If Captain Douglas had really shot the bullock, he would have been still more completely under the shelter of this legal maxim—and his equivocation would have been a ten times more heinous offence. As Mr Warren repeats this argument more than once, it may be worth while to state, in general terms, wherein its fallacy lies. A person is tried before a court-martial, which partakes of the nature of a court of honour, for a departure from, or a concealment of truth, considered to be dishonourable to a gentleman. It is no sufficient answer to plead the privilege which courts of law throw around a witness, unless you show at the same time that, in his case, such a privilege could be taken advantage of without any derogation to his character as a member of society. A very little reflection will satisfy us that the permission granted by courts of law to the accused party, or to a witness, to deny or withhold the truth, _may_ or _may not_ be a valid excuse in the moral judgment of society—may or may not be such a permission as it would be honourable to accept. A man is tried for his life on the charge of murder, or high treason. He pleads not guilty. Although he is in fact guilty, the most honourable and fastidious portion of society add nothing to their reprobation of the accused on account of this plea. The code of honour or of moral opinion, and the rule of the court of law, are not at variance. But nothing is easier than to imagine cases in which they would be at variance, and at variance in all possible degrees, from slight difference to complete opposition. The accused is being tried on a false accusation for murder. Titus is a witness. He can by his evidence establish the innocence of the accused, but in giving that evidence he will reveal his own guilt. The court allows him to be silent where his answer to the question would criminate himself. And here, too, the opinion of society would probably coincide with the rule of the court,—yet not entirely; many would censure the witness, many would excuse, none would cordially approve. Let us now suppose that Titus is innocent, but, in giving his evidence, he must confess some fact which will excite a strong suspicion against himself. Here the number of those who would justify his silence would greatly diminish. Suppose now that the suspicion which would be raised against him, was of a slight character, one which might be easily removed; suppose that by his evidence alone could the accused be saved from the unjust condemnation that hung over him; add to all this, that the accused and innocent party was the _friend_ of Titus, and had been his benefactor—and now this witness, “not bound to criminate himself,” has become the object of execration to all mankind.