My thoughts at once recurred to a former moment of my life, when I stood accused among the Chouan prisoners before the tribunal of Paris. But though the proceedings were less marked by excitement and passion, the stern gravity of the English procedure was far more appalling; and in the absence of all which could stir the spirit to any effort of its own, it pressed with a more solemn dread on the mind of the prisoner. I have said I would not linger over this part of my life. I could not do so if I would. Real events, and the impressions they made upon me,--facts, and the passing emotions of my mind,--are strangely confused and commingled in my memory; and although certain minute and trivial things are graven in my recollection, others of moment have escaped me unrecorded. The usual ceremonial went forward: the jury were impanelled, and the clerk of the Crown read aloud the indictment, to which my plea of “Not guilty” was at once recorded; then the judge asked if I were provided with counsel, and hearing that I was not, appointed a junior barrister to act for me, and the trial began. I was not the first person who, accused of a crime of which he felt innocent, yet was so overwhelmed by the statements of imputed guilt,--so confused by the inextricable web of truth and falsehood, artfully entangled.--that he actually doubted his own convictions when opposed to views so strongly at variance with them. The first emotion of the prisoner is a feeling of surprise to discover, that one utterly a stranger--the lawyer he has perhaps never seen, whose name he never so much as heard of--is perfectly conversant with his own history, and as it were by intuition seems acquainted with his very thoughts and motives. Tracing out not only a line of acting but of devising, he conceives a story of which the accused is the hero, and invests his narrative with all the appliances to belief which result from time and place and circumstance. No wonder that the very accusation should strike terror into the soul; no wonder that the statement of guilt should cause heart-sinking to him who, conscious that all is not untrue, may feel that his actions can be viewed in another and very different light to that which conscience sheds over them. Such, so far as I remember, was the channel of my thoughts. At first mere astonishment at the accuracy of detail regarding my name, age, and condition in life, was uppermost; and then succeeded a sense of indignant anger at the charges laid against me; which yielded gradually to a feeling of confusion as the advocate continued; which again merged into a sort of dubious fear as I heard many trivial facts repeated, some of which my refreshed memory acknowledged as true, but of which my puzzled brain could not detect the inapplicability to sustain the accusation,--all ending in a chaos of bewilderment, where conscience itself was lost, and nothing left to guide or direct the reason.