"Speak, woman," said the recorder; "if you have anything to urge before sentence is pronounced." I started up, and turning to the prisoner, besought her in hurried accents to speak. "Remind them of the infant at your breast--your husband"-- "Who is that conferring with the prisoner?" demanded the judge in an angry voice. I turned, and confronted him with a look as cold and haughty as his own. He did not think proper to pursue the inquiry further; and after muttering something about the necessity of not interrupting the proceedings of the court, again asked the prisoner if she had anything to urge. "Not for myself--not for my sake," at last faintly murmured the trembling woman; "but for that of my poor dear infant--my poor witless boy! I do not think, sir, I was in my right mind. I was starving. I was friendless. My husband, too, whom you have heard"--She stopped abruptly; a choking sob struggled in her throat; and but for the supporting arm of one of the turnkeys, she would have fallen to the ground. "Unhappy, guilty woman," said the recorder, with the coolness of a demon, "the plea of insanity you would set up is utterly untenable. Your husband, it seems, is serving his majesty in the royal navy; defending his country, whilst his wife was breaking its laws, by the commission of a crime which, but for the stern repression of the law, would sap the foundations of the security of property, and"-- I could endure no more. The atmosphere of the court seemed to stifle me; and I rushed for relief into the open air. Before, however, I had reached the street, a long, piercing scream informed me that the learned judge _had done his duty_. No effort was spared during the interval which elapsed previous to the recorder presenting his report to the privy-counsel--a peculiar privilege at that time attached to the office--to procure a mitigation of the sentence. A petition, setting forth the peculiar circumstances of the case, was carefully prepared; and by the indefatigable exertions of an excellent Quaker gentleman--whom, as he is still alive, and might not choose to have his name blazoned to the world, I will call William Friend--was soon very numerously signed. The prosecutor, however, obstinately refused to attach his name to the document; and the absence of his signature--so strangely did men reason on such matters in those days--would, it was feared, weigh heavily against the success of the petition. The amiable and enlightened Sir Samuel Romilly not only attached his name, but aided us zealously by his advice and influence. In short, nothing was omitted that appeared likely to attain the desired object.