The Sun.
London, England, 1862-09-24 00:00:00

truTsthefporrisoynoeurr auddurbeisassesdedtheopCinouiorut,. anld said—My lord, I
ani
saying a few words before you
proceedestrms of
to pass
sentence. I have to regret any inconvenience
I may have occasioned by my declining to plead; it was my
desire to have prevented any inconvenience, but I did not
expect to be brought here until this morning. My purpose
has never swerved from the first, when I resolved to give
myself up and plead guilty. My lord, my life has been one
of fearful vicissitude. In truth, I suffered great privation.
At the age of twenty-one I contracted my first debt with a
friend, with whom I was connected by the most intimate
ties, my relations would not advance the money to pay that
debt, and my friend fell into grievous pecuniary difficulties,
and I could not pay the demand I owed. It was then I
risked my soul, and took the first step in crime. What-
ever I have done the guilt is mine alone. True, I have
to bear the brunt of it, but the guilt, I repeat, is mine
alone. I cast no blame on any one—l allude to those pro-
fessional gentlemen with whom I have had extensive trans-
actions. There is no truth that I endeavoured, under the
influence of family instinct, to provide for the members of
my family at the expense of others. Such a supposition,
my lord, I submit, carries on the face of it its own refutation.
It is true that my father, just before he died, really ex-
pressed to me—in whom, after the great fraud I committed,
he reposed confidence—it is true that he expressed a desire
that I should take all his property and pay to the members
of his family annuities such as he described to me. I was
prevented by my first crime from carrying his wishes
into legal effect ; and at that time I felt
justified by forging the will of 1856, and adopt-
ing the will of 1850, to carry out my father's last
wishes as they were expressed to me. I say I thought then
I was justified. I don't think so now. Ruin has been the
result. Ido not say now that ruin has been consummated.
It would take too long to relate, my lord, how I have been
ruined. I have written at great length the story of my life
whilst I have been in rrison ; but, upon reflection, I have
been convinced that, it published, it would cause unneces-
sary pain to others and be of no public good. I have,
therefore, entirely, at my own instance, suppressed it. I
must content myself, therefore, by simply stating that the
accounts which have been given to the public from
the remarks of Mr. Sergeant Shee at Guild-
ford, and the comments of the minor newspapers,
are calculated only to mislead the public. lam a living
paradox, my lord, and no one has a clue to the solution of
it. I cannot hope I shall ever be understood. It is not
true, my lord, that I am personally extravagant. Ido not
argue, I simply state the fact. It is not true that I have
gambled. It is not true that lam a libertine. Those who
do not wish to believe will probably remain unconvinced.
To those who love me my statement is unnecessary. I
tried hard, my lord, to bring about a compromise of these
terrible events before I left England. I felt that my first
duty was not to my family, but. to those persons who had
entrusted me with their money on reliance on my
honour and the representations I had made. I cot.fessed
the whole of my great faults before I left England to a
gentleman who had the means of making it known to all
the persons interested in my mortgages. I remained in
England more than a week or ten days after the confession.
I offered to surrender. I said, I confess my guilt. I have
made no provision. I wish only to retrieve the past. I
said to them, " What are you going to do f" 1 was
answered "We don't believe your statement. We think it
is a cleverly concocted tale to provide for your family, and if
the members of your family move one inch we will indict
them with you for conspiracy." It was only then that I
surrendered the hope of bringing about a compromise
which would have confined the loss entirely to the members
of my own family. I quitted England in despair. I gained
time for reflection, and,unpinched by want, full of youth and
strength and the capacity of enjoying life such as many
parts of the world would have afforded me, I have
returned a self-convicted criminal, led by sincere
reflection and a desire to serve the ends of jus-
tice.

I know what I have expect. A terrible fate
awaits me—terrible to any man of education and refine-
ment, but if I possessed those qualities my guilt is only the
greater. I know, my lord, what I have been. I expect it
is a dreadful fate, but I have looked at it
calmly in the face, and I deliberately prefer penal
servitude for life to existence in continual disguise,
concealment and positive remorse. I make no appeal for
mercy, my lord. I only ask you to believe in my sincere
repentance, and my only desire is that justice—complete
juetice—may be done. I appeal only to that still higher
tribunal for mercy—that tribunal where alone an appeal for
pardon can be justly made. My lord, I await my sentence.
This address was made with the coolest self-possession,
and the manner in which the prisoner spoke was dignified
and earnest. There was not the slightest quiver of the
lip, or the least sign of hesitation. Every sentence was
well weighed, and the address from beginning to end was
quite an extraordinary effort for a person in the situation of
the prisoner, one who had fallen from a high position to ne
of the most degraded.

The learned Judge, who seemed deeply moved by the
address of the prisoner, said—William Roupell, you
have pleaded guilty to two charges of forgery
the forgery of a will, and the forgery of a
deed—two of the most serious circumstances known
to the law. From the dock in which you now
stand many a poor wretch wooso crimes in comparison
with yours were venial and insignificant, has gone to the
gallows. The humanity of the legislature has removsd
from these crimes the last penalty of the law. You have
observed in the course of the remarks you have made that
your whole life has been a serious and fearful mistake. I
believe it. That mistake consisted first, in the absence of
that perfect rectitude of intention which is the only safe
guide in human life. The man who deviates from it takes
the first step in a decli%ity which leads to a precipice,
and he soon finds that to stand still is impossible—to
retreat certain ruin, and to advance destruction. You
say that your conduct at the late assize, and your con-
duct to-day, is the result of a sincere though late repent-
ance. Whether you speak the truth or not there is none
but one that knows—but there is One. The law has en-
trusted to judges, and properly entrusted them, owing to
the circumstances which diversify the cases, the applica-
tion of punishment. But in this case, in which you must
be aware—and you have properly stated that you are aware
—it is impossible, with a view to the interests of the public,
that any mercy should be extended to you. I have there-
fore to inform you that the sentence of the court is that
you be kept in penal servitude for the term of your natural
I life.

Mr. Itoupell heard the sentence pronounced with the
greatest composure. As the judge uttered the terrible words
he never moved a feature. On leaving the dock he bowed
politely to the judge, and making a faint recognition to
some of his friends whom he saw in court, he left the
court in the custody of the attendant warder.

As the prisoner had been placed very unexpectedly at the
bar, the court was not more fully attended than usual, but
immediately it became known in the other courts and the
lobbies the place became crowded to suffocation,

A serious accident occurred a few days since in
the tunnel now being cut through Mount Cenis. A num-
ber of masons at work on a scaffold, making an arch to sup-
port the roof of the tumult were precipitated to the ground
by the fall of about 60 cubic metres of earth and stone. One
of them was seriously hurt, and three others were buried
under the rubbish, and little hope remains of extricating
them alive,