The Liberator in prison and without.

**

William Joseph O’Neill Daunt**

(1807-1894.)

William Joseph O’Neill Daunt,** **the able historical writer, was born at Fullamore, King’s County, April 28, 1807, and died June 29, 1894. He was for some years associated with Daniel O’Connell in a secretarial capacity, and throughout his long life he was steadfast in his admiration for that great leader and in his intense hostility to English rule in Ireland.

His first published work was ‘Ireland and Her Agitators,’ 1845, which was followed by ‘Hugh Talbot, a Tale of the Irish Confiscations,’ 1846. In 1848 he issued his valuable ’ Personal Recollections of O’Connell,’ and in 1851 his ‘Catechism of Irish History,’ which was a text-book in Irish schools, and a novel entitled ’ The Gentleman in Debt.’ During the later part of his life he lived quietly as a country gentleman, but that he had not lost any of his early views is proved by his ‘Essays on Ireland,’ 1886, and his ‘Eighty-Five Years of Irish History,’ published in the same year.

After his death his daughter published in 1896, under the title of ‘A Life Spent for Ireland,’ his personal diary, a most entertaining volume, full of good stories and valuable side4ights on the history of his times.

Repealers In Prison And Out **

From ‘Eighty-five Years of Irish History.’**

O’Connell, on the evening of his incarceration, had exclaimed: “Thank God, I am in jail for Ireland!” He believed that Peel’s false move tended to augment the strength of the national cause. All the prisoners dined together; and the party wore anything but a tragical air. They all enjoyed the exhilaration of spirits arising from a hope that, whatever inconveniences they might sustain, their imprisonment would accelerate the triumph of the cause that was nearest to their hearts.

They were for the first few days occupied with the bustle of fixing themselves in their new quarters. At last they settled down into something like their usual habits. Charles Gavan Duffy, the editor of *The Nation; *Doctor (afterwards Sir John) Gray, the editor of *The Freeman; *and Richard Barrett, the editor of *The Pilot, *found abundant employment superintending their several journals.

The moments unoccupied by business they devoted to study, or to taking exercise in the adjoining garden. Mr. Duffy, under the impression that the imprisonment would last a year, announced his purpose of reading through Carte’s ‘Life of Ormond,’ in three folio volumes. Mr. Ray still exercised his supervision of the affairs of the Association. John O’Connell wrote his amusing and instructive ‘Repeal Dictionary,’ which appeared in the weekly press, and which I believe was subsequently published in a collected form. Steele read Kane’s ‘Industrial Resources of Ireland,’ and defaced the fair pages of the work with innumerable marks of admiration. Barrett was ready for fun, - frisk, joyous frolic of any sort, and more than once kept the incarcerated coterie in roars of laughter by attitudinizing and grimacing in a style that would have done honor to Liston.

Two of the visitors played the short-armed orator; the comic force of the pathetic passages being much enhanced by a cambric handkerchief, which the gentleman who performed the action held to the weeping eyes of the gentleman who performed the eloquence. Nearly all the prisoners contributed to the pages of a *jeu d’esprit *called *Prison Gazette, *in which they quizzed each other and their friends with merry malice. In short, there never were prisoners who bore so lightly and joyously the hours of imprisonment, or whose deprivation of freedom was more soothed by the kind and sympathetic offices of friends.

They had access to two gardens. In one of these was a mound with a summer-house on the top. The mound they amused themselves by calling Tara Hill; the summerhouse was termed Conciliation Hall. In the other garden they erected a large marquee, which they styled Mullaghmast, and in this marquee were received the numerous deputations who bore addresses to the “convicts” from the different quarters of the kingdom.

I learned from a gentleman, who was present on one of these occasions, that O’Connell replied to the bearers of an address in the following words: “Tell your friends that my heart is joyful, my spirits are buoyant, my health is excellent, my hopes are high. My imprisonment is not irksome to me, for I feel and know that it will, under Providence, be the means of making our country a nation again. I am glad I am in prison. There wanted but this to my career. I have labored for Ireland-refused office, honor and emolument for Ireland-I have prayed and hoped and watched for Ireland-there was yet one thing wanted-that I should be in jail for Ireland. This has now been added to the rest, thanks to our enemies; and I cordially rejoice at it.”

O’Connell, in the course of that day, was waited on by a party of American tourists. When they arrived, he was standing on the top of “Tara Hill.” They doffed their hats and remained at the foot of the mound until desired to walk up. “You are probably more visited here,” said one of them, “than if you were at large.” “Yes,” replied the Liberator, “and here I cannot use the excuse of ‘not at home.’”

The progress of Repeal during his imprisonment enchanted him. “The people,” said he, “are behaving nobly. I was at first a little afraid, despite all my teaching, that at such a trying crisis they would have done either too much or too little-either have been stung into an outbreak, or else awed into apathy. Neither has happened. Blessed be God! the people are acting nobly. What it is to have such a people to lead!”

He rejoiced especially over the excellent framing of the Repeal Association; praised the young talent called forth by the movement, bestowing particular eulogy on MacNevin and Barry.

“In the days of the Catholic Association,” said he, ” I used to have more trouble than I can express in keeping down mutiny. I always arrived in town about the 25th of October, and on my arrival I invariably found some jealousies, some squabbles - some fellow trying to be leader, which gave me infinite annoyance. But now all goes right-no man is jealous of any other man; each does his best for the general cause.”

Speaking of his pacific policy, he remarked that it was a curious coincidence that the Conal of Ossian should say, “My sword hangs at my side-the blade longs to shine in my hand - but I love the peace of green Erin of the streams.”

The convicted patriots received numerous presents of fresh fruits and flowers. A patriotic confectioner presented them with two monster cakes. Mr. Scriber of Westmoreland Street sent them seven musical-boxes to cheer their imprisonment; and it is said that, immediately on the arrival of the harmonious cargo, the prisoners evinced their satisfaction with more musical zeal than taste-by setting the seven boxes playing together.

Mr. Steele one day placed a stone which he dignified with the name of Liach Fail, or the Stone of Destiny, on the side of the mimic Tara Hill in the garden, calling on Duffy to doff his hat in honor of the august ceremony.

With these and similar helps and devices did the prisoners try to cheat the hours of that bondage which, under every circumstance of mitigation, must ever be oppressive to men of ardent minds and active habits. One day John O’Connell made some remark on the high, gloomy prison buildings, which excluded the view of the country from the dining-room. “I am better pleased,” said his father, “that the view is excluded. To see the hills, and fields, and sea-coast, and to feel that you were debarred from the freedom of walking among them, were a worse affliction than to be deprived altogether of the sight. It would tantalize too much…”

On the evening of the 6th of September, O’Connell and his fellow-prisoners were liberated. About ten days previously his intimate friend, Mr. Patrick Fitzpatrick, of Eccles Street, had expressed to him the expectation that the law-lords would confirm the sentence, but that the prisoners would be liberated by the exercise of the Royal prerogative. “You must, in that event,” said Mr. Fitzpatrick,” be prepared with instant securities. How large is the amount of bail required?”

O’Connell had forgotten the amount, and descended to the Governor’s office to inspect the book. Mr. Fitzpatrick speedily followed, and found O’Connell laughing heartily at the personal description annexed to his name in the book: “Daniel O’Connel1 - complexion good.” The amount of bail was £5,000 ($25,000) personally, and two securities at £2,500 ($12,500) each. “But it is idle, quite idle to talk of it,” said O’Connell; “there is not the least probability - not the smallest shadow of a chance of our being set free. No, my good friend, we shall suffer our full term.”

In this conviction O’Oonnell continued until the evening of the 6th. Two messengers from the Corn Exchange rushed simultaneously into the prison with the news, vociferating in such noisy rivalship that their tidings were for a long time unintelligible. At length one of them, perforce of better wind, shouted his comrade out of breath, and having reached the corridor leading to O’Connell’s apartments, he continued to bellow, “I ‘m first! Where’s the Liberator? I’m first!

“What is it all about?” demanded Mr. Barrett, who was calmly perambulating the corridor.

“Only that you ‘re free,” cried Edmond O’Hagarty (the messenger). “I ‘m first! I ‘m first! Hurrah! Where’s the Liberator? I’m first!”

They rushed into a drawing-room where O’Connell was seated between two ladies, O’Hagarty in his noisy delight still shouting, “I ‘m first! I ‘m first! You’re free, Liberator! Thanks be to God for that same! The judginent’s reversed.”

“Bah! not true; it can’t be true,” replied O’Connell coolly.

“But it *is *true, Liberator.” And the messenger showed him the placard which had been printed in London announcing the fact. He examined it attentively, and said to Fitzpatrick: “After all, this may be true,” when doubt was dispelled by the sudden appearance of the attorneys for the defense. “On the merits,” were the first words of Mr. Ford, who threw his arms round O’Connell’s neck and kissed him. O’Connell wore his green velvet Mullaghmast cap, and Ford wore a broad-brimmed beaver hat, oblivious in his ecstasy of the presence of the ladies. “On the merits,” he triumphantly repeated; “no technicalities at all-nothing but the merits.”

The news had now spread through the prison, and the other prisoners crowded to the drawing-room to learn their fate. There was a quiet sort of triumph, no boisterous joy amongst the traversers. In the course of the evening O’Connell said to my informant in a tone of deep solemnity: “Fitzpatrick, the hand of man is not in this. It is the response given by Providence to the prayers of the faithful, steadfast, pious people of Ireland.”

It was near twilight when O’Connell left the prison to return to his home in Merrion Square. As he walked along the streets, the people at first gazed on him in bewildered astonishment. They could scarcely believe the evidence of their eyes. Was O’Connell indeed free? They crowded round him to ascertain the fact; the crowds augmented; and by the time he arrived at the western end of Merrion Square, his friends were obliged to form a cordon around him to avert the inconvenient pressure of the delighted multitude.

When he placed his foot on his own hall-door step, to re-enter the home from which he had for three months been iniquitously exiled, the popular ecstasy became uncontrollable. Cheer after cheer rose and swelled upon the air. The people gave vent to their wild delight in vociferous acclamations; every heart beat high with pride and triumph at the liberation of their venerated leader - not by ministerial grace or favor, but by the strict and stern vindication of that law which had been so nefariously outraged in the trial and conviction.

O’Connell appeared on the balcony and addressed the people briefly. He exhorted them to bear their victory with moderation. Let them, he said, demonstrate their fitness to rule themselves by the spirit of conciliation and friendliness with which they should enjoy their triumph.

On the next day (Saturday, the 7th of September) the liberated patriots passed in procession through the leading streets of the metropolis. It was a scene of indescribable excitement. When opposite the door of the old Parliament House in College Green, the cavalcade halted - O’Connell rose in his triumphal car, uncovered his head and pointed with significant emphasis to the edifice. Then arose a mighty shout from the surrounding thousands - again and again did O’Connell, looking proudly around him, repeat his significant gesture; again and again did the myriads who thronged the broad street upraise their glad voices in deafening cheers. It was like the roar of the ocean, that proud shout of a nation’s triumph and a nation’s hope.

 

A Facetious Irish Peer.

From ‘Eighty-five Years of Irish History.’

Amongst those whom a descent of some half-dozen generations entitled to call themselves Irish, the greater number had so habitually looked on politics as a game to be played for the purpose of personal aggrandizement, tliat they had no conception of anything like political principle. There was a thorough moral recklessness about them which rendered them quite ready for any act of political desperation, provided it did not tend to enlarge the power of the people. Their personal habits necessarily fostered their recklessness. Their profusion and extravagance were great; and some of them-not a few-resorted to modes of raising the wind which showed that they mingled few scruples with their system of financial pneumatics. There was, withnl, a strong dash of odd drollery in the brazen shamelessness of their ekpedients.

A curious specimen of this order of men was Lord M—y. His title was the result of some dexterous traffic in Parliamentary votes. His manners were eminently fascinating, and his habits social. He had a favorite saying that a gentleman could never live upon his rents; a man who depended on his rents had money only upon two days in the year, the 25th of March and the 29th of September. He accordingly left no expedient nnt~ied to furnish himself with money every other day too.

It chanced that when Lord Kerry’s house in St. Stephen’s Green was for sale, a lady named Keating was desirous to purchase a pew in St. Anne’s Church appertainmg to that mansion. Mrs. Keating erroneously took it into her head that the pew belonged to Lord M y; she accordingly visited his lordship to propose herself as a purchaser.

“My dear madam,” said he, “I have not got any pew, that I know of, in St. Anne’s Church.”

“Oh, my lord, I assure you tliat you have; and if you have got no objection, I am desirous to purchase it.”

Lord M—y started no farther difficulty. A large sum was accordingly fixed on, and in order to make her bar-gain as secure as possible, Mrs. Keating got the agreement of sale drawn out in the most stringent form by an attorney. She paid the money to Lord M y, and on the following Sunday she marched up to the pew to take possession, rustling in the stateliness of brocades and silks. The beadle refused to let her into the pew.

Sir,” said the lady, “this pew is mine.”

“Yours, madam?”

“Yes; I have bought it from Lord M—y.”

“Madam, this is the Kerry pew; I do assure you Lord M y never had a pew in this church.”

Mrs. Keating saw at once she had been cheated, and on the following day she went to his lordship to try if she could get back her money.

“My lord, I have come to you to say that the pew in St. Anne’s

“My dear madam, I’ll sell you twenty more pews if you have any fancy for them.”

“Oh, my lord, you are facetious. I have come to acquaint you it was all a mistake; you never had a pew in that church.”

“Hah! so I think I told you at first.”

“And I trust, my lord,” pursued Mrs. Keating, “you will refund me the money I paid you for it.”

“The money? Really, my dear madam, I am sorry to say that it is quite impossible - the money’s gone long ago.”

“But-my lord - your lordship’s character-”

“That’s gone too!” said Lord M—y, laughing with good-humored nonchalance.

I have already said that this nobleman’s financial operations were systematically extended to every opportunity of gain that could possibly be grasped at. He was colonel of a militia regiment; and, contrary to all precedent, he regularly sold the commissions and pocketed the money. The Lord Lieutenant resolved to call him to an account for his malpractices, and for that purpose invited him to dine at the Castle, where all the other colonels of militia regiments then in Dublin had also been invited to meet him. After dinner the Viceroy stated that he had heard with great pain an accusation - indeed, he could hardly believe it - but it had been positively said that the colonel of a militia regiment actually sold the commissions.

The company looked aghast at this atrocity, and the innocent colonels forthwith began to exculpate themselves “I have never done so.” “I have never sold any.” “Nor I.” The disclaimers were general. Lord M—y resolved to put a bold face on the matter.

“I always sell the commissions in my regiment,” said he, with the air of a man who announced a practice rather meritorious. All present seemed astonished at this frank avowal.

“How can you defend such a practice?” asked the Lord Lieutenant.

“Very easily, my lord. Has not your Excellency always told us to assimilate our regiments as much as possible to the troops of the Line?”

“Yes, undoubtedly.”

“Well, they sell the commissions in the Line and I thought that the best point at which to begin the assimilation.”

It is told of this nobleman, that when he was dying he was attended by a clergyman, who remonstrated with him on the scandalous exploits of his past life, and strongly urged him to repent. “Repent?” echoed the dying sinner; “I don’t see what I have got to repent of; I don’t remember that I ever denied myself anything.”

General Contents. .