offer in his own vindication, he had committed
to writing, and now begged that it might be read
by the clerk, as he found his own voice, considering
his present situation, would not be heard.
His speech was accordingly read by the clerk
in a very audible and distinct manner, and
contained an exact detail of all the particulars
relating to the melancholy affair between him
and Mr. Chaworth. He said he declined entering
into the circumstances of Mr. Chaworth's
behaviour, further than was necessary for his
own defence; and expressed his deep and
unfeigned sorrow at the event.

He added: "Our fighting could not be very
regular, circumstanced as it was; but, notwithstanding
some considerations, my own mind does
not charge me with the least unfairness. In
such a case, your lordships will no doubt have
some consideration for human weakness and
passion, always influenced and inflamed in some
degree by the customs of the world. And
though I am persuaded no compassion can
obstruct your impartial justice, yet I trust that
you will incline to mitigate the rigour of it and
administer it according to law, in mercy. I am
told, my lords, that it has been held by the
greatest authorities in the land, that if
contumelious words, and still more, I presume, if
contemptuous words of challenge, have been given
by one man to another, and, before they are
cooled, either bids the other draw his sword, and
death ensues after mutual passes, the fact of
that case will not amount to murder." Begging
their lordships to acquit him of all malice, and
to consider him an unhappy, innocent, but
unfortunate man, the prisoner concluded in these
words:

"My lords, I will detain you no longer. I
am in your lordships' judgment, and shall
expect your sentence, whether for life or death,
with all the submission that is due to the noblest
and most equitable court of judicature in the
world."

The prisoner being then removed, after an
adjournment to the House, the peers one by one,
beginning with Lord George Vernon, the
youngest, gave their verdict to the lord high
steward, who stood uncovered; the Dukes of
Gloucester and York speaking last. One hundred
and nineteen voted Lord Byron guilty of
manslaughter, and four declared him not guilty
generally; and as, by an old statute of Edward
the Sixth, peers are, in all cases where clergy
is allowed, to be dismissed without burning in
the hand, loss of inheritance, or corruption of
blood, his lordship was immediately dismissed on
paying his fees.

The counsel for his lordship were the Hon.
Mr. Charles Yorke and Alexander Wedderburn,
Esq.; the attorney, Mr. Potts. Against his
lordship, were the attorney-general, the solicitor-
general, Mr. Sergeant Glyn, Mr. Stone, Mr.
Cornwall; and as attorney, Mr. Joynes.

After this glorious but stultifying assertion
of aristocratic privileges and the right of
manslaughter, the lord high steward rose
uncovered, and the gentleman usher of the black
rod, kneeling, presented him with the white staff
of office, which he broke in two, and then
dissolved the commission. Advancing to the
woolpack, he said: "Is it your lordships' pleasure to
adjourn to the chamber of parliament?"

The lords replied, " Ay, ay;" and the House
was then adjourned.

That same evening when Mr. Chaworth's
lacerated and pierced body was lying on the plumed
bed behind the grand damask curtains—far away
out in the quiet moonlight, in the Newstead
pastures and in the lonely Annesley meadows, the
large-eyed hares were gambolling, unconscious of
the mischief they had caused, and the partridges
(birds that ought to be crimson-feathered,
considering the brave men's blood they have so
long been the means of shedding) were calling
each other plaintively from the stubbles, careless
of their lord's sorrows and their master's
death.

But was Lord Byron really guilty in the
matter of this duel? We think the fight was by
no means a premeditated one. There had been
some old differences between the two men, about
private matters. At the club dinner, if Lord
Byron's manner were taunting, Mr. Chaworth's
was distinctly threatening. The final words of the
latter amounted to a public challenge, for he
considered Lord Byron had given him the lie about
Sir Charles Sedley's manors. When he grew
cold, Lord Byron grew hot. He evidently
regretted what he had said; but, seeing Lord Byron,
follow him, he probably thought that he came to
settle the difference. Lord Byron, seeing him
waiting there, perhaps thought he was waiting
for him, and he proposed retiring to an empty
room. There, Lord Byron certainly drew his
sword rather abruptly; but his sullen vindictiveness
brooked no delay. It was never supposed
that he planned an assassin's treacherous thrust.
Mr. Chaworth lunged first, and thought he had
killed his man; asking was he wounded? The
question is, did Lord Byron unfairly take
advantage of the moment's lull, during Mr.
Chaworth's inquiry, to kill his adversary? The
dying man did not accuse him of this, but
rather of his having in the first place revengefully
urged him (for a few hasty words) to the
fatal duel. Mr. Chaworth's chief regret seems
to have been in fighting by the light of a
farthing candle, and thus sacrificing his skill in
fencing.

Lord Byron, it is certain, left Westminster
Hall with the brand of Cain upon his forehead.
A mysterious and indelible stain was on
his escutcheon. The "maccaroni" and the
world of fashion somehow shunned him, a
whisper of suspicion followed him wherever he
went; a suspicion that could not be resolved
into words of foul play and unfair advantage.
The peers had acquitted him; the world regarded
him as condemned, and tacitly treated him as a
criminal. He retired into Nottinghamshire, and
became a sullen, gloomy, morose man. His
passions grew more inveterate; he changed into
a half-crazed, revengeful brooding misanthrope:
a wicked Timon of Athens. No stories about