ing, of which I know the court has his full share. You would have to do all this if you would hang boys of eighteen and nineteen years of age who have come into this court and thrown themselves upon your mercy.
I might do it, but I would want good reason for it, which does not exist and cannot exist in this case, unless publicity, worked-up feeling, and mad hate, is a reason, and I know it is not.
Since that time one other man has been sentenced to death of a plea of guilty. That was James H. Smith, twenty-eight years old, sentenced by Judge Kavanagh. But we were spared his hanging. That was in January, 1923. I could tell you why it was, and I will tell you later. It is due to the cruelty that has paralyzed the hearts of men growing out of the war. We are accustomed to blood, your Honor. It used to look mussy, and make us feel squeamish. But we have not only seen it shed in buckets full, we have seen it shed in rivers, lakes and oceans, and we have delighted in it; we have preached it, we have worked for it, we have advised it, we have taught it to the young, encouraged the old, until the world has been drenched in blood, and it has left its stains upon every human heart and upon every human mind, and has almost stifled the feelings of pity and charity that have their natural home in the human breast.
I do not believe that Judge Kavanagh would ever have done this except for the great war which has left its mark on all of us, one of the terrible by-products of those wretched years.
This man was reprieved, but James Smith was twenty-eight years old; he was old enough to vote, he was old enough to make contracts, he needed no guardian, he was old enough to do all the things that an older
