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_LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS, WEDNESDAY MORNING. JULY 12. 1854. ~~ NO. 39._ THE TRUE DEMOCRAT IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY JOHNSON & YERKES. Terms of Subscription. For one copy, one year, in advance.$ 2 00 In six months... 2 5g At the expiration of the year. 3 erases ©3* APMWKt Transient advertisements will be inserted for*] per square, (ten lines or less,) for the first insertion and 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. Merchants advertising bv the year will be charged $30. Professional cards and other advertisements, not exceeding one square, $10 per annum. 17 job Work. Our facilities for doing all descriptions of Job Work can not be surpassed by any printing establishment in the country. W e have procured, at a cost of over sixteen hundred dol lars, one ot Isaac Adams’mammoth printing machines, which enables us to do book and pamphlet work in a superior style and at very low prices. Agents for the True Democrat. ARKANSAS* WM. E. SMITH, Washington county; GARLEN SILVEY, Jackson county. A. J. HAYS, Ashley county; 1). W. JEFFREY, Mount Olive, Izard county. R. L. PHILLIPS, Washington, Hempstead county; J. T. Mll.EHAM, Franklin county; Wm. M. ROWERS, Fayetteville; GIDEON TUCKER, Batesville, Independence countv; JOHN A. LINDSAY, Powhattan; ELIHU RANDOLPH, Desha county; JOHN M. MITCHEL, Gainsville, Green county; W.Vl. R. CAIN, Pocahontas, Randolph county; LEWIS SUTFIN, Boliver, Poinsett county; ROOF H. HOWELL, Dover, Pope county; J. S. JORDAN, Monticello, Drew county; 1 HO’S RIGGS, Postmaster at Richwoods, Izard comity; W M. M. VAN VALKENBURGH, Warren, Bradley co; GRLEN R. JONES, Esq., Smithville, Lawrence county; L. B. VENABLE, Van Buren county; JOHN M AVIS, Bradley county; C. If. JACKSON, Monnt I’enson, Jackson county; W M. A. CRAWFORD, Saline county; J. W. McCONAUGHEY, Searcy, W hite county; A. J. BROOKS, Bloomer, Sebastian county; JAMES M. MONTGOMERY, Lewisville, Lafayette co; <. apt. W. L ANDERS, Sulphur Rock, Independence co; W. B. YOUNG, Dover, Pope county; THO’S F. AUSTIN, A ellville, Marion county; J. W. BERNARD, Norrostown, Pope countv; J A'S R. HURRA , P. M., Huntsville, Madison counjv; J A’S N. JOHNSON, I’. M., Friendship, Saline county; C. L. SWEET, Sweetville, Crittenden county; THO’S MILLS, Polk county; JOHN W. FULLERTON, Hot Springs; ROB’T ATKINSON, Leek’s Store, Ouachita county; Dr. L. L. MARTIN, Long View, Ashley county; N. L. BAKER, Fulton county; JACOB PATE, p. m., Pleasant Plains, Independence co. R. L. CARGII.E, Conway county. Retirement of Mrs. Mowatt This elegant and accomplished woman took final leave of the stage on Saturday evening last, at Niblo’s Garden, on which occasion a complimentary benefit was given her, by her friends and admirers. The Express says: “The audience assem bled to take leave of Mrs. Mowatt, was one of the most select and elegant ever assembled in that city. There was a quiet refinement, and an absence of all boisterous applause, which made a marked contrast with the previous au diences. Mrs. Mowatt, says the Express, just now the lion of ladies—played the Lady of Lyons with great dignity, earnestness and force. It was a grand display of dramatic power, though, perhaps, the part hasheen played when less fatigued. Mrs. Mowatt had made her farewell appearance in Boston, on Friday night, and traveled from Boston to New York on the day of her farewell engagement in that city. She bore herself, however, admirably through the whole play, and her farewell address was so chaste, touching and eloquent, that it drew tears from many eyes, besides her own. Mrs. Mowatt was called before the curtain at the close of the third act, and most vehemently at the close of the fifth, when, with her hands full of flower.., which had been scattered all around her, she delivered her farewell address amidst either the intensity of silence, which eagerly caught every word that she uttered, or the warm applause, which gave a hearty approval to the sentiments expressed. The manner of delive ry was alike charming and impressive, from the warm-hearted sincerity of the fair authoress and actress, but no more actress hereafter. We subjoin the address, believing that it will be ac ceptable to the numerous friends of the lady in this region: Ladies and Gentlemen: The hour has come when I must bid you, and my friends in the profession, and an art to which I have de voted my best energies for some years, a last farewell. It is now nine years since, a trem bling debutante, I first stood before you on the boards of the old Park Theatre, and in the very same character which I have to-night re presented for the last time. I was then doubly sustained—by the motive which prompted the attempt, and by the hope that from my own generous countrymen I should receive an in spring welcome, and an indulgent hearing—for that motive’s sake. At your hands, and through the leniency of your judgment, I did receive the first stamp of dramatic success, and thus my public career was. rendered certain. Need I re count how often since then I have been warm iy welcomed: v\ ere I to endeavor to sum up and acknowledge all mv causes of gratitude— of which the compliment to-night, and the pre sence here of so many whose approbation I va lue, whose esteem I hold most dear, is not the least—I should be bankrupt in thanks. You have, indeed, strewed the pathway of my pro fessional life with flowers. The memory of their sweetness will ever linger around my breast. How great was the debt I owe you, I never felt so deeply as to-night, when the con viction comes home to my heart, that— “ This, ray place no more shall know me,” —that in the relation of audience and actress we shall never meet again. It is not easy to bid a cold farewell, and much as I rejoice that the labors which I have imposed upon myself are ended—the trials, which have been neither few nor light, are over—the commands of the “stern law giver” obeyed—I should be untrue if I said I felt no pain at parting. That pain is on ly lessoned by the hope that I shall not be wholly forgotten by you—that though my star has set forever in your dramatic firmanent, you will keep my memory green. To the members of the profession—amongst whom I have known so many worthy of my highest esteem and re spect—I tender my-grateful acknowledgments for their services, and I beg them to believe, that though I now cease to stand among their number, 1 shall not cease to sympathise with them. I speak with my heart upon my lips when I wish that the happiness you have con ferred upon me may be reflected back upon you. Once more, and for the last time, I bid you eahewell! Gen. Quitman.—The Washington Union of the 17th has the following: An article appeared in our paper some da\*s since, in which a friend of Gen. Quitman allud ed to the attempt ter connect him with thealleg ed filibustering movements against Cuba. This article has induced Gen. Quitman to send to the Hon. Wiley P. Harris the following de spatch: New Orleans, June 14. Tell the editor of the Union that no man is authorized to speak for me but myself. Pub lish this. J. A. Quitman. OCT The abolitionists at Westfield, Mass, the other day amused themselves by tolling the bells for an hour, and afterwards hanging and burning in effigy Present Pierce, and Messrs. Hallett and Loring. The effigy of Judge Dou glas, being considered diabolical, was burned at the stake Speech of Mr. Crttenden in the Ward Case. Gentlemen or the Jury:—I agree with the coun sel who have spoken on behalf of the prosecution, as to the importance of this case. Its magnitude can scarcely be overrated. The State has an interest in it. It is not a desire for vengeance; the State seeks no vengeance against its own citizens. But its interest is a paternal one, like that of a lather in the midst of his family. Its interest is, that its laws may be ad ministered. and that its citizens shall receive from that administration a just and merciful protection. The defendant has an interest in it. He has every thing at stake—his life, his liberty, his character, and the feelings and sympathies of those who by ties of friendship or of nature are associated and allied with him. All these are at stake; and you are the men who have been selected to arbitrate and decide this mighty issue. Gentlemen, we have all cause to rejoice that we live under a government, which guarantees to every i man the right of trial bv jury. Without it, no free man can be touched in life or liberty. For ages this right has been the inheritance of our race. Our pro. genitons established it in the old world; and our fath ers have struggled for it, as a thing indispensable to the security of their lives and their liberties. T ou may wonder why it is they have been thus so licitous to preserve this right of’ trial by jury. You may inquire why they have not rather left it to the courts to try men who are charged with crime. The judges on the bench are usually able and honest men i—men of superior wisdom to* those who ordinarily ; compose a jury; men with greater knowledge of law, and men of undoubted integrity. It is not so much from any distrust of the judges, ; or foal's that thev might be swayed improperly, | that this right has been preserved; but from a deeper | and wiser motive. It is not because the people are | equally learned with them, but because they are less , learned. It is because the law desires no man to be I molested in his life or liberty until the popular sanc | tion has been given to his sentence, and his cause pro nounced upon by a jury of his peers. The Court is expected to render all necessary assistance in stating the law; but his cause, in passing through the minds and hearts of his equals who are trying it, will be di vested ot' all nice technicalities and subtle analories, and decided on its simple merits, and according to the dictates of reason. The life oi^a man should betaken on no other judgment. You may lay down the law like a pro blem in Euclid; you may take one fact here and anoth er there; connect this principle and that proposition, and then from one to the other reason plausibly and even logicully that a man should receive sentence of I death. But it was to avoid all this that this glorious ; right has been kept inviolate. It was to bring the aecused face to face with his accusers, and to suffer j only a jury ot his equals, with their warm hearts and j honest minds, to pronounce upon a cause involving j Ins life or his liberty. This, gentlemen, as I under stand it. is the object of jury trials. Were cases left to the judgment of the Courts, a man’s destinv might depend on some subtle and difficult question ‘of law, but now it is different. When you consider a case, it is divested of all such questions, and appeals to you i as able to judge ot the facts—as familiar with thepas j sions and motives ot men—as those who will rest it I on its simple merits alone, and will onlv condemn for ! reasons that are sure, and solid, and satisfactory to ! your own understandings. l ou are a jury of Kentuckians; and I have too much respect for you, too much resj>ect for myself, in this important case, to deal with you by meuns of en treaty or flattery. But I may say that I have confi dence in you. and that I look forward with sanguine i hopes to the verdict you are to render. 1 expect you to do your duty manfully and firmly; and 1 expect you to do it. notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary, mercifully. I expect you to do it on principles compatible with public security, and it is my duty to show you that you may acquit the priso ner at the bar on such principles. i he accused is before you in a house of Kentucky justice, and all vengeance must cease to pursue him. ! at this threshold. This is his sanctuary—here the : sway o! the law is potent. Here tire voice of justice — justice tempered with mercy—is heard—that voice ! which falls in sounds of terror on the guilty hearts; j but whispers in songs of seraphs, peace and jov to the j innocent. 1 he case, gentlemen, is one that demands all your attention. Thus far it has engrossed it: fur 1 never 1 have had the honor of addressing a jury in any ease. ! who have given, during the whole progress, evidence of more patient and unwearied attention. I am con ; soled by the belief that you know the evidence as well or better than I do; und I only ask that you will 1 weigh it carefully in all its bearings and influence, making the projier discriminations, earnestly striving | to ascertain the real motive of the accused fund then | render that verdict which is demanded bv vour oaths I and the laws of your land. I will first proceed to an examination of the evi dence. and wiii then endeavor to bring toyonr atten tion the Law I believe applicable to it. ' And 1 Lope to satisfy you that tiie law when applied to the facts, entitles the defendant to a verdictof acquittal—a ver ! diet which, under all the circumstances of the case, would cause Mercy herself to rejoice. V» hat then is the ease, briefly stated? William i y* ard. a boy ol fifteen years, and a scholar in the Lou : isyille High School, returns home during the absence of hi.- parents, and informs his elder brother that he has been unjustly and severely whipped, by Mr. But l l. r. the Principal. “ And though 1 could have borne that, brother,” he says, “ I could not well bear to be called a liar; before the whole school—my companions and my equals. _ I wish you would go and see Mr. Butler about it.” it is four o’clock in the evening when he gives his brother information of the chastise ment he deemed so cruel and unjust, accompanied by tiicb an appeal. The l<rothcr— the prisoner at the bar — determines to go around at once, and ask an expla- , nation; but suppressing the school to be dismissed and ! the teacher not present at that hour, he concludes to ! wait until the following morning. Then the parents j have reached home, but as the occurrence took place J during their absence, be obtains the consent of the j father to go around and ascertain the reason of it.— I lie goes, and in a conflict in which he becomes involv- > ed, the death of Mr. Butler ensues. This is a general \ lew ot the case; but it is necessary for us to examine it more uartieulnrlv. 1 he purpose for which he went to the school-house j was undoubtedly a lawful one. If a child is whipped, particularly when the chastisement is so severe as to ! leave marks upon the limbs. I ask if it is not only ' lawful, but in fact a paternal duty, to go and inqiure the cause and learn why such punishment was admin istered? Certainly it is. Audit is equally lawful and proper for the brother to go, especially when, as in t his case, he has the consent and sanction of the father. The accused then stood in the place of the father, and had the paternal right to go on the errand that took him to the school-house. This point I consider settled. Why, then, are we to infer a malicious and wicked motive on his part, for doing that which is clearly lawful, and justifiable and proper? The correct pre sumption would certainly be, that the motive was as good and lawful as the act itself. It is contended that he went with malice; but you have heard the tes timony on this point—you have heard that of Mrs. Robert J. Ward-given*in a tone and manner that must have carried conviction to your hearts;and you know what inducements and reasons there were "for the defendant to seek an interview with Prof. Butler, i You have heard that the parents had just returned from Cincinnati, w hen the watchful eye of the mother observed Willie at home, and she asked why lie was not at school. The little fellow, still mortified at the memory of his own shame, burst into tears, and re plied: “Brother Matt, will tell you.” And that brother did tell her, adding: “ I designed to have gone around to seek an explanation last night, but the hour was so late that the school was not in session: so I postponed it until this morning.” When the father proposed that he should go, the accused replied: “This j occurred while you were away, and I was here; and I think, father, you ought to let me go.” And, in tact, during the absence of the father, the accused was the head of the family. It was decided that he should go; and then Mrs. Ward indulged in one of those maternal anxieties and apprehensions, that so often rise in the heart of the mother, lie endeavored to quiet them, but when he was at the door, she suggested that Robert should go with him. He had made no request of the kind; he was not desirous of the company or assistance of his brother; but on the contrary, when it was urged upon I him. replied: “ I apprehend no difficulty: Mr. Butler i is a gentleman; and as I only ask what justice de- i mands. I am sure he will do all I desire.” Gentlemen, I think this is no unimportant fact in tracing the mo tives of the prisoner. liven, at last, when he submit ted to the proposition that his brother should go, it was with impatience. He was reminded that Sturgus was his enemy, yet he went, knowing the justice of his intentions, and fearing neither Sturgus nor any one else; only acceding to the request of his mother to quiet lier own apprehensions. This, I think, is a fair statement of the case. I desire to learn, why and wherefore he went to the school-house, and what were the motives that actuat ed him. And, I think, every circumstance speaks out, that there was no wickedness in his heart; that he not only went to do what was proper and lawful, but to perform a duty that devolved upon him. Did Mr. Robert Ward appehend difficulty? Certainly not; he knew Butler—knew the object and feelings of the I accused; Re swears to you that if he had even con-' jectured difficulty might ensue, he would have gone nimself. And that mother—can you believe that when she parted with him at the door, she thought she was sending her son on an errand of blood, a mis sion of revenge? The idea is too horrible to contem plate. Neither the father nor mother expected the least difficulty with Butler, though the prudent ap prehensions of the latter suggested that there mignt possibly be some interference on the part of Sturgus. But W ard and Butler were friends—they hud mutual respect for each other. Well, they left the house—Willie going along to get his books, and Robert, at the instance of his mo ther. What was the conversation on the way? It may tend to throw some light on the question at issue. The testimony of Robert Ward, gentlemen, may re quire hereafter more attention than I can give it at this point. But for the present, it is sufficient to state that he did not know that his brother was armed, and that he had not the least expectation of difficulty. On the way. Matt, tells him—it was not all detailed here, but this was evidently the burden of the conver sation:"! am going to seek explanation and apology for an injury done to brother Willie. I did not want you with me; you are young and hasty; you do not know the circumstances of the case, and you might act indiscreetly. I apprehend no difficulty—Butler is a gentleman and will do what is right, and I de sire you not to have a word to say.” It was as much as to say, “ I would you were at home, Robert, but now you are here, do not interfere by word or deed.” But little Willie, who has heard this injunction, says: “ Ah, brother, but Mr. Sturgus is there!”—not But ler, but Sturgus—“ and vou know he has a big stick!” Matt, replies: “Why, I shall have nothing to do with Sturgus—my application is to Butler.” Then he turns to Robert, and adds: “ If, however, Sturgus and Butler both attack me, you may interfere.” lie 1 conjectured the possibility of this only to soothe the feelings of the little boy. He had already made Ro do not expect—you may keep off Sturgus.” Does this look like an intention to commit murder? On the contrary, do not all these circumstances go to exclude the idea of any hostile feeling, any malignant purpose, or any design to attack, or do an unlawful ! act, on the part'of the accused? Farther, to prove that there is no possibility of malice, we have shown you how he had been making preparations for several days, and even on that very morning, to depart for hi> plantation in Arkansas. His mind was not bent on mischief, but engaged in a legitimate and proper channel. All the facts go to negative the presump tion of malice, or of any wicked purpose. But he had been told, and he knew before, that ! Sturgus was his enemy. He knew that by some re mote possibility the visit might lead to a collision and I combat with him. He was very weak—utterly unable to resist any attack that might be made upon him; and therefore it was right for him to arm himself. Is | it to be interred, because a man purchases a pistol, - and nuts it in his pocket, that he intends to commit murder, unless it is indicated by some subsequent act? d ou are often in town, perhaps, and if you purchase a rife there, will that fact subject you to anv suspi j cion ? But in town the procuring of pistols is neither i more remarkable nor more improper. It is true that when lie buys pistols, a man may do it with an inten tion to commit murder; yet when he does an act which may be accounted for lawfully in a thousand ways, but by a possibility may be improper and unlawful, is it right tor us to conclude that he must be actuated by the worst possible motives that can be conjectured? In such a case, we would be accusing spirits indeed.— W hat would be the condition of human society— what the relations of mail to man. were this doctrine carried out? A man may arm himself for a ease of probable danger; he may do it w ith a view to no specific occur rence, and he may do it in self-defense. Who can object to it? The Constitution guarantees to every one the right to bear arms. No law takes it away, and none ever can. The right of self-defense is an’inher ent one. given by God, toman. It is our own natural right, and as Blackstone says, no human legislation can ever take it from us. But how nugatory and vain you render this right, if. when in pursuance of the law s ot his country, a man arms himself for any possible contingency, and remote danger, you impute to him unlawful motives, and subject him to every sort of imputation of murderous intent. This precaution on the pare of my client, indicated no intention ot violence. It may have indicated a purpose to'defend himself in ease of attack; but noth ing more. \\ ill you cast aside the thousand other natural constructions, and adhere to that irrational and unsupported one, which makes him criminal?— That were alike unreasonable and inhuman. But take all the circumstances, and weigh them carefully, and you will see the motive as clearly as you see the act itself; and you will see no design to take life, or to violate the laws of the land. Then whal was the remainder of the conversation on the way? They met a young lady in Bloomer costume, and talked of the peculiar nature and fash ion of that dress. What a subject for the conversa tion of a man within a few steps of the point where he intends to commit a malicious and cold-blooded murder! One of the gentlemen who addressed you for the prosecution, announced, in the course of his argu ment, his disbelief that the accused purchased the pistols with the design to commit murder, or wrent to the school-house for that purpose. If he did not, he had no criminal intentions. But within half un hour after, the gentleman, becoming more deeply engaged, says, with violent gesticulations: '■ Ward purchased those pistols with the intent to murder Butler.” Thus he assumes contrary positions, and as both of these declarations are made by the same author, I suppose I have a right to receive which 1 please. I will choose the one. then, that I believe takes the only reasonable and truthful ground—that he had no such intent. But I will go no further on this point. I think it fully established, that the purpose for which my client visited the school-house, was a proper and lawful one. So far, then, we find no offence; when he entered the door he was free from all malice and all criminality. Did anv thing occur there which made him a murderer? ’’This is the next question for you to consider. You have heard the testimony as to what transpired at the sc-hool-house. No one was there, except Matt., Robert, and the pupils. Willie was in the room, but so engaged, that lie knew nothing of the interview. To prove the nature of that interview, thirteen boys have been introduced hereby the Commonwealth.— Now,gentlemen, before 1 say a word as to the testimony of these pupils. I w ish to have my position clearly un derstood. The counsel on the other side, with a tri umphant air. have come forward and volunteered a defense of the truthfulness and veracity of these boys. But their services have been in advance of any occasion lor mein—mey nave only detenaed what is not attacked at all. Not one of the counsel for the defense has ever intended, or sought to impeach the character of these witnesses. It may be asked, then, what circumstances justify us in the ground we as sume, as to their testimony? It must he remembered they are but a set of boys,'and that they are testify ing in regard to a circumstance in which their teacher was killed. They must have been under the influ ence of excitement and fright. The time which the accused spent in the school-room was at most, not more than five or ten minutes. When he entered, they were engaged in their studies, and it was contrary to an explicit regulation of the school, to turn around and look up. when strangers came in. And when, so unexpectedly, like a flame from the earth, this fear ful occurrence broke out in the stillness of that school room, what must have been the panic of these boys! You can imagine as well as I. It would have startled men—the calmest and firmest in this jury box, or this court room. Benedict, I think, gives a very just idea of the condition of all of them. He says: “ I was so much frightened, that I couldn’t think of any thine, or see any thing hardly.” And whatever the gentlemen may contend, I believe this was the state of all the boys in the room.* They may have seen Butler and Ward during the conversation in the early }>art of the interview; but this was all they sawclear y. One fact alone is sufficient to diminish the weight of their testimony. Not one of them heard all the conversation perfectly. Though one or two are con fident that they did, they are contradicted by the others, who heard words and sentences which never reached their ears. No two of them give the same a count of it; but on the contrary, there is much in consistency and contradiction. It is evident that no one of them saw all the acts, or heard all the conver sation that passed; and this, in addition to the general panic that agitated their minds, and confused their recollections, renders it impossible for them to give a fair and perfect history' of the occurrence. “ Ah, 6ay the gentlemen, “ but the panic was all after the firing of the pistol. Before tni6, up to the very moment when it took place, they can remember distinctly all that occurred.” Is this rational? Is it according to the philosophy of the human mind?— Was not the whole mind agitated and stirred, so that the things both immediately preceding and immedi ately succeeding, were thrown into one mass of chaotic confusion? There is no other reasonable inference from the facts. ■ Here, then, a parcel of sehool-boyg are brought up under these circumstances, to testify in a ease of life and death—to testify in regard to a conversation partly heard and acts partly seen. It becomes important that you should know with just how much confidence and with just how much allow ance to receive their testimony. Suppose an affray were to occur here now, in this crowded court-room and the life of one the parties to be suddenly taken. How many of the men who were present and witnes sed it, could give a correct and faithful account of the occurrence five minutes after it transpired? You know the character of the human mind, and you know that very few could do it. Transfer it in your minds, then, to the presence only of a parcel of frightened school-boys; and after.months have passed, do you believe they are capable of giving a full history of the affair, detailing all the events in the precise order in which they occurred, and even descending to the minutia of the position of the hands? The mind, and particularly the youthful mind, under such circum stances is in a state of chaos, and the memory and the imagination combine until it is impossible to un ravel the tangled web and come at the simple truth. I believe these bovs to be intelligent, and honest, and high minded, and incapable of any intentional mis representation. But I believe at the same time that they are incapable of narrating the simple, uncolored circumstances of the case, and of giving testimony on which the life of a man ought to depend. Another thing: these boys, from 11 to 18 years of age, since the occurrence of the principal fact we are investigating, have been the scholars, and under the tuition and training of Mr. Sturgus. With all their natural sympathies on the side of their teacher—with all these other circumstances tending to give their minds a bias, they have been from that day to this under the authority and instruction of Sturgus, the enemy of Mr. Ward—the pursuer of this prisoner.— You, who understand the affairs of men. will see the impossibility of a fair and faithful narration of the event from them, under such circumstances. You will understand how this man—they not knowing it— by a word properly thrown in, or a statement repea ted until they were familiar with it and received it without question, may have exercised great influence and control over the feelings und recollection of these boys. He is their teacher and guardian—they are under his charge, and though he was sworn here as a witness for the Commonwealth, he was not introduc ed upon the stand. Put all these facts together—-and it is your business where the facts are not all known, but a few of potent character are established, to infer the others—weigh them carefully in your own minds; and then judge for yourselves if the probabilities in regard to the character of the testimonv of these boys are not all in favor of the assumption 1 have made.' Now let us examine the testimony. After the able manner in which it has already been reviewed and j considered, it would consume too much of your time , to enter into a minute repetition of its details; but I | think I may safely say that from beginning to end, no [ two of these witnesses have perfectly agreed, that j their statements contain numerous discrepancies and J contradictions; that the account of no one of them is probable and satisfactory, and that they all show, from their disjointed nature, they only contain por tions and fragments of the facts that occurred. It there be any one thing in which there is more concurrence than on other points, it is in the state ment that when the parties nad exchanged salutations. Wurd immediately asked: “ Which is the more to blame?” etc. Now, would not this be a most extra ordinary manner for one gentleman to commence a conversation with another? But four or five of them agree on this point, and if you receive their testimony, you must conclude there was no other introduction ol the subject, but that these were the first words ut tered by the prisoner. Is it reasonable? Does not the very awkwardness of the question, asked in such a manner, indicate a chasm here—something which did not reach their ears—some preliminary, if not for 1 the sake of ordinary COimoSV. Jlf. lpfltsf to o*i vp u nnm_ prehensible explanation of the business? And what says Robert \\ ard on this point? He tells you that Matt, first informed Butler he desired some conversa tion with him; and after declining to enter the private ropm. giving as a reason that the event of which he wished to speak had occurred there, went on to in quire what were his ideas of justice, and thsn pro pounded the question mentioned, winch in that con nection came naturally enough. Thus in the very commencement. Robert Ward gives you the only na' tunil and satisfactory account of the conversation; and this fact alone is sufficient to show you the frag mentary character of the information possessed by i the other, boys. I know Robert stands here in a po sition which, by the law, exposes him to imputation; ami it is your duty to weigh his testimony carefully, and not to receive it, unless you perceive in it intrinsic indications ot truth, or it is corroborated by other wit nesses of whose veracity you can entertain no doubt. In this case, we call the witnesses of our enemy to ; corroborate him. and contend that even bv them, he ; is so fully sustained as to be entitled to vour belief. | One of the largest of these boys, a’nd one who ; heard more of the conversation than anv other wit ness who deposed for the Commonwealth,'was Worth - ington. _ Yet he did not hear Ward make use of the term •• liar’’ at all, and thus lie corroborates the state ments of Robert. Again, Robert tells you that the accused introduced the conversation in a natural and reasonable manner, by asking, " Mr. Butler, what are your ideas of justice?” Now, how is it that of these thirteen boys. twelve leave this entirely out in ! their history of this conversation? How is it that, if their opportunities for hearing and seeing were as good, and their recollections as perfect asyou are asked 11° believe, they nil disclaim any knowledge of this language? But let us turn for a moment to the testi mony of little Pirtle, who frankly confesses ho did not hear all that was said, and who was one of the finest and most intelligent boys in the whole school. He tells you that the first words he heard from the ac cused were something about “ ideas of justice” and chestnuts. ^ ou must observe that the connection of 1 subjects is a very singular one—one that would not he likely to be suggested to the mind of a school-boy or any one else, unless he had distinctly heard it. The ! minuteness with which this trival point is recollected. | seems to give it more weight, and to indicate in no 1 unimportant degree the truthfulness of the testimony i given you by Robert Ward. Crawford corroborates him by the fact that he did ; not hear the lie given. Benedict states that when in terrogating Butler, Matt, asked, “ Which is the worse,j the boy?" etc., though all the other scholars state that I he used the term ‘-puppy.” Now Robert tells vou i that when he asked the question the first time, lie did j so in the words detailed by Benedict; but that when j no answer was given, he repeated it in some irritation, ! and then changed the phraseology to ‘‘the contempt- i ihle little puppy.” Though the particulars may seem trivial, vet 1 think all these minute facts combined will enable you to form a correct opinion as to the general character of his testimony. yuigiey eonnrms mm. ne tolls you that Word was forced back by Butler, before the pistol was fired, against the wall and the door. Is not this a corrobo ration on a most important point? And he further says in corroboration, that when Sturgus came out of his room Robert told him to stand back—not that be told him to come on, as related by some of the other j boys. The statement of Quigley as to the condition to which Butler had reduced Ward, agrees exactly with that of Robert, word for word. Campbell, however, contradicts Quigley in regard to the language used by Robert to Sturgus'; and there are other contradictions between the boys on various points. 1 might pursue the subject further, but 1 be lieve it is unnecessary. I think I have demonstrated that but little reliance can be placed on the testimony of these schooi-boys—because they do not agree—be cause of their numerous contradictions—because how ever pure their minds may be, it comes to you through all these circumstances of diminished credit, combined with the fact that they have been so long under the care of Sturgus, the enemy of Ward—and by that en mity, as I verily believe, the cause of the unfortunate event which occurred. Let us look at the testimony of Robert Ward; and | after what has been shown you, I think it is not ask ing or saying too much to claim that this is the only testimony which has brought order out of disorder given the only connected and reasonable account of the whole attair,—a consistent history of the events that transpired—natural in their course, and leading directly to the results that actually occurred. You'have been told that according to the testimony of this witness, the accused told Butler he desired a private conversation with him; but no such word was used, as your own recollection of his language will readily assure you. It was a public investigation he desired, and when invited into the recitation room, he declined, saying, “ No. Mr. Butler, the occurrence of which I wish to speak, transpired here, and this is the proper place to talk of it.” Could there be any thing more natural or more proper than this? There the boy was whipped—there he had been called a liar— and there were all his companions who had witnessed the whole transaction. Butler might have said, “ Here are the boys; they witnessed the occurrence, they know all the facts of it, and they shall be called up and the truth of the mat ter ascertained, to your satisfaction.” What was it they wished to ascertain? Merely whether Willie gave the chestnuts before or after the recitation order. If before, he had done no wrong and deserved no pu nishment; if after, he had violated the regulations of the school and was culpable. So upon that fact the whole question depended. What remained then for Butler to do, but to call up the boys, investigate the matter thoroughly, and, if he had done wrong, make that atonement which was due to the injured feelings of the little boy? Would not a father have done the same? If in a moment of unreflecting haste and anger, he had whipped his son and called him a liar, and the boy had afterwards come to him, asserting that he had done him a wrong, and desiring him to examine the evidence carefully and satisfy himself that this was the case—would he not have done it?— With an overflow of paternal feeling and love, would he not readily go into the investigation, and gladly learn that even though he had acted hastily and wrong his opinion of his son was unjust and incorrect? If the request had been preferred to a stranger, even he should have acceded to it as an act of simple justice. And in view of the paternal relations of the teacher—in view too, of the intimate and friendly re lations of this teacher—when the proper person came to ask it, there should have been no assumption of dignity—no buttoning of the coat and haughty refusal to be interrogated. Would it not have been more in accordance with reason and justice—more in accord ance with the real character of the excellent Mr. But ler, even if the question was propounded in a man ner not exactly agreeable to his feelings—to have re plied, “ I will gladly do^you desire, and if I prove to have been in the wrong, no man living shall be more prompt to make the necessary atonement.” Suppose he did see a little irritation in the manner of Mr. Ward, and suppose the method of propound ing the question was not exactly compatible with his taste and feelings,—as a good man, as a just man, as a prudent man. ought he not to have said: I see vou are irritatad, I know your feelings are aroused, but let us fairly examine the case, and then, if we find I have been in error, I shall be proud to repair the wrong I have done.” Would that have misbecome Prof. Butler? Would it have impaired in anv de gree the proper and healthful discipline of the school? Not according to my conception of the matter. But unfortunately he did not take this course.— When his attention is first called to the matter, he buttons up his coat and replies: “ I am not to be in terrogated, sir.” Ward insists upon it: “ Mr. Butler, I &sh a civil question, and I expect a civil answer:— Which is the worse, the contemptible little puppv who begs chestnuts and then lies about it, or my bro ther \V illiam who gave them to him?” There may be some objection, perhaps, to the language used here —the phraseology of the first question was better, but an answer was refused to it, and repeating it in a stronger form does not increase the criminality of Mr. Ward. He is assured no such boy is there. Then that matter is settled; but whv did you call my bro ther a liar? For that I must have an apology.” As it to say: *• I have a just right to an apology—under the circumstances, it is my due.” “ I have no apolo * gy to make.” “ Isyour mind made upon that point?” " It is; I have no apology whatever to make.” "Then you must hear mv opinion of you—you are a scoun drel and a coward.” And here let us pause for a moment to examine the relative position of the parties at this point. The accused had gone to the school-house, for an expla nation which was his due; it was utterly refused to him. und thus that question was closed, lie had then sought an apology; but that was denied him in terms equally emphatic, and that matter was also settled by the reiterated assurance that no apology whatever would be made. Then he used the language lie did; and there, as 1 apprehend, the demonstration closed on the part of Ward; that was all he intended. He. felt that his brother had been abused, insulted and outraged, and when all other redress was supercili ously denied, he took the only satisfaction that was left him, by applying these terms to Butler. Do the circumstances indicate that he intended to follow it up further? I think not, in the natural course of events. He had retaliated; and there the matter must conclude—there he would have left it to rest forever. The next step was taken by Butler. Thev tell you he was an amiable gentleman, and there is "no doubt , ^ out theyTell you also that he was a man ol spirit. The facts show that lie commenced the combat. Ward bud reached a point where there was nothing more for him to do. But he was seized by Butler, whose hand grasped his collar or cravat-^ crushed back against the wall—bent down towards the earth—struck twice in the face to the certain knowl edge ol the only witness who saw the whole transac tion; and then, but not till then, he fired the pistol to fiee himself from his assailant. This account of the transaction is perfectly corroborated by Quigley as well as related Dy Robert Ward. Do you believe it? Do you not see how it would occur in the reasonable and natural order of things? Even their own wit nesses tell you that they knew Butler would nor, take such language—that when they heard it applied to him they expected a difficulty. i his is the case proved by “a portion of the testimo ny. and I think lully established by the better portion ot it. I believe, then, we have clearly settled it. that the first assault was made by Butler —that he promptly and fiercely pursued it until he had placed this defendant in a position where he had good rea son to apprehend the most serious bodily harm—in a position of extreme suffering and extreme danger. Again: does any one doubt that this was a sudden and casual affray, unexpected by either of the par ties, five minutes before it occurred ? After some con versation, in which it is true harsh language wus used blit it is a settled principle that no language " hatever can justify an assault—W ard was suddenly assaulted and attacked; and then, at a time when he was in great peril and suffering he fired the shot - fired it, as we contend, in seif-defense. The only means of protection he used, were the pistol: it is not in proof that he struck a single blow. You see his form—and you can perceive there the most palpable indications of the truth of what you have been1 told by so many witnesses—his extreme weakness and de licacy. Do you think it probable that one with such a lorm—in so feeble a condition—would engage hand to hand with a man of ordinary strength? And ac cording to the testimony of Mr. Joyce you will re member that Mr. Butler was a man of unusual mus cular power in the arms. The only pretense of a blow from the prisoner, is founded on the testimony of one of the boys who saw him bring liis left hand down with a gesture, and thought he struck, because he then saw Butler move from him. I do not speak this to impair the testimo ny ol the boy. but merely to show you another indi cation ol the existence of those circumstances and in fluences that render it impossible for these school-bovs to give a faithful and perfect account of the transac tion. Can you believe for a moment that a man in the physical condition of this prisoner, in his sober senses, would attempt to combat with any one? Even with his right hand it would be the most perfect folly lor him to attempt to give a blow that would injure a child—and do you believe that with his left, lie could give one that would cause a man in his full strength and vigor, to fall back? It is utterly impossible.— And with this fanciful exception, not one of those thirteen boys saw a blow given on either side. That there were blows cannot be doubted. Butler himself stated it distinctly to every one with whom he con versed in regard to the affray, before his death. And on such conflicting and uncorroborated testimony us this, you are asked to take the life of a fellow being. Gentlemen, I think I have stated the case fairly.— I have certainly endeavored to do so. I have spoken of the testimony as it was given, according to the best of my recollection, and I believe it clearly esta blishes the fact that this prisoner was reduced to a condition where it was right and lawful for him to avail himself of any ot I he means of defense and pro tection that were within his reach. uuw, AMitii is uie law mat applies to the case: 1 shall not trouble you with much of it, and I will en deavor only to call your attention to that which is strictly applicable. Many cases have been cited for your, consideration, some of them involving nice dis tinctions and subtle questions of law, in regard to which even lawyers and judges have hardly been able to satisfy themselves. Is it to be expected, then, that from sources such as these, you must reason and ana lyse, and deduce the law it is your duty to act upon in a case of such magnitude as this? I think not. I think no conscientious man will desire to do it; and I am quite sure that you prefer to know something of the simple principles on which this great crime of murder is founded, and the circumstances and ele ments that go to make up its different degrees. I contend that according to all principles of law, the facts which have been developed in this ease, prove the act for which the prisoner at the bar is arraigned, to be neither murder nor manslaughter, but justifia ble homicide. Though the words of the law may not be known to every man, yet the statutes thereof are written in his heart. You know what malicious kil ling is—what killing in the heat of blood is, and what killing in self-defense is, and vour own judgments, as well as your hearts, tell you that there is a wide diffe rence between them. In morals and in law, the cri minality of men s conduct depend on the circumstan ces under which they act, and the motives by which they are actuated. There is nothing more simple than the principles of common jaw, on the crime of murder. Malice is the essential ingredient. It may be caused by some dif ficulty and grudge, but it must be indicated in that wicked state of mind—that distempered and deprav ed condition of heart—which show them to be bent on mischief. When a man kills another, under such cir cumstances and from such instigation, that man is murderer. But had this accused any such grudge or malice towards Prof. Butler? None; if he had ill feeling towards any one, it was towards Sturgus, his enemy: for Butler he had no sentiments but those of friendship and respect. In his own language, lie had always found him “ a gentleman and a just man.”— The act cannot be murder. But manslaughter—this is another gradation of the crime. When in an unpremeditated difficulty, with out malice aforethought, in the heat of passion, one man kills another, it is called manslaughter. The orime is not so aggravated as that of murder, as the malice does not exist; yet it is not excusable, for the heat of passion is no justification for trifling with human life. But the law, making allowance for the weakness and infirmities of our nature, considers this an extenuation, and reduces the offense to manslaugh ter. Where parties are engaged in combat on equal terms, and there being no occasion to resort to such means, for self-defense and protection, one kills the other, he is guilty of this crime. But where a man in sudden affray is beaten or as saulted in such a manner as to peril* his life, or place him in danger of great bodily harm, when there is no other wav of escape, lie has a right to kill his adver sary, and the law calls it justifiable homicide—killing in self-defense. The law is very tender of human life, and therefore ho., leide even in self-defense, is spoken of by English authorities as u excusable rather than justifiable.’’ And thus the definition of it given i by Lord Bacon, is, “a blameable necessity.”" Yet though blameable, it is a necessity, and it excuses and acquits the party. It is described as “ that whereby in a sudden broil, or quarrel, a man may protect liini- I self from assaults or the like, by killing the one who j assaults him.” But it must not be used as a cloak for a revengeful and wicked heart, for we are explicit ly told that we may “ not exercise it, but in cases j where sudden and violent Buffering would be caused by waiting for the intervention of the law.” Language cannot be plainer than that of this dis tinguished author, Judge Blackstone. “ And this,” he says,. “ is the doctrine of universal justice, as well as municipal law.” It is another principle equally well.established, that except in cases of extraordina ry violence, where it cannot be done without subject ing him to enormous peril, a man must “ retreat to the wall,” or to some other impediment which he can not pass, before he may take the life of liis adversary. Gentlemen, I shall trouble you with but few more extracts from this or anv other author. You see in what justifiable homicide consists—you see that you have a right to kill when you cannot otherwise es cape death, or. severe bodily harm; but that you must exercise this right only in a case of extremity—only in sudden affray—only when subjected to a condi tion where you can no longer defend yourself but by killing. It is not every blow that necessarily gives the right to take life; if the person be not injured, the blows not severe, and the parties not unequal in physical strength, or the one who is assaulted may retreat without further harm, the homicide is not justifiable. Cases have been read to you that if a man provoke a contest himself, for the sake of obtaining a pretext fio carry out the malignant and wicked purpose of ids heart, and during it. kill his opponent, it is not excu sable, but is murder. I think you readily perceive, ; however, that this principle is totally inapplicable j here. It A pursue B with malice, seeking an oppor tunity to kill, and provoking a quarrel that he may ! olit Purpose, the act is murder.— I Air. Gibson read to you yesterday a case of this kind; I but here, the defendant sought no quarrel—no combat j no difficulty—he sought a reconciliation. With what propriety then do the gentlemen attempt to confound in your minds, cases where men are seeking to exercise the malice ot a wicked and revengeful heart, with such an one as thisl They have no connection what ever. It is a well-established principle i Wharton's Ame rican Criminal Law. p. 311), that “no words will amount to an assault,' ’ and * do. 313). thatw* no words will justify an assault.” Mr. AY ard had made no as i sault; it is true he applied opprobrious words, but they neither constituted nor justified one. The gen tlemen have told you here, and their own witnesses have testified to it, that Mr. Butler wa- a man of eou rage, who would not receive such language without giving a olow in return. I do not complain of them j for showing that he was a man of spirit; but 1 do j contend that they have no reason to look to the lave for any justification of his conduct. He had no right under the circumstances to take redress into his : own hands—the principle is laid down in so many i w °rds. He was first in fault—he made the first as sault— AN ard was forced back until he could retreat I no lurtlier in the literal language of the law he had l " been dri ven to the wall;" and there, pressed back, ' alu bent down and beaten in the face bv hio adver ; sary, he shot him. Nov., gentlemen, have 1 not brought this case, not 1 onh within the principles, but within the exact words I ol the law-relating to justifiable homicide? And I have not done it by relying on subtleties and tochni ! cal,ltie?- '?nt 1 ha ve proved it on the natural and eter nal principles of self-defense. AN e are told that where there is anv other probable mode ot escape, without losing life or receiving seri ous injury, a man is not justifiable in killing. True; but 1 am not aware that anv such possibility existed here. The prisoner was confined, and beaten as von have heard—Campbell was jusr taking the tongs, to give his assistance il necessary, and Sturgusalso vvas in motion. I will say no more about the extreme de bilitv and feebleness of the accused, for you know it. andean perceive it. \ou also know—notwithstand ing the assumption of the prosecution—that Butler was a mail of more than ordinary muscular power;! that he had been for years in the habit of practising. : both m the gymnasium and out of it. those exercises tuat tend as directly to develop and strengthen the I muscles of tne arm, as the habitual wielding of the ' blacksmith's hammer. The many excellent Qualities of the deceased, and j lus virtuous character, 1 freely admit—I deplore his 1 death.. The ill-fated circumstances that led to it are ! ah betore you. That death 1ms been the effect of I circumstances—unfortunate circumstances—but with- ! out anv premeditation or malice on the part of the i accused. The same circumstances which show that j his hand inflicted the fatal blow. show, from the na ture and suddenness of the occasion, that there was 1 none of that malice or wickedness which alone could 1 make it a crime. His character too pleads like an angel's voice, against such an imputation upon him. In lus state of feebleness or irritation, he ruav have i naturally overrated the violence and injury w itli which 1 he was threatened, and the necessity of protecting and j defending himself bv shooting the deceased. * But i surelv a man. in such condition is not to be sacrific- ! ed for a misjudgment of the exact degree of the ne- ! cessity which warrants him in such a defense. \ i n vyill make all just und humane allowances oil this subject. \ou, sitting here In quiet, solemn con- j bideration, must yourselves feel some dilliculty in de- . ciuing the exact degree ot violence with which lie was threatened, and the lawful extent of the defense which it justified. How then are you to expect him to decide those questions, in the strife and passion of the moment? The decision in Tennessee, to which your attention has been called, establishes the principle that if a man. from good reasons, believes his life or Iris person to be in danger, he has the right to kill. He must act up on the instant, or not at all—in the heat of passion and conflict, and when his means for observation are limited. The real question here is, whether Matt. Ward, in his feeble and reduced condition, did not ap prehend, and that from good reasons, that lie vvas in i danger? If he did, there vvas no guilt—no crimina lity, and he deserves an acquittal. ’The gentlemen for the prosecution have spoken of the declarations of Mr. Butler, on his dying bed.— Now the inquiries of I)r. Thomson, were made for the purpose of ascertaining a medical fact. He de sired to learn what was the position of Butler when he received the shot; and Butler replied to him that 1 they were clinched. The arm of Prof. Butler was raised, and it vvas then found that the probe followed the wound, at least for a short distance, when before if did not penetrate at all. This demonstrates anato mically, naturally, necessarily, that Butler and AVard must have been engaged in combat when the fatal event occurred. Why was the hand of Butler raised, if he was not engaged in a struggle? This is the le gitimate inference from the testimony given by Dr. Thomson. But Barlow was present at the same tune, and | while Dr. Thomson was engaged in taking out his ; instruments and preparing to attend to his professio nal duties, he, with a curiosity perfectly natural, in quired how this had happened. A man had been shot down, under peculiar circumstances, and it wus not strange that Barlow should follow him to Col. Harney’s residence, and ask how it had been brought about. Butler replied: “ He gave me the lie and 1 struck him for it; then he shot me.” According to this. Butler admitted that he struck the first blow.— i It is tme he was provoked by the language used; but j you have been reminded that neither those nor any 1 other words justify a blow. But the counsel for the Commonwealth contend ' that Butler could never have made those statements, j simply because Dr. Thomson did not hear them.— The Doctor himself, however, has told you that there were five or six persons in the room; and you can judge for yourselves whether a physician, under such circumstances, when his mind was engaged with his professional duties, would be likely to recollect very accurately. Barlow states that he* was there; and lie loan there. He ha? minutely described the position and clothing of Butler, spoken of the brandy sent for by the physician; and by relating many other facts trival in themselves, has demonstrated beyond a doubt, that he was present. The conversation Butler held with him was in answer to a direct question to ascer tain the history of the occurrence; his reply to Dr. Thomson was to state the scientific fact of "the posi tion of his hand. Well, Barlow has been spoken of in strong terms ' here—he has been terriblv denounced, and if any words could justify an assutt, the language that has been applied to him would certainly ao so. But it cannot; lawyers, as well as other men, have their own peculiar privileges, and I am sure I have no desire to see them diminished. Of the course of the counsel for the prosecution, I admire the most that of Mr. Gibson. Mr. Carpenter’s abuse of this witness seem ed to be spontaneous—he rejoiced at an opportunity to exercise the peculiar talent he possesses for that style ot argument. But Mr. Gibson tells vou that lie considers it out of place—that he will not indulge in it—and maintaining that the witness is perfectly annihilated, magnanimously informs us that he will not trample on the dead! I never saw this Barlow before—but how does he appear to you? W hat impression has this man left whom the lawyers not the law—not the Court—but a lew law j ers, have so earnestly attempted to de grade in your estimation have cast a ban upon, and excommunicated so peremptorily from the society of all good men? I care very little for his testimony— we had other evidences sufficient to establish the facts he has proved; but 1 believe all these attacks to he gratuitous and unjust. He may, in some respects have acted foolishly—he may have been imprudent, but we have every reason to "believe that he is not dis honest. Within half an hour after it occurred he told Mays and Sullivan of his visit to Col. Harney's and the conversation with Butler, and soon after this he related the same fact to Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw. Yet Mr. Carpenter tells you that he fabricated the story because he was fascinated with the idea of as sociating in a wealthy and aristocratic family—be cause he sought to obtain a view of the interior of the house of Mr. Robert J. Ward. How do they recon cile this with t he fact that he then mude the same statements which he has made here, to three wfitnes ses ot the highest intelligence and respectability? lie stands confirmed, as far as a witness can be confirm ed; and if any stain has been cast upon him here, it has only been done by the lawyers who have made him the subject of their abuse. He has proved the most unexceptionable character, by the Mayor of Lou isville^ and other gentlemen wrho are above imputa tion; in the eye ot the law' and of his fellow-eitizens he is perfectly credible, and so far as any testimony he has given in this case is concerned, he may be re lied on by you as safely as any other witness who has testified in it. These statements of Butler to which Barlow' has deposed, accord perfectly with the testimony of Ro bert \\ ard. \ ou could expect no details from a man under such circumstances and in such a situation as Butler—he only gave a general description of the oc currence; but Robert has given you the details. And Prof. Yandell, who was present at the same time, does not tell you, like Dr. Thomson, that Ward came to the school-house, cursed him, struck him, and shot him; but gives quite another account of his state ments. He sj»eaks of him raising his hand, as he thought, to indicate that the accused had elevated his in a threatening manner; but von all know how com mon the habit of raising the hand in conversation, is with some men. Dr. Thomson, it seems, heard no word of those statements which were made to Prof. Yandell; and the discrepancy between them is not surprising, for as they were engaged at that moment, the. cause of the occurrence was a matter of seconda ry importance—not one of peculiar interest to them. Here, gentlemen, I beg leave to recur for a moment to a circumstance which I must confess has surprised me. It was the general evidence of the school -bovs that W ard entered the house with his right hand in his pocket, and gesticulated with the fingers of his lelt. Is it not wonderful that a fact so immaterial— so little likely to attract attention—as the circum stance that a gentleman had las hand in his pocket, and which of the hands he had there, should be re membered with so much accuracy by so many of these witnesses, so long alter its occurrence? But you per ceive that it lias been made a matter of considerable magnitude here. No doubt Sturgus thought it was important to show that the right hand was on the pis tol all the time, as if in a sort of conspiracy with it, to act jointly at precisely the proper moment; and rather than destroy this hypothesis, they would have you believe that if the accused struck a blow, it was with his left hand. Now, you can readily perceive why they would like to keep the right hand of Matt. Vi ard on that pistol during the whole time; and I ha\ e no doubt that these boys have ever and anon heard the statement made in so many conversations, hcid lor the purpose ol assisting their memories, that they are now convinced the hand really was in that position, and that they saw it there. Again, they contend that Butler struck, if he struck at all. with the left hand, and therefore that the blows could have inflicted no injury. Now. if his right hand had been so long and so utterly crippled, as they have attempted to show, it must eertainlv have been a non-combatant, and the left hand must have learned, years before, to perform all the offices of the light. Thus their presumption is effectually de stroyed. \ ou have been sitting here, gentlemen, for eight days. Can you tell whether your hands were in your pocket when you came in tiiis morning, or any other morning? Can you tell the position of the hands of any of the counsel, as they rose up to address you, face to face? As you haver been seated at home, in your own house, and visitors have entered, can you recollect the position of their hands? Yet a fact so tri\ ai and unimportant at the time—one which could then be of no possible interest—for no difficulty was apprehended until Butler had collared Ward—is re lated with this minuteness! 1 would suppose that not another human being in the form of a man ever entered that school-room, in regard to whom so ma ny boys can recollect distinctly the position of his hands. Whether the hand was* in his breeches or his coat pocket is not a matter of so much importance, and therefore not remembered so well! Gentlemen, you must be convinced that the recollection of such a fact, under such circumstances, is utterly impossible. And he gesticulated, they say, with his left. Why should lie not let the rmlit hand do the right hand's work?—why should it be kept on that pistol? The idea is absurd. All the circumstances show that he at first expected no difficulty. Who believes this?— Wliu does not know that, however unconscious of it the boys may be, tiiis is the work of a strained ima gination. supplying the place of a strained memory? Sturgus, as you have heard, had administered a whipping to the boy on a former occasion, the facts of which we desired to introduce here, but we were not allowed to do so. Is it not probable that, instigated by his enmity toward the Wards, when he heard of tins punishment, he advised Butler to refuse all ex planation and investigation? The circumstances of the case—the position of Butler and Ward—their friendly relations—the just and reasonable demand that was made—all show the refusal to have been inconsistent with his character and his heart. Is it not a rational inference, then, that he may have been prompted by the sinister, subterranean motives of another man, who desired to minister to his ow n an ger and ill feeling? I think it was not like Butler, when he was asked such a question, by a man he knew so well, and esteemed so highly, to button up his coat and answer haughtily: “ 1 am not to be interrogated, sir.” But it wax like Sturgus. Gentlemen, 1 am consuming nnicli of your time, but I believe the case is clearly comprehended by you. I tliink 1 have made up the facts and made out the law. I think you are satisfied that the pistol was not fired, so far as we can judge, until there was no other way of rescue for the prisoner, from the peril of his life, or of great bodily harm. I think you under stand the principle that the law holds all such blood shed justifiable—though blameable, yet excusable.— This, then, is the condition in which the prisoner stands; and upon these plain facts and these great principles, I think 1 may base my argument. But there arc other points in this case to which I feel it my duty to refer. Noth withstanding the cir cumstances we have made out, this young man has been persecuted and denounced from the first. as one of the vilest of men, anti of murderers. He has been held up to tho world as the perpetrator of a deliberate and diabolical outrage—an act of tiendish malignity, for which there was no particle of mitigation. For months und months he has been thus pursued, with misrepresentations and revilings. This version of his case has been spread upon tho wings of the wind, through the columns of the press. Now, it matters not in effect whether these publications were made from the basest of motives, or in all honesty and truth, by those who were deceived by his persecutors —they were made. These rumors have gone abroad, anticipating the result of this trial; but you see how little his real case is like tlio one that has been repre sented to the world. His only refuge is in your verdict. Through all this pesecution and these revilings he has passed; now, thank God, he waits the decision of your calm judg ment. I said his persecution was over; but through those associated in the prosecution of this case witli my friend. Mr. Allen, it all seems to have been con centrated hero. The first, of them, Mr. Carpenter, was eloquent in denunciation of the prisoner. Whut necessity was there for tliis? It is his duty to convict, upon the law and the testimony; but what right has he to turn from you to the accused, and assure him if you do not feel warranted by the facts of the case in finding him guilty, he will be pursued, through all time, by some horrible monster the speaker's own imagination has conjured up! What unsolicited and perfect insolence to prosecute a man, and in case the prosecution cannot be sustained, to threaten him with a fate as cruel as any verdict you can bring. Is tliis practising law according to its spirit? . Is it neoessai-y. when a prisoner is in the custody of the law, his hands and his tongue tied, for a prosecutor to feed his little vengeance in such a manner as this? Sir. it is intole rable—it was never equalled! Let us come to a later instance, from our brother and our friend, Mr. Gibson. Was such language ever heard before? Should a man when on trial for nis life be denounced as a damned villain, and his act as a damnable crime? Is not this a singular, an improper [ Concluded on third page.]