pia fraus, too highly coloured her deceased husband's conduct. If this were not so, she had indeed been an object of the utmost sympathy. He forced her to marry him, she said, by furious threats of self-destruction if she did not: he burnt a great roll of banknotes to ashes in her presence, because she had refused, or hesitated, to become his wife. He used to terrify her, during her pregnancies, by hideous grimaces, and apish tricks and gesticulations: the results being that her second child was born, and within three years' time died, an idiot. Her husband pursued the same course during her pregnancy with the prisoner, and presented a gun at her head. The prisoner had always been a headstrong, wayward, mischievous, eccentric youth—subject to fits of involuntary laughing and crying. He was absurdly vain, boastful, and ambitious; and wished his mother to send him to sea, where he would have nothing to do but walk about the deck, give orders, and by and by become Admiral Sir Edward Oxford! This was the utmost extent of the facts alleged in support of the defence of insanity. The prisoner's whole life had been traced—in evidence—while he was at school, and in three distinct services; and he had never been confined, or in any way treated as mad. His sister spoke to his going out on the day of the outrage, and detailed a conversation evincing no symptoms of wandering. He used to have books from the library—"The Black Pirate," "Oliver Twist," and "Jack Sheppard." On leaving home that day, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he told his sister that he was going to the Shooting Gallery to buy some linen for her to make him some shirts, and to bring home some tea from a particular shop in the Strand. A nur-sery-maid to whom he had written a ludicrously-addressed letter a few weeks before, said, "I considered him in a sound state of mind, but sometimes very eccentric:" than which, no words were fitter to characterise the true scope and tendency of all the evidence which had been offered to prove him insane. Of that evidence, according to the genius and spirit, and also the letter of English law, twelve intelligent jurymen were the proper judges, under judicial guidance; and greatly to be deprecated is any attempt to deprive them of their right, and their fellow-subjects—the public at large—of the protection afforded by its unfettered exercise.

We therefore earnestly beg the reader to assume that he is given credit for an average degree of intelligence, and only a moderate amount of moral firmness—to imagine himself a juryman, charged with the solution of this critical problem. We ask—On the facts now laid before you, do you believe Oxford to have been no more conscious of, or accountable for, his actions, in twice deliberately firing at the Queen, than would have been a baby accidentally pulling the trigger of a loaded pistol, and shooting its fond incautious mother or affectionate attendant?

If Oxford, instead of shooting at the Queen, had shot himself that afternoon: would you, being sworn "to give a just and true verdict according to the evidence," have pronounced him insane—totally unconscious and irresponsible? Would you have declared him such, if required to say ay or no to that question on a commission of lunacy? Would you have declared his marriage, on that afternoon, null and void, on the ground of his insanity? Would you have declared his will void? or any contract, great or small, which he had entered into? Would you have declared his vote, in a municipal or parliamentary election, invalid? If he had committed some act of petty pilfering or cheating, would you have deliberately absolved him from guilt on the ground of insanity? Would you, in each and every one of these cases, have declared, upon your oath, that you believed Oxford was "labouring under such a defect of reason, from disease of the mind, as not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing,—or, if he did know it, that he did not know he was doing wrong?"[18] We entreat you to forget altogether the enormity of the offence imputed to Oxford—an attempt to take the life of his Queen: dismiss it, and all consideration of consequences, as a disturbing force, and address your reason exclusively to the question last proposed. What would be your sworn answer? We beg you also to bear in mind from whom has proceeded the chief evidence in support of the defence of insanity—a mother, seeking to rescue her son from the fearful death of a traitor; and that the attempt to impugn his mental sanity is not made till after such a terrible occasion has arisen for doing so. Had it been their interest to establish his sanity, in order to uphold a will of his bequeathing them a large sum of money, who sees not how all their evidences of insanity would have melted into thin air, and the attempt to magnify and distort petty eccentricities into such, have been branded as cruel, unjust, and disgraceful?

But there came five doctors on the scene, and at their approach the light of reason was darkened. These astute personages—mysterious in their means of knowledge, and confident in their powers of extinguishing the common sense of both judges and jury—came to demonstrate that the unfortunate young gentleman at the bar was no more the object of punishment than the unconscious baby aforesaid; no more aware of the nature and consequences of the act which he had done than is the torch with which a haystack is fired, or the bullet, cannonball, or dagger with which life is taken away! But let them speak for themselves—these wise men of Gotham—these confident disciples of the "couldn't help it" school!

First Doctor.—Question by the prisoner's counsel and the Court—"Supposing a person, in the middle of the day, without any suggested motive, to fire a loaded pistol at her Majesty, passing along the road in a carriage; to remain on the spot; to declare he was the person who did it; to take pains to have that known; and afterwards to enter freely into discussion, and answer any questions put to him on the subject: would you, from those facts alone, judge a person to be insane?"

Answer.—"I should."

The Court.—"You mean to say, upon your oath, that if you heard these facts stated, you should conclude that the person would be mad?"

The Doctor.—"I do."

The Court.—"Without making any other inquiry?"

The Doctor.—"Yes!... If, as a physician, I was employed to ascertain whether a person in whom I found these facts was sane or insane, I should undoubtedly give my opinion that he was insane."

The Court.—"As a physician, you think every crime, plainly committed, to be committed by a madman?"

The Doctor.—"Nothing of the kind; but a crime committed under all the circumstances of the hypothesis!"

As to the hypothesis proposed, the reader will not have failed to observe how inapplicable it was to the proved facts. Oxford certainly "remained on the spot" because he could not possibly have got away; there being a high wall on one side, high park railings on the other, and an infuriate crowd, as well as the Queen's attendants, on all sides. He also certainly "declared he was the person who did it;" but how absurd to deny what so many had witnessed?

Second Doctor.—He is asked the same question which had been proposed to the first Doctor, with the addition of "hereditary insanity being in the family" of the person concerned.

Answer.—"I should consider these circumstances of strong suspicion; but other facts should be sought before one could be warranted in giving a positive opinion."

Question by the Prisoner's Counsel.—"Are there instances on record of persons becoming suddenly insane, whose conduct has been previously only eccentric?"

Answer.—"Certainly. Supposing, in addition, that there was previous delusion, my opinion would be that he is unsound. Such a form of insanity exists, and is recognised."

Question by the Counsel for the Crown.—"What form of insanity do you call it?"

Answer.—"Lesion of the will—insanity connected with the development of the will. It means more than a loss of control over the conduct—morbid propensity. Moral irregularity is the result of that disease. Committing a crime without any apparent motive is an indication of insanity!" ...

Question by the Court.—"Do you conceive that this is really a medical question at all, which has been put to you?"

Answer.—"I do: I think medical men have more means of forming an opinion on that subject than other persons."

Question.—"Why could not any person form an opinion, from the circumstances which have been referred to, whether a person was sane or insane?"

Answer.—"Because it seems to require a careful comparison of particular cases, more likely to be looked to by medical men, who are especially experienced in cases of unsoundness of mind."

Third Doctor.—"I have 850 patients under my care in a lunatic asylum. I have seen and conversed with the prisoner. In my opinion he is of unsound mind. I never saw him in private more than once, and that for perhaps half-an-hour, the day before yesterday; and I have been in court the whole of yesterday and this morning. These are the notes of my interview with him:—'A deficient understanding; shape of the anterior part of the head, that which is generally seen when there has been some disease of the brain in early life. An occasional appearance of acuteness, but a total inability to reason. Singular insensibility as regards the affections. Apparent incapacity to comprehend moral obligations—to distinguish right from wrong. Absolute insensibility to the heinousness of his offence, and the peril of his situation. Total indifference to the issue of the trial; acquittal will give him no particular pleasure, and he seems unable to comprehend the alternative of his condemnation and execution: his offence, like that of other imbeciles who set fire to buildings, &c., without motive, except a vague pleasure in mischief. Appears unable to conceive anything of future responsibility.'"

Question by the Court.—"Did you try to ascertain whether he was acting a part with you, or not?"

Answer.—"I tried to ascertain it as well as I possibly could. My judgment is formed on all the circumstances together."

Fourth Doctor.—To the same general question put to first and second Doctor.—

Answer.—"An exceedingly strong indication of unsoundness of mind. A propensity to commit acts without an apparent or adequate motive, under such circumstances, is recognised as a particular species of insanity, called lesion of the will: it has been called moral insanity."

Question.—"From the conversation you have had with the prisoner, and your opportunity of observing him, what do you think of his state of mind?"

Answer.—"Essentially unsound: there seems a mixture of insanity with imbecility. Laughing and crying are proofs of imbecility—assisting me to form my opinion.... When I saw him, I could not persuade him that there had been balls in the pistols—he insisted that there were none. He was indifferent about his mother when her name was mentioned. His manner was very peculiar: entirely without acute feeling or acute consciousness—lively, brisk, smart—perfectly natural—not as if he were acting, or making the least pretence. The interview lasted about three quarters of an hour."

Last Doctor.—"A practising surgeon for between three and four years. Had attended the prisoner's family."

Question.—"What is your opinion as to his state of mind?"

Answer.—"Decidedly that of imbecility—more imbecility than anything: he is decidedly, in my judgment, of unsound mind. His mother has often told me there was something exceedingly peculiar about him, and asked me what I thought. The chief thing that struck me was his involuntary laughing: he did not seem to have that sufficient control over the emotions which we find in sane individuals. In Newgate, he had great insensibility to all impressions sought to be made on him. His mother once rebuked him for some want of civility to me; on which he jumped up in a fury, at the moment alarming me, and saying 'he would stick her.' I think that was his expression."

Questioned by the Counsel for the Crown.—"I never prescribed for the prisoner, nor recommended any course of treatment, conduct, or diet whatever. I never gave, nor was asked for any advice. I concluded the disease was mental—one of those weak minds which, under little excitement, might become overthrown."

With every due consideration for these five gentlemen, as expressing themselves with undoubted sincerity and conscientiousness; with the sincerest respect for the medical profession, and a profound sense of the perplexities which its honourable and able members have to encounter in steering their course, when called upon to act in cases of alleged insanity—encountering often equally undeserved censure and peril for interfering and for not interfering—we beg to enter our stern and solemn protest on behalf of the public, and the administration of the justice, against such "evidence of insanity" as we have just presented to the reader. It may really be stigmatised as "The safe committal of crime made easy to the plainest capacity." It proceeds upon paradoxes subversive of society. Moral insanity? Absurd misnomer! Call it rather "immoral insanity," and punish it accordingly. Is it not fearful to see well-educated men of intellect take so perverted a view of the conditions of human society—of the duties and responsibilities of its members? Absence of assignable motive an evidence of such insanity as should exempt from responsibility! Inability to resist or control a motive to commit murder a safe ground for immunity from criminal responsibility!—that "criminal responsibility which," as the present Lord Chancellor, in replying for the Crown in Oxford's case, justly remarked, "secures the very existence of society."

Let us look at another aspect of this medical evidence given on this memorable occasion. Doctor the first pronounced his authoritative decision solely on the evidence given in court: influenced, it may be, by his having, many years before, been called in to attend the prisoner's father when labouring under symptoms of poisoning by laudanum. Doctor the second gave merely speculative evidence, without, as it would seem, having even seen the prisoner, and founded solely on what passed at the trial. Doctor the third never saw the prisoner before the trial but once, and then for "perhaps half an hour," on the first day of the trial, or the day before it! How potent that half hour's observation! Doctor the fourth saw the prisoner with doctor the third, for "perhaps three-quarters of an hour!" Doctor the fifth was a practising surgeon of not four years' standing—owning how "short a time he had been in practice." Let us only surrender our understandings to this queer quinary, and we arrive at a short and easy solution—very comfortable, indeed, for the young gentleman at the bar, who is doubtless filled with wonder at finding how sagaciously they saw into the thoughts which had been passing through his mind—the precise state of his feelings, views, objects, and intentions, when he fired at the Queen. But in the mean time we ask, can it be tolerated that medical gentlemen should thus usurp the province of both judge and jury? We answer, no! and shall place here on record the just and indignant rebuke of Mr Baron Alderson to a well-known medical gentleman, who had thus authoritatively announced his conclusion on the recent trial of Robert Pate.

Dr——.—"From all I have heard to-day, and from my personal observation, I am satisfied the prisoner is of unsound mind."

Baron Alderson.—"Be so good, Dr ----, as not to take upon yourself the functions of both the judge and the jury. If you can give us the results of your scientific knowledge in this point, we shall be glad to hear you; but while I am sitting on this bench, I will not permit any medical witness to usurp the functions of both the judge and the jury."

It fell to the lot of Sir Thomas Wilde to reply for the Crown, in Oxford's case, as in that of Frost; and he discharged the responsible duty with his usual clearness and cogency. As to the facts, irrespective of the question of insanity, a single sentence disposed of them.

"What would be the condition of society—exposed as we all are to such attacks, and the infliction of death by such means—if, with the evidence of previous preparation of the means; the use of balls and pistols; inquiries as to the effect of their discharge, and whether the party was hurt, coupled with admission, incidental and direct, of the fact that balls were in the pistols: what would be the state of society, if evidence like this left an assassin the chance of escape merely because the balls could not be found?"

And, with this terse summary of the proved facts before our eyes, we ask a question of our own: What overwhelming evidence of insanity would not an intelligent and honest juryman require, to refer such a case to the category of criminal irresponsibility?

Sir Thomas Wilde vigorously and contemptuously crushed under foot the mischievous sophistries of the medical evidence.

"If eccentric acts were proof of insanity, many persons who were wrenching knockers off doors, knocking down watchmen, and committing similar freaks, were laying up a stock of excuses for the commission of crimes!"

"The trick of laughing suddenly, without cause, was so common, that if this were token of imbecility the lunatic asylum would overflow with gigglers!"

"The prisoner had all along displayed a morbid desire to be talked about; and the letters and documents produced had been written with that feeling and object. A criminal should not be permitted to write out for himself a certificate of lunacy!"

"Was his making no attempt to escape, a proof of an unsound mind? If he had made such an attempt, it would have been a great proof of madness! He was surrounded on all sides by the multitude. He took such a reasonable view of his situation, as to see that he had no chance of escape, and gave himself up quietly!"

"The prisoner had been allowed the unrestrained use of firearms and powder, and was well acquainted with their fatal effects on human life. Would his mother have trusted a madman with them? and left her mad son in the same house with her daughter?"

"The medical men went to Newgate pre-disposed and pre-determined to see a madman."

"Suppose the prisoner unfeeling, violent, indifferent to his own fate, and preferring notoriety to any other consideration: what evidence did that supply of his being in a state of moral irresponsibility?—that moral irresponsibility which secured the very existence of society."

All this surely sounds like an irresistible appeal to good sense.

Lord Denman directed the jury with corresponding clearness and decision, and also in full conformity with the views of the Solicitor-general, and with the subsequent annunciation of the law by the judges.[19]

"If you think the prisoner was, at the time, labouring under any delusion which prevented him from judging of the effects of the act he had committed, you cannot find him guilty. He might, perhaps, have been labouring under a delusion affecting every part of his conduct, and not directed to one object alone: if that were so at the time of his firing, he could not be held accountable for it. But if, though labouring under a delusion, he fired the loaded pistols at the Queen, knowing the possible result—though forced to the act by his morbid love of notoriety—he is responsible, and liable to punishment."

"There may be cases of insanity, in which medical evidence as to physical symptoms is of the utmost consequence. But as to moral insanity, I, for my own part, cannot admit that medical men have at all more means of forming an opinion, in such a case, than are possessed by gentlemen accustomed to the affairs of life, and bringing to the subject a wide experience."

"The mere fact of the prisoner's going into the park, and raising his hand against the Queen, is not to be taken as a proof of insanity—particularly if we suppose that he is naturally reckless of consequences. It is a mark, doubtless, of a mind devoid of right judgment and of right feeling; but it would be a most dangerous maxim, that the mere enormity of a crime should secure the prisoner's acquittal, by being taken to establish his insanity. Acts of wanton and dangerous mischief are often committed by persons who suppose that they have an adequate motive; but they are sometimes done by those who have no adequate motive, and on whom they can confer no advantage. A man may be charged with slaying his father, his child, or his innocent wife, to whom he is bound to afford protection and kindness; and it is most extravagant to say that this man cannot be found guilty, because of the enormity of his crime!"

The jury, thus charged with the principles of a humane and sound jurisprudence, retired, and after three quarters of an hour's absence returned with this special verdict: "We find the prisoner, Edward Oxford, guilty of discharging the contents of two pistols; but whether or not they were loaded with ball has not been satisfactorily proved to us—he being of unsound mind at the time." In other words, "We find that he did not fire a pistol loaded with ball because he was not of sound mind!" They were sent back, with a mild intimation that they had not sufficiently applied their minds to the true question—viz., Did the prisoner, ay or no, fire a pistol loaded with ball at the Queen? The foreman, "We cannot decide the point, because there is no satisfactory evidence produced before us, to show that the pistols were loaded with bullets." They retired, to return with a verdict of "'Guilty,' or 'Not Guilty,' on the evidence." After an hour's absence they finally brought back their verdict, "Guilty, he being at the time insane!"

Upon the whole matter we are of opinion,—First, That there was very satisfactory evidence that the pistols were loaded with ball, and that the jury ought to have found their verdict accordingly. Secondly, If they remained of opinion, to the last, that there was no satisfactory evidence on this point, they ought unquestionably to have pronounced the prisoner Not Guilty, independently of any question as to the prisoner's state of mind. In Scotland, the jury would, in such a case, have returned a verdict of Not Proven; but in England, deficient evidence—i. e. such as leaves the jury finally in doubt—is regarded as leaving the charge unproved, &c., requiring the verdict of Not Guilty. Thirdly, The defence of insanity utterly failed, and the evidence offered in support of it was scarcely worthy of serious consideration. Lastly, It is possible that the verdict was given—though by men anxiously desirous of acting with mingled mercy and justice—under a condition of mental irresolution and confusion, and with a deficiency of moral courage. The jury either shrank from the fearful consequences of a verdict of Guilty, on a charge of high treason, and yet feared to let the prisoner loose again upon society; or there was a compromise between those who believed that there was, and there was not, sufficient evidence of the pistols having contained bullets; and also between those who were similarly divided on the subject of the prisoner's sanity. Thus stood, thus stands, the case; and Oxford has ever since been an inmate of Bedlam: though Mr Taylor, to whose work on Medical Jurisprudence we have already referred, and who is a decided and able supporter of that theory of "moral insanity" to which we, in common with all the Judges, are so strongly opposed, admits expressly that, with the exception of M'Naughten's case, "there is perhaps none on record, in English jurisprudence, where the facts in support of the plea of insanity were so slight as in that of Oxford."[21]

M'Naughten's Case.

The case of Daniel M'Naughten, which was tried at the Old Bailey about two years and a half after that of Oxford—viz., on the 3d and 4th March 1843—cannot be approached without a shudder, as one recalls the direful deed for which he was brought to trial—the assassination of Mr Drummond, whom the murderer had mistaken for the late Sir Robert Peel! To a candid philosophical jurist, this case is one of profound interest, and of considerable difficulty. The abrupt interposition of the presiding judge, the late Chief-justice Tindal—a step very unusual on such an occasion, and especially so in the case of that signally patient and cautious judge—occasioned much remark at the time, and a general, if not almost universal expression of regret that he had not allowed a case of such magnitude to run on to the end, and so have afforded the jury the vast advantage of hearing that consummate lawyer Sir William Follett's commentary upon the case, set up in behalf of the prisoner. The unexpected issue of this dreadful case led, as has been already explained, to Parliamentary discussion, and a solemn declaration by the assembled judges of England of the true principles applicable to such cases. We shall not examine the proceedings as minutely as in the case of Oxford; but we shall endeavour to enable the thoughtful reader to apply to the leading facts the rules of law laid down by the Judges for the conduct of these critical investigations. He can then form an opinion as to what might have been the result, if those principles had been strictly adhered to, and the case had gone on to its legitimate conclusion. It will be borne in mind that, as stated at the close of our account of Oxford's case, even Mr Taylor treats the case of M'Naughten as an acquittal proceeding on facts, alleged in support of the defence of insanity, "as slight as those in Oxford's case!"

Mr Drummond, the private secretary of the late Sir Robert Peel, then prime-minister, was returning alone to his residence in Downing Street, having just quitted Drummond's banking-house at Charing Cross, in the afternoon of Friday, the 20th January 1843, when a man (Daniel M'Naughten) came close behind him, and deliberately shot him in the back with a pistol which he had been seen to take from his left breast. While Mr Drummond staggered away, and the man who had shot him was seen quickly, but deliberately, taking another pistol from his right breast with his left hand, cocking it, and then transferring it to his right hand, he was tripped up by a police officer; and a desperate struggle occurred on the ground, during which the pistol went off—providentially without injuring any one. M'Naughten strove to use his right arm against the officer, but was overpowered, the pistols taken from him, and he was led to the station house. As he went, he said, "He" [or "she"—the witness was uncertain which word was used] shall not break my peace of mind any longer." On being searched, a banker's receipt for £745, two five-pound notes, and four sovereigns, and ten copper percussion caps fitting the nipples of the pistols which he had discharged, were found on his person; while bullets exactly fitting the barrels were discovered at his lodgings. The unfortunate gentleman who had been thus assassinated, died after great suffering, on the 25th January. He had borne a strong personal resemblance to the late Sir Robert Peel; and it was beyond all doubt that it had been Sir Robert Peel whom M'Naughten thought he had shot, and had intended to shoot. On the ensuing morning, when asked if he knew whom he had shot, he replied, "It is Sir Robert Peel, is it not?" and on being reminded that what he said might be given in evidence, he replied quickly, "But you won't use this against me?" He had shortly before said that, when brought before the magistrate, he would "give a reason, a short one," for what he had done; and also observed, that he was an object of persecution by the Tories—that they followed him from place to place with their persecution." He appeared calm; and gave a correct and connected account of his recent travelling movements. He was the natural son of a turner at Glasgow, from which, some months previously, he had come to London, and had then paid a short visit to France. Down to the moment of his committing this appalling act, he had been a man of rigorously temperate habits; and no one with whom he lodged or associated, entertained the slightest suspicion that his reason was in any way affected—though he appeared peculiarly reserved, and even sullen, which his landlady had attributed to his being out of a situation and poor; for though punctual in his small payments, he was frugal even to parsimony. She had no idea that he possessed so large a sum as £750. During the previous fortnight, he had been observed loitering so suspiciously in the neighbourhood of Sir Robert Peel's private and official residences as to challenge inquiry, which he parried by casual observations. In the month of November previously, he had remarked to a companion, on being shown Sir Robert Peel's house in Whitehall, "D——n him! Sink him!" or words to that effect. His other remarks were perfectly rational, and his companion entertained no notion "that his mind was disordered." The following two documents in his handwriting, dated in the May and July preceding the murder, are very remarkable, as indicating great caution, shrewdness, and thrift on the part of the writer. The first was addressed to the Manager of the Glasgow Bank, and is as follows:—

"Glasgow, 23d May 1842.

"Yours &c.,
"Daniel M'Naughten."

Two months afterwards—viz., in July—he purchased the fatal pistols of a gunsmith near Glasgow, giving him very precise directions as to their make; and on the 19th of July replied to the following advertisement, which appeared in the Spectator newspaper of the 16th of July:—

M'Naughten's answer, which here follows, cannot be too closely scrutinised, and its general tone and tendency too anxiously weighed, by a dispassionate judicial mind, regard being had to the evidence hereafter to be adverted to, with reference to the alleged condition of the writer's mind, long previously to, at, and after the date of the letter.

"Glasgow, 19th July 1842.

He went to London during the same month; appears to have gone for about a fortnight to France, returning to Glasgow; went a second time to London in September, and resided there, in the lodgings which he had formerly occupied, down to the day on which he shot Mr Drummond. His landlady accurately described his habits, and stated that "she never thought him unsettled in his mind;" and, on the very morning of the fatal day, "did not observe anything about his manner." Such was the tenor of all the evidence offered for the prosecution—some of it stretching back to the years 1840, 1841, when he attended anatomical lectures in Glasgow. A Writer to the Signet, who also attended them, and the physician who lectured, expressly declaring that they had never seen anything in him to indicate "disordered mind," or that "he was not in his right senses."

The following was the statement which he made and signed, when examined on the charge at Bow Street. This document, like the preceding, is worthy of great consideration.

On Thursday the 2d February—that is to say, exactly a fortnight after the murder—M'Naughten was arraigned at the Old Bailey. When called upon, in the usual manner, to say whether he was Guilty or Not Guilty, he remained silent, with his eyes directed steadily towards the bench. At length, on being authoritatively required to answer, he said, after some hesitation, "I was driven to desperation by persecution." On being told that he must answer, "Guilty," or "Not Guilty," he replied that he was guilty of firing. On this Lord Abinger interposed, "By that, do you mean to say you are not guilty of the remainder of the charge—that is, of intending to murder Mr Drummond?" The prisoner at once said, "Yes;" on which Lord Abinger ordered a plea of Not Guilty to be recorded. It appears to us that there is great significance in what passed on this occasion.

An application was then made to postpone the trial, on affidavits stating that, by the next session, matured evidence could be adduced to show the insanity of the prisoner when he shot Mr Drummond. The Attorney-general (Sir Frederick Pollock) at once humanely assented to the application, and it was granted; as also ample funds out of the £764 found on the prisoner, to prepare effectively for the defence. Let us here pause for a moment, to contrast the treatment which M'Naughten—whose undisputed act had filled the whole country with horror and indignation—received on this occasion, with that experienced by his predecessor Bellingham, thirty years before, whose case very closely resembled that of M'Naughten in some fearful points. We can with difficulty record calmly that Bellingham's counsel, fortified by strong affidavits of the prisoner's insanity, and that witnesses knowing the fact could be brought from Liverpool and elsewhere, applied in vain for a postponement of the trial, the Attorney-general of that day barbarously, and even offensively, opposing the application, which was consequently at once overruled. Within seven days' time Bellingham shot Mr Percival, was committed, tried—if it be not a mockery to use the word—convicted, and executed. On Monday, the 11th May 1811, Bellingham shot his unfortunate victim, and on that day week (Monday, the 18th May 1811) the assassin's dead body lay on the dissecting-table! This vindictive precipitancy affords an awful contrast to the noble temper in which M'Naughten's application was entertained by the Attorney-general, the judge, and the justly-excited country at large. It supplied the eloquent advocate, (the present Solicitor-general, Sir Alexander Cockburn) who was subsequently retained by the prisoner, with a potent weapon of defence, of which he failed not to make effective use. It is not too much to say, that all who can concur in the acquittal of M'Naughten must regard Bellingham as judicially murdered. We concur heartily with M'Naughten's advocate in the remark, that "few will read the report of Bellingham's trial without being forced to the conclusion that he was either really mad, or, at the very least, the little evidence which alone he was permitted to adduce, relative to the state of his mind, was strong enough to have entitled him to a deliberate and thorough investigation of his case."[25]

On Friday, March 3d, M'Naughten took his trial before the late Chief-justice Tindal, the late Mr Justice Williams, and Mr Justice Coleridge. The prosecution was conducted by the late Sir William Follett, then Solicitor-general, and the prisoner defended by the present Solicitor-general, then Mr Cockburn, Q. C. Nothing could exceed the temperate and luminous opening statement of Sir William Follett, who, in our judgment, laid down the rules of English law, applicable to the difficult and delicate subject with which he had to deal, with rigorous propriety.

The witnesses for the prosecution established a case, if unanswered, of perfect guilt; the facts of the assassination were indisputable, and the evidence of the prisoner's sanity cogent in the extreme. Mr Cockburn addressed the jury at very great length, and in a strain of sustained eloquence and power, his object being to persuade the jury "that the prisoner was labouring, at the time of committing the act, under a morbid[?] insanity, which took away from him all power of self-control, so that he was not responsible for his acts. I do not put this case forward as one of total insanity; it is a case of delusion, and I say so from sources upon which the light of science has thrown her holy beam." Those who have read what has gone before concerning Oxford's case will appreciate this observation of Mr Cockburn, and gather from it his adoption, for the purpose of that defence, of the theory of moral insanity, which he enforced and illustrated by many striking and brilliant observations, calculated to produce a deep and strong impression on the minds of the jury, such as required the utmost exertions of Sir William Follett in reply, and finally of judicial exposition to efface, if fallacious—or modify to any extent rendered necessary by inaccuracy or exaggeration. Ten witnesses, all of them from Glasgow, were called, for the purpose of establishing the fact that the prisoner had, for some eighteen months previously to January 1843, appeared to labour, and had continually represented himself as labouring, under a persuasion that he was the victim of some such indefinite, mysterious, and incessant persecution as he spoke of in his statement before the magistrate at Bow Street. We are bound to say that the force of this testimony—coming chiefly from persons above all suspicion, and in a superior rank of life—is irresistible as to the existence of such an insane delusion down to the time of his quitting Glasgow. Not a witness, however, gave evidence of his exhibiting that tendency after his last return to London, before his shooting Mr Drummond. The only mention of Sir Robert Peel's name was by one of these ten witnesses, a former fellow-lodger of the prisoner's, who told him, in July 1842, that he had heard Sir Robert Peel speak in the House of Commons; preferred his speaking to that of Lord John Russell and Mr O'Connell; and said "he thought Sir R. Peel had arrived at what Lord Byron said of him—that 'he would be something great in the state.'" Mr Cockburn asked the witness, "Did you ever, on that or any other occasion, hear him speak at all disrespectfully of Sir Robert Peel?" Answer.—"Certainly not." One or two witnesses spoke to singularities of demeanour as early as the years 1835 and 1836. One of his landlords, in the former year, got rid of him as a lodger, "for one reason, in consequence of the infidel doctrines he maintained, and the books of such a character which he was in the habit of reading." One witness, who had succeeded him in his business, remonstrated with him, towards the end of 1842, about his notions as to being persecuted, telling him it was all imagination—that there were no such people as he supposed. He said that, "if he could once set his eyes on them, they should not be long in the land of the living," and became shortly afterwards very much excited. Sometimes he said he was "haunted by a parcel of devils following him." His landlady, seeing the brace of pistols which he had in September, just before his return to London, said—"What, in the name of God, are you doing with pistols there? He said 'he was going to shoot birds with them.' I never saw the pistols after that." He told the Commission of Police that the "persecution proceeded from the priests of the Catholic chapel in Clyde Street, who were assisted by a parcel of Jesuits." In August 1842, he told the same witness that "the police, the Jesuits, the Catholic priests, and Tories, were all leagued against him."

Mr Cockburn having thus "laid a broad foundation," says Mr Townsend, "for medical theories, upon them was built, by the nine physicians and surgeons who confirmed each other's theories, a goodly superstructure of undoubted insanity. Had the workings," continues Mr Townsend, sarcastically, "of the troubled brain been as distinctly visible to the eye, as the labours of bees seen through a glass hive, they could not have held the fact to be more demonstratively proved. Positive beyond the possibility of mistake, and infallible as theologians, they explained all that might appear without the aid of science inexplicable; and proved, as if they were stating undoubted facts, an irresponsible delusion."

One of the physicians attested his conviction, from an interview with the prisoner shortly before his trial, "as a matter of certainty, that M'Naughten was not responsible for his acts!" Well may Mr Townsend add, "By an excess of lenity, the counsel for the prosecution allowed these scientific witnesses to depart from the ordinary rules of evidence, to give their own conclusions from the facts proved, and usurp the province of the jury."[26] After going through the evidence (if the word can be used with propriety under such circumstances) of the other medical gentlemen, Mr Townsend observes, "Each physician and surgeon, as he stepped into the witness-box, seemed anxious to surpass his predecessor in the tone of decision and certainty; each tried to draw the bow of —— (mentioning the first physician who had been called, and who was also called in Oxford's and Pate's case, in which latter he was rebuked by Baron Alderson,[27]) and shoot, if possible, still farther into empty space." And this gentleman, Dr——, had asserted, under cross-examination by Sir William Follett, "his positive conviction that he could ascertain the nicest shade of insanity! that the shadowy trace of eccentricity, dissolving into madness, could be palpably distinguished!"[28] The last of these confident personages then was permitted to make this extraordinary statement: "I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that the prisoner is insane, and that he committed the offence in question whilst afflicted with a delusion under which he appears to have been labouring for a considerable length of time!!!"

We feel constrained to say that this appears to us, in every way, monstrous.

"Nine medical witnesses," significantly observes Mr Townsend, "had now spoken, with a wonderful unanimity of opinion, and the court surrendered at discretion."[29]

If such a course is to be allowed again in a court of justice, what security have any of us for life, liberty, or property?

Chief Justice Tindal here interposed, to ask Sir William Follett whether he was prepared with evidence on the part of the Crown to combat that of the medical witnesses,—

After this authoritative intimation from the court, in a capital case, in favour of the prisoner, it would have been obviously to the last degree inexpedient for the Solicitor-general, in his position of peculiar and great public responsibility, to "press for a verdict against the prisoner."[32] After, therefore, intimating distinctly and respectfully to the jury, that, "after the intimation he had received from the bench, he felt that he should not be properly discharging his duty to the Crown and the public, if he asked them for a verdict against the prisoner," he withdrew, in deference to "the very strong opinion entertained by the Lord Chief-Justice, and the other learned Judges present," that the evidence, especially the medical evidence, sufficed to show that the prisoner, when he shot Mr Drummond, was labouring under insanity. "If he were so," added Sir William Follett, with a pointed reservation of his own opinion, "he would be entitled to his acquittal." He intimated, however, distinctly, that he adhered to "the doctrines and authorities" on which he had relied in opening the case, "as being correct law; our object being to ascertain whether the prisoner, at the time when he committed the crime, was—at that time—to be regarded as a responsible agent, or whether all control over himself was taken away. The learned judge, I understand, means to submit that question to you. I cannot press for a verdict against the prisoner, and it will be for you to come to your decision."

The Chief-Justice then briefly addressed the jury, offering to go through the whole evidence, if the jury deemed it necessary, which he "thought to be almost unnecessary;" adding—

We repeat emphatically our deep respect for the late Chief-Justice Tindal, and for his brethren who sate beside him on this momentous occasion; and we also acknowledge the weight due to the observation of Mr Townsend, that "none can form so correct an estimate of the facts proved, and their illustration by science, as those who actually saw what was going on; and the three able Judges who presided seem to have been fully impressed with the conviction that the prisoner ought not to be considered amenable to punishment for his act, being insensible, at the time he committed it, that he was violating the law of God and man."

And, again, "It is far more just and merciful to take care alike of the accused and of society, by confining in secure custody the doubtfully conscious shedder of blood, than to incur the fearful hazard of putting to death an irresponsible agent."[33] Nevertheless, we concur in the unanimous opinion of the five law lords, expressed in their places in Parliament—the Lord Chancellor, Lord Brougham, Lord Cottenham, Lord Denman, Lord Campbell—that it would have been better to let the trial proceed regularly to its conclusion. The whole facts of the case demanded, not less than the theories of the medical witnesses, that thorough sifting, and the application of that masterly and luminous practical logic, which both the Solicitor-general and the Chief-Justice were so pre-eminently capable of bestowing. If, after such a dealing with the case, an acquittal on the ground of insanity should have ensued, who could have gainsaid it? At present, see what a candid and scientific writer on medical jurisprudence—as we have several times observed, a strong favourer of the notion of moral insanity—has felt himself compelled to place permanently on record,[34] with reference to the acquittal of M'Naughten.

Surely it would have conduced—especially in the painful excitement of the public mind on the subject at the time—to the satisfactory administration of justice, if it had been allowed Sir William Follett—without his being placed in the insidious position of appearing to press unduly against a prisoner being tried for his life—to combine and contrast these various circumstances, as he, of almost all men, could have best combined and contrasted them. The jury should have had their minds solemnly and authoritatively directed to the question, for instance, whether this last observation of M'Naughten made to Dr Munro was a spontaneous, genuine indication of utterly subverted mental faculties, continuing from the moment of his shooting Mr Drummond; or an effort of anxious astuteness to give effect to the suggestion which he may have believed would save his life. And, moreover, this and other circumstances should have been accompanied by a direction to the jury, in accordance with that of Lord Denman in Oxford's case,[37] and with the following canon, subsequently laid down by the Judges in their answer to the first question proposed by the Lord Chancellor[38]—viz., "That notwithstanding the party did the act with a view, under insane delusion, of redressing or revenging some supposed grievance or injury, he is nevertheless punishable, if he knew at the time that he was acting contrary to the law of the land." Could M'Naughten be again tried on this charge, this is the precise question which would be left to the jury. Mr Alison, in his Principles of the Criminal Law of Scotland,[39] thus lays down the rule applicable to such cases, in commenting on that of Bellingham:—

Responsibility more awful than is devolved upon all parties to the judicial investigation of this question can scarcely be imagined. A deliberate and thorough investigation of every—even the minutest—circumstance adduced, guided steadily by correct legal principles, is demanded imperiously by justice. Difficult—almost hopeless—as may be the attempt to grope into the turbid mind of a madman, to ascertain its true condition at a given moment of time, the attempt must be made, a decision must be pronounced—distinguishing between real and simulated imbecility or madness—between irresponsible insanity and responsible eccentricity. These are questions, we repeat, of infinite importance, of great difficulty; and the interests of the entire community, and of individual members of it, demand a steady adherence to the principles of a humane and enlightened jurisprudence. Recent dreadful instances have served to remove several sources of dangerous error, in dealing with these cases of criminal jurisprudence. No one dare now infer madness from the mere absence of motive, and from the very enormity of the act committed; nor accord immunity to the fancied victim of "uncontrollable impulse." That is, at all events, a point gained in favour of society. In England, at all events, we sternly repudiate this last sickly and spurious theory, which would place the innocent and virtuous entirely at the mercy of the most base and ruffianly impulses of our fallen nature. It would relax all the bonds of self-restraint, and afford a premium on the indulgence of ungovernable passions.

The recent lamentable case of Robert Pate affords a valuable illustration of the truth of these remarks; and Mr Baron Alderson's charge to the jury not only conduced to the firm administration of justice in the particular case, but was calculated to be of great and permanent public service, by dispelling the morbid and mischievous notions which have latterly prevailed, and exhibiting expressively the stern simplicity and common sense of English law. On the 27th June last, a gentleman, who had only recently sold his commission in the 10th Hussars, and was residing as a gentleman of fortune in London, suddenly struck her Majesty on the forehead a violent blow with a cane, which actually caused blood to flow! He could give no account of his reason for committing this unmanly and infamous outrage; but the defence set up for him was, simply, uncontrollable impulse; and evidence was adduced certainly showing him to be of a very eccentric character, and actuated by strange whims and delusions. He was tried on the 12th July last at the Old Bailey, before Baron Alderson, under statute 5 and 6 Vict. c. 51, § 2.[40] The indictment contained three counts, charging him with striking the Queen "with an offensive weapon—that is, a stick," with intent (1st) to injure her person; (2d) to alarm her; (3d) to break the public peace. Again came the doctors—one speaking of "some strange sudden impulse, which he was quite unable to control;" and the other confidently pronouncing the prisoner to have been insane. The jury convicted the prisoner on the first and third counts, which the Judge told them had been clearly made out by evidence, discarding the defence of insanity; and the following was the summing-up of Mr Baron Alderson, in strict accordance with the principles laid down in 1843 by the Judges[41]:—

If the case of M'Naughten had been thoroughly tried out—if the medical witnesses, above all, had been checked, and restrained within their proper province, as they were by Baron Alderson—and if the summing up by the Chief-Justice had been in accordance with that of Baron Alderson in Pate's case—we do not venture to say what would have been the result: but whatever it might have been, it would have satisfied the country. Whether, at the moment when M'Naughten took out his long-prepared pistol, and, after a fortnight's watching, fancied he had found Sir Robert Peel, and deliberately shot his victim in the back—whether M'Naughten was, at that awful moment, insanely ignorant of what he was doing—utterly unaware that he was doing wrong—is a question which there exist no longer any human means of determining; but it is open to us to examine the principles applicable to such an investigation in a court of criminal justice.

Upwards of seven years have elapsed since the trial of M'Naughten, and upwards of ten years since that of Oxford; and both of them are at the present moment inmates of Bethlehem Hospital. Since commencing this article, we have been permitted, through the courtesy of the acute and able physician to whom the superintendence of that important institution has been for some years intrusted, to see and converse with the two persons with whose fate we have herein so anxiously concerned ourselves. Neither knew of our going; and we were accompanied by the gentleman in question.

M'Naughten was standing in the courtyard, dressed in the costume of the place, (a pepper-and-salt jacket and corduroy trousers,) with his hat on, knitting. He looks about forty years old, and in perfect health. His features are regular, and their expression is mild and prepossessing. His manner is tranquil. Usually he wears his hat somewhat slouched over his eyes, and sidles slowly away from any one approaching him, as if anxious to escape observation; but on this occasion he at once entered into conversation with our companion, calmly and cheerfully, and afforded us a full opportunity of watching him. Had we seen him casually elsewhere, and as a stranger, we should have thought his countenance indicative of a certain sort of cheerful quiet humour, especially while he was speaking; but to us it seemed certainly to exhibit a feeble intellect, shown chiefly by a faint flickering smile, even when he was speaking on the gravest subjects. When asked what had brought him where he was, he replied, "Fate." "And what is fate?" "The will of God—or perhaps," he added quickly, "of the devil—or it may be of both!" and he half-closed his eyes, and smiled.—[The reader will bear in mind what was deposed at the trial, as to his infidel tendencies.[42]]—When told that Sir Robert Peel was dead, he betrayed no emotion, nor exhibited the slightest interest. "One should have thought that, considering what has happened, you would have felt some interest in that gentleman." He looked rather quickly at the speaker, and said calmly, with a faint smile, "It is quite useless to talk to me on that subject: you know quite well I have long and long ago made up my mind never to say one word about it. I never have, and I never will; and so it would be quite childish to put any questions."[43] ... "How are you, M'Naughten?" He slightly sighed, and said, "I am very uncomfortable. I am very ill-used here; there is somebody [or something] always using me ill here. It is really too bad! I have spoken about it many, many times; but it is quite useless. I wish I could get away from this place! If I could just get out of this place, and go back to Glasgow, my native place, it is all I would ask for: I should be quite well there! I shall never be well or happy here, for there is always some one ill-using me here." "Well, but what do they do to you?" "Oh," shaking his head, and smiling, "they are always doing it; really it is too bad." "Who are they?" "Oh, I am always being ill-used here! My only wish now is, to get away from this place! If I could only once get to Glasgow, my native place!" This is the continual burthen of his song. It is needless to say that his complaints are altogether unfounded: he is treated with the utmost kindness consistent with his situation; and, as he has never exhibited violence nor ill-behaviour, it has never been necessary to resort to personal coercion, with one exception. Two or three years ago, he took it into his head that, as he could not get away, he would starve himself; and he persevered for such a length of time in refusing all kind of food that he began to lose flesh fast. At length he was told by the physician that, since he would not eat voluntarily, he must be made to eat; and it was actually necessary to feed him for a considerable time mechanically, by means of the stomach pump. Under this treatment he presently regained his flesh, in spite—as it were—of himself; and at length suffered himself to be laughed out of his obstinacy, and has ever since taken his food voluntarily. He seemed himself to be tickled by a sense of the absurdity of which he was guilty. Not a doubt of his complete insanity was entertained by my acute companion, who has devoted much observation to the case. Shortly after we had quitted him, and were out of his sight, he put away his knitting, placed his hands in his jacket pockets, and walked very rapidly to and fro, his face bent on the ground; and he was apparently somewhat excited. Whatever may have been the state of M'Naughten at the time to which our inquiries have been directed in this article, we entertain little, if any doubt, that he is now in an imbecile condition.

Oxford was in another part of the building, standing alone, at the extremity of a long corridor, gazing through a heavily-grated window, towards the new Houses of Parliament. His hat was on; he was dressed like M'Naughten, and his jacket was buttoned. We scarcely recognised him, owing to the change of his dress. He is fond of attracting the notice of anybody; and conversed about himself and his offence in the most calm and rational manner conceivable. He has lost much of his hair—a circumstance which he appeared somewhat to regret—for the front of his head is bald; but he looks no older than his real age, thirty. He is mortally weary of his confinement, and says he has been terribly punished for "his foolish act." "Foolish!" we exclaimed—"is that all you can say of your attempt to shoot her Majesty?" He smiled, and said, "Oh, sir, I never attempted to shoot her; I never thought of such a thing. I aimed at the carriage-panels only." "Then why did you put balls in your pistols?" "I never did," he replied quickly. "I never dreamed of such a thing. There were no balls." "Oh, then you have not heard of the discovery that has just been made—eh?" "Discovery—what?" "The bullets." "Oh, there have been more found than ever I used at least; for I assure you I never used any!" "What made you do what you did?" "Oh, I was a fool; it was just to get myself talked about, and kick up a dust. A good horse-whipping was what I wanted," he added, with a faint sigh. These were his very words. "Should you have done it, if you had thought of coming here?" "No, indeed I should not; it has been a severe punishment!... I dare say public opinion says nothing about me now; I dare say it thinks I have got what I very well deserve—and perhaps I have; but possibly if I were put quietly out of the way, and sent abroad somewhere, public opinion might take no notice of it." He has taught himself French, Italian, and German, of which he has a fair knowledge. He also used to draw a little, and began to write a novel; but it proved a sorry affair, and, being discouraged, he threw it up. "Do you recollect hearing the condemned sermon preached to Courvoisier?" "Oh, yes, very well. It was a most excellent sermon." "Did Courvoisier seem to attend to it?" "Oh yes, very much; and he seemed very much affected. It was certainly a very appropriate sermon; I liked it much." "Did not you think that it might soon be your fate to sit where he was?" "What, in the condemned seat?" "Yes." "Oh, no; that never occurred to me. I never expected to be condemned for high treason. Some gentleman—I forget who he was—said I should be transported for fourteen years. I thought that was the worst they could do to me; for I knew I had never meant to do any harm, nor tried to do it." "Yes; but the judge and jury thought very differently." "Oh, I was very fairly tried; but I never expected to be brought in mad. I was quite surprised at that, for I knew I was not mad, and I wondered how they were going to prove it." We asked him if he had ever seen us; to which he replied, gazing steadily, "Yes, I think I have—either at the Privy Council, or in Newgate Chapel." "Where did you sit on the Sunday when the condemned sermon was preached to Courvoisier?" "I sate on the steps near the altar." "How were you dressed?" "Oh, a blue surtout, with velvet collar;" and he proceeded to describe his dress almost exactly as we have described it at the commencement of the article. He exhibits considerable cleverness: whatever he does, whether in playing at fives, or working, (e. g. making gloves, &c.) he does far better than any one else, and shows considerable tact and energy in setting his companions to work, and superintending them. He admits that he committed a very great offence in having done anything to alarm the Queen, and attributes it entirely to a mischievous and foolish love of notoriety. He said, "I thought it would set everybody talking and wondering;" but "never dreamed of what would have come of it—least of all that I was to be shut up all my life in this place." ... "That list of conspirators, and letters from them, that were found in your lodgings—were they not real?" "Oh, no," he replied, with rather an anxious smile, "all mere sham—only nonsense! There was never anything of the sort!" "Then, why did you do it?" "It was only the folly of a boy; I wasn't nineteen then—it was very silly no doubt." "And their swords and dresses, and so forth—eh?" "Entirely nonsense! It was a very absurd joke. I did not think it would come out so serious. I did not appreciate the consequences, or I never would have done it." The word "appreciate" he used with a very marked emphasis.

We entertain no doubt whatever of his perfect sanity; and, if so, as his crime was great, so his punishment is fearful.

[2] Modern State Trials: Revised and Illustrated, with Essays and Notes. By William C. Townsend, Esq., M.A., Q.C., Recorder of Macclesfield. In 2 vols. 8vo. Longman & Co. 1850.