words, extracted from a speech he delivered at a meeting held in London:

薄

"I, myself," said he, "defended three brothers,

of the name of Cremin. They were indicted for murder. The evidence was most unsatisfactory.

The judge had a leaning in favour of the crown prosecution, and he almost compelled the jury to convict them. I sat at my window as they passed by after sentence of death had been pronounced; there was a large military guard taking them back to gaol, positively forbidden to allow any communication with the three unfortunate youths. But their mother was there; and she, armed in the strength of her affection, broke through the guard. I saw her clasp her eldest son, who was but twenty-two years of age; I saw her hang on the second, who was not twenty; I saw her faint when she clung to the neck of the youngest boy, who was but eighteenand I ask, what recompense could be made for such agony? They were executed, and

innocent!"

they were

CHAPTER XI.

Death of Brennan, the Robber-Leonard M'Nally and Parsons -Local Rhymes-Roscrea Castle-O'Connell King of Belgium-Sir Jonah Barrington and Stevenson the Pawnbroker -Curious Escape from Gaol-Project to re-organise the Volunteers.

NEXT morning, the 10th of October, we rose at seven o'clock, and resumed our route to Dublin.

Passing a gravel pit, O'Connell said, "That is the spot where Brennan, the robber, was killed. Jerry Connor was going from Dublin to Kerry, and was attacked by Brennan at that spot. Brennan presented his pistol, crying 'Stand!'-'Hold!' cried Jerry Connor, don't fire-here's my purse.' The robber, thrown off his guard by these words, lowered his weapon, and Jerry, instead of a purse, drew a pistol from his pocket and shot Brennan in the chest. Brennan's back was supported at the time against the ditch, so he did not fall. He took deliberate aim at Jerry, but feeling himself mor* Of Tralee, an attorney.

tally wounded, dropped his pistol, crawled over the ditch, and walked slowly along, keeping parallel with the road. He then crept over another ditch, under which he was found dead the next morning."

sum.

At a part of the road between Kildare and Rathcoole, O'Connell pointed out the place where Leonard M'Nally, the attorney, son to the barrister of the same name, alleged he had been robbed of a large To indemnify himself for his alleged loss, he tried to levy the money off the county. "A pair of greater rogues than father and son never lived," said O'Connell; "and the father was busily endeavourng to impress upon every person he knew a belief that his son had been really robbed. Among others, he accosted Parsons, then M.P. for the King's County, in the hall of the Four Courts. 'Parsons! Parsons, my dear fellow!' said old Leonard, did you hear of my son's robbery !— 'No,' answered Parsons, quietly, 'I did not-Who did he rob?" "

We dined at Roscrea. The old castle of the Damers is nearly opposite the inn. Its founder made a fortune from very small beginnings. O'Connell repeated the epitaph Dean Swift composed for one of its proprietors :

"Beneath this verdant hillock lies,

Damer, the wealthy and the wise,

His heirs, that he might soundly rest,
Buried him in an iron chest-

The very chest in which, they say,
His second self-his money-lay!"

O'Connell's memory was stored with the local rhymes with which rustic bards had celebrated the country towns of Ireland. Speaking of Mallow, he repeated "The Rakes of Mallow;" and the mention of Doneraile elicited some stanzas he had gathered from the diatribe pronounced against that village by Patrick O'Kelly—a wandering poet.

From Roscrea to Dublin we talked politics, of which the tone was not mitigated by the recollections excited by Jigginstown House; the extensive ruins of which, on the right of the road, attest the splendour of "Black Tom"-the name by which the founder (the detested Strafford) is still known in Ireland.

O'Connell mentioned that at the election for a King of Belgium in 1830, which ended in placing Leopold upon the throne, three votes had been given

for him.

We talked of the Union, and of its historian, Sir Jonah Barrington. The Liberator told me an anecdote of Barrington, which, if true, is rather more creditable to his ingenuity than to his integrity. "Sir Jonah," said O'Connell, "had pledged his family plate for a large sum of money to one Stevenson, a Dublin pawnbroker; and feeling desirous to recover the

plate without paying back the

money,

he hit upon

the following device to accomplish his purpose. He invited the Viceroy and several noblemen to dinner, and then went to Stevenson, begging he might let him have the plate for the occasion. You see how I am circumstanced, Stevenson,' said Sir Jonah. I have asked all these fine folk to dine, and I mustborrow back my plate for this one day. I assure you, my dear fellow, you shall have it again; and in order to secure its restoration to your hands, you shall come and make one of our party. I can ask one private friend; and you, as a member of the Common Council, are perfectly admissible. Come-there's a good fellow! and you know you need not leave my house until you carry off the plate along with you.' Stevenson, delighted at the honour of dining at the table with the Viceroy, Lords, and Judges, fell into the trap, and went to dinner. Sir Jonah plied him well with champagne, and soon made him potently drunk. At a late hour he was sent home in a job-coach; his wife put him to bed, and he never awoke till two o'clock next day. An hour then elapsed before his misty, muddled recollection cleared itself. He then bethought him of the plate-he started up, and drove to Barrington's. But alas! Sir Jonah was gone, and