house. Mr. Stacey could answer that question;
a clerk cannot. It was usual to make
entries in the books for large sums to the
initials of the partners. They were placed
sometimes to stock transactions, and sometimes
to exchequer transactions.

Mr. Plank, a police-officer, deposed to finding
two boxes at Mr. Fauntleroy's, one of
them had the prisoner's name upon it. Both
were opened with the keys found in Mr. Fauntleroy's
desk. They were taken away in a coach
by Mr. Freshfield, the solicitor to the Bank.

Mr. Freshfield proved that in the box with
the name he found principally deeds and
probates of wills, and in that with no name (therefore
more private) a variety of memoranda,
diaries, the sale note of Miss F. Young's stock,
and also the extraordinary document already
referred to by the Attorney-General.

James Tyson, again recalled, proved the fatal
document to be in the prisoner's handwriting.
When there was a sale of stock effected for a
customer of the house, it was usual to file the
sold note, and one of the partners then entered
it in a book kept for the purpose.

James Kirby, another clerk of Fauntleroy's
house, deposed that no such entry had been
made as was usual in the fair course of business.

Crushing as this evidence was, the document
so often referred to from the tin box
had death written all over it. It was sufficient
to have hung twenty bankers.

It was, in fact, a confession, in the prisoner's
own handwriting, and rendered further
evidence almost unnecessary. It contained the
following items: De la Place, eleven thousand
one hundred and fifty pounds Three
per Cent Consols; E. W. Young, five thousand
pounds Consols; General Young, six thousand
pounds Consols; Frances Young, five thousand
pounds Consols; H. Kelley, six thousand
pounds Consols; Lady Nelson, eleven thousand
nine hundred and ninety-five pounds Consols;
Earl of Ossory, seven thousand pounds Four
per Cents; W. Bowen, nine thousand four
hundred pounds Four per Cents; Parkins,
four thousand pounds Consols. Sums were
also placed to the names of Mrs. Pelham, Lady
Aboyne, W. R. and H. Fauntleroy, and Elizabeth
Fauutleroy. The Attorney-General observed
that the sum total, one hundred and twenty
thousand pounds, appeared at the foot of this
list in the prisoner's handwriting. The statement
was followed by this declaration: "In
order to keep up the credit of our house, I have
forged powers of attorney for the above sums
and parties, and sold out to the amount here
stated, and without the knowledge of my partners
I kept up the payment of the dividends,
but made no entries of such payments in our
books. The Bank began first to refuse to
discount our acceptances, and to destroy the credit of
our house; the Bank shall smart for it"

The prisoner, on being asked what he had to
say in his defence, read a paper stating that, on
his joining the firm in 1807, he found the
concern deeply involved in consequence of
building speculations. The house remained in
embarrassment until 1810, and then
experienced an overwhelming loss from the failure of
Brickwood and Co., for which concern it had
accepted and discounted bills to the amount of
one hundred and seventy thousand pounds. In
1814, 1815, 1816, the firm was called upon, in
consequence of speculations in building, to
produce one hundred thousand pounds. In 1819 the
most responsible of the partners died, and the
embarrassments of the house were again
increased by being called upon to refund his capital.
During all this time the house was without
resources, except those for which he was now
responsible. He had received no relief from his
partners. He kept two establishments on a
very moderate scale. He had never embezzled
one shilling.

Having finished reading the paper, Fauntleroy
sat down and wept with much agitation.

Never had there been such witnesses to
character. Sir Charles Forbes and fifteen other
witnesses, who had known Mr. Fauntleroy for
from ten to twenty years each, attested their
high opinion of the prisoner's honour, integrity,
and goodness of disposition. They were all his
sincere friends, and were all in the same tune.
No doubt of his honour and integrity had ever
crossed their minds. They all revealed the
serene mountain peak of respectability from
which the banker had fallen headlong. "Kind,
honourable," said one. "Just, fair, and
kind-hearted," cried another. "A most benevolent
man, with a stainless character for integrity,"
declared a third.

There is no moment in a trial which involves
death, so solemn as the moment when the jury
rise and retire to consider their verdict. Even
the barristers' worn faces glow with excitement.
The judge has an air of grave abstraction, and
seems pondering over the few still unsolvable
mysteries of the case. A cold dew has broken
out on the forehead of the prisoner, and he
clutches at the dock as if that hold only retained
him in life. In that short interval of time there
is crowded upon him the agony of years. The
horrors of death have already come. There is
a dead silence. Then a distant sound of feet;
it grows nearer, the crowd surge back. The
jury is returning. They enter flushed and grave.
The judge gives them one searching look, and
the foreman rises to answer the solemn
question to be asked him. The prisoner's whole
soul is absorbed in the answer. In Fauntleroy's
case the jury retired for twenty minutes. The
prisoner seemed deeply agitated during their
absence, and rose up when the mob poured in
announcing their return.

The verdict was, "Guilty of uttering the
forged instrument knowing it to be forged."

Judge Park, after bending down and
exchanging a few remarks with the counsel in a
low voice, suddenly, and with extreme abruptness.
raised his head and exclaimed:

"Henry Fauntleroy!"

The prisoner started, and rose as if in
expectation that sentence was about to be