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The next day, after the Bible reading already noticed :
He seemed now to look back to the time of his violence and derangement last night, observing that the heads of men in his situation were often unsettled. He said this with a look expressive of apology to me for the violence of his actions and of his language. He ate a few strawberries and about a dozen cherries, observing that they came from dear Carton (this observation clearly evinces his recollection of last night), and he ate them with a good appetite.
A volume of Shakespeare lay in the room. I asked him if he admired his plays. He answered with vivacity that he did greatly, and he asked me to read the speech on the immortality of the soul; but I believe that he had then in his view the speech in · Cato':-'It must be so, Plato, thou reasonest well,' &c.; for he immediately asked me if I thought he could get Addison's · Cato.' The volume of Shakespeare contained some of the comedies. I read the titles of those it contained, and asked if he had any desire to have a part of any of them read to him. He answered that he could not now enter into them. I breakfasted in the room with him, and, while I waited for the tea kettle, he asked with kindness if I did not intend to eat something. ...
One o'clock. He has continued tranquil since, except that he once entreated permission to get up; but by soothing persuasions I prevailed on him to remain in bed. I requested him not to agitate himself by contending to get out of bed —that he had suffered greatly by his exertions last night. He answered that he would try to stay in bed, but that it was very cruel in one to confine him to it. I answered, • My Lord, you must be persuaded that your own health and safety are at stake, and that my only motive can be a desire to contribute to them.' On this he stretched out his hand to me, and said, 'I give you a deal of trouble, sir,' and he then expressed a desire to compose himself to sleep, and I left the room.
He was not, however, to trouble anyone, or to be troubled himself, for very long. The rest and calm enjoined on him by the physicians were soon to be his, but not yet.
Half an hour later he sends for Dr. Garnett, and wished to talk to me about Ryan's wounds. I told him that I had not heard anything respecting him lately, as I imagined it would shock him to hear of his diath. He was evidently then still ignorant of it.
He said he had fought like a devil with five of them; that if he could have got to a little window he would have escaped over the houses in disguise. He then expressed an earnest desire to see Dr. Barber. ... Their sentiments, he said, coincided so entirely that he wished greatly to have some conversation with him. He said he was the first United man in that country. He talked with enthusiasm of the Presbyterian meeting-houses being alternately crowded with persons of their own and the Popish congregation. He said it was a
Lord Edward had been concealed by Murphy for some hours, the day of his arrest, in the valley' of the roof of an adjoining warehouse. During the ten weeks of his concealment in and near Dublin he had adopted various disguises, and had visited his wife several times in that of a woman.
2 . The first grand object of the United Irishmen was evidently to promote union amongst Irishmen of all religious denominations.'- Madden's United Irishmen, thoir Lires and Times.
glorious sight, and that the children were brought up in these principles by Dr. Barber.
Here is proof that the struggle of Ireland for freedom which was crushed out in '98 was-at least, in its inception of a completely unsectarian character. The
weary hours wear on; the fever increases. Half-past four.-His pulse is small and very frequent. He ate about a dozen heads of asparagus [from Carton, presumably, also). His breathing, however, became hourly more and more difficult, and his strength was evidently sinking rapidly. He ... grew extremely restless. He raved on addressing the people. . . . He turned to me, as I sat at the head of his bed, and asked me if I was not too high to be heard from where I was. I answered, 'No.'... Well, then, stay up as you are there.' In this kind of state he continued till about a quarter after ten o'clock, when Lord Clare, accompanied by Lady Louisa Conolly, and Lord Henry FitzGerald, and Dr. Lindsay, were admitted to him.
Lord Chancellor Clare it was who had said, previous to the arrest : Will no one urge Lord Edward to fly? I pledge myself that every port in the kingdom shall be left open to him. And it was owing to his exertions and sanctioned by his presence that leave was at last obtained for this visit.
Lord Henry FitzGerald was Lord Edward's favourite brother. A few hours before, Dr. Garnett writes :
While I sat by his bedside he observed to me, 'I have a brother Henry that I doat on. I wish greatly to see him, but that, I suppose, cannot be allowed.'
Lady Louisa Conolly was his aunt. She had literally gone on her knees to Lord Castlereagh, imploring him to grant this cruelly withheld boon. Her account of the distressing interview is well known, its misery only relieved by gleams of the tender affection existing between the dying man and his relatives.
The diary goes on
The scene was a most affecting one, and such as I shall not attempt to describe. When Lady Conolly and his brother first went to his bedside, he appeared not to know them. I went over and called his attention to them, mentioning who they were. He then called Lady Louisa his dear aunt, and embraced her and his brother most warmly ; but his attention soon wandered from them. They continued with him upwards of an hour. During a part of that time I was in the room, and during the remainder I was in the adjoining room with Lord Clare, who appeared greatly moved and unwilling to remain in the room.' He raved, while they were with him, of battles between the insurgents in the North and some regiments of militia. . . . After their departure his mind continued in the same deranged state, and he took no notice of their having been with him.
· His words, 'It is heaven to see you l'and, when told by Lady Louisa that they were alone with him, “That is very pleasant,' are painfully suggestive of the lonely grief he had been enduring.
So it went on to the end, now rapidly drawing near. At least it is well that his last moments of clear earthly consciousness were illumined for him by the presence of those he loved.
The last entry is dated about three hours later :
Two o'clock.-After a violent struggle that commenced a little after twelve o'clock this ill-fated young man has just drawn his last breath.
JOHN ARMSTRONG GARNETT. June 4, 1798.
Here the document ends, and with it ends the last authentic record of a deeply interesting character. The sympathetic young surgeon who has preserved it for us speaks of him as “ill-fated'but perhaps that judgment admits of question.
Lord Edward's was a life which, up to the last few months or even weeks, had been anything but ‘ill-fated.' On the contrary, Fortune had had nothing but smiles for him. He was well endowed by nature for the noble position in which he was born. The profession of arms which he adopted was one after his own heart. The romantic idyll of his marriage, the tender, passionate affection between him and his mother, are too well known to need mention here. What is more remarkable is the wonderful and enduring love of his other relatives and friends—a love which no divergence of political sympathies could alienate. He was endowed to an extraordinary degree with the power of charm-that indefinable, incommunicable gift. Sir John Doyle, who served with him in America, says :
I never knew so lovable a person; and every man in the army, from the general to the drummer, would cheer the expression. His frank and open manner, his universal benevolence, his gaieté de caur, his valour almost chivalrous, and, above all, his unassuming tone, made him the idol of all who served with him.
Cobbett said that Lord Edward was the only officer of untarnished personal honour whom he had ever known. And even Sir R. Musgrave praises his 'great valour and considerable abilities, his honour and humanity, frankness, courage, and goodnature.'
The death of a leader so beloved was a crushing blow to the cause of the Irish rebels. But even had he lived, the issue was more than doubtful of a movement literally honeycombed with treachery. Nothing of this, however, was known to Lord Edward. He died in happy ignorance of these hateful perfidies, and that he himself was literally sold—for 1,0001.—by the very man who
offered him shelter two days before his arrest. Up to the last he probably, with his sanguine, boyish nature, was full of enthusiasm
Had he lived, and had he succeeded, he would be remembered now, not as 'ill-fated,' but as one of the heroes, one of the historymakers, of that most eventful period. But he would have waded to his triumph through blood, and it would have been embittered to him by knowledge of the unspeakable treachery of those he trusted.
• Call no man happy until he is dead.' To this aphorism might be added, “ Call not the dead unhappy, of whom no man can speak ill.'
Considered thus, Lord Edward's memory is a happy one. Probably no man, cut off at the outset of a career, has been more written about. But even when he is looked at in the 'fierce light of lengthy biography,' no flaw is discoverable in this gallant and courteous gentleman who, sans peur et sans reproche, was also 'a man greatly beloved.'
K. F. PURDOX.
TWO RELICS OF '98.
THE SIEGE OF KILLALA.
Who fears to speak of ninety-eight?
Who blushes at the name ?
Who hangs his head for shame ?
They rose in dark and evil day,
To right their native land;
That nothing shall withstand.
They fell and passed away ;
Are plenty here to-day.
Through good and ill be Ireland's still,
Though sad as theirs your fate :
Like those of ninety-eight.
The story of the rebellion of '98, like every other, has two sides. One will be found in the stirring lines quoted above, the other in the following letter written by the wife of the Dean of Killala after her escape from the hands of the rebels. The courtesy and consideration of the French officers, to which frequent allusions are made, are proverbial. In the house where these lines are written there stood for years at the foot of the stairs a tall old clock, cracked across the face where it had come in contact with a French soldier thrown down head first by his commanding officer for having ventured upstairs where the lady of the house was lying ill. The 'Coppy' which is now transcribed was given by the writer of the original letter to the great-grandmother of the present copyist.
[A COPPY.] Mrs. B. Thompson's letter to her Aunt Loftus after the Rebellion.
Castlebar October 17th 1798 My Dear Aunt. . . . To attempt to give you an exact detail of all the transactions that took place for nearly five weeks would