Do not suppose from this admission, that my health is gone or going; but, simply that I am, as I see in the looking-glass, a somewhat older and feebler man than my dear love remembers me a year ago. But I must hasten on. The plea of guilty being recorded, no trial was necessary; the judge had only to pass sentence. I was asked whether, by counsel or otherwise, I wished to say anything in my own defence? And then I rose and told the whole truth. Do not grieve for me, Theodora? The truth is never really terrible. What makes it so is the fear of man, and that was over with me; the torment of guilty shame, and that was gone too. I have had many a moment of far sharper anguish, more grinding humiliation than this, when I stood up and publicly confessed the sin of my youth, with the years of suffering which had followed--dare I say expiated it? There is a sense in which no sin ever can be expiated, except in One Blessed Way;--yet, in so far as man can atone to man, I believed I had atoned for mine; I had tried to give a life for a life, morally speaking; nay, I had given it. But it was not enough; it could not he. Nothing less than the truth was required from me--and I here offered it. Thus, in one short half hour, the burthen of a lifetime was laid down for ever. The judge--he was not unmoved,-so they told me afterwards--said he must take time to consider the sentence. Had the prisoner any witnesses as to character? Several came forward. Among the rest, the good old chaplain, who had travelled all night from Liverpool, in order, he said, just to shake hands with me to-day--which he did, in open court--God bless him! There was also Colonel Turton; with Colin Granton--who had never left me since daylight this morning--but they all held back when they saw rise and come forward, as if with the intention of being sworn, your father. Have no fear my love, for his health. I watched him closely all this day. He bore it well--it will have no ill result I feel sure. From my observation of him, I should say that a great and salutary change had come over him, both body and mind, and that he is as likely to enjoy a green old age as any one I know. When he spoke, his voice was as steady and clear as before his accident it used to be in the pulpit. "My lords and gentlemen, I was subpoenaed to this trial. Not being called upon to give evidence, I wish to make a statement upon oath." There must have been a "sensation in the court," as newspapers say, for I saw Granton look anxiously at me. But I had no fears. Your father, whatever he had to say, was sure to speak the truth, not a syllable more or less, and the truth was all I wanted. The judge here interfered, observing that there being no trial, he could receive no legal evidence against the prisoner. "Nor have I any such evidence to give: I wish only for justice. My lord, may I speak?" Assent was given.