however, it came to be known that a neat
dwelling which was rising near the old Abbey
was to be a police-barrack—specially constructed,
perhaps, with a view to second severer measures
—it was determined that something should be
done, and that speedily. And a singularly handsome
youth, named Grace, who had acquired a
sort of notoriety in the country for many acts of
daring, came forward, and voluntarily offered to
take on himself the duty of ridding the country
of the oppressor. There was no mystery of
midnight about the transaction. Mr. Chadwick
was walking on the high road, near this fatal
police-barrack, in broad daylight, when this
Grace stepped out of a hedge, and shot him
dead. Country people, carts, horses, were
passing and repassing; but no one saw, and no
one heard. The wild code of the place was
being carried out, and every one had too much
reverence for its injunctions to hinder its precepts
from being enforced. The assassin walked away
unmolested, with his gun.

But there happened to be a just man in those
parts, who was passing at the time, and who saw
the foul deed, and who, after some hesitation—
for it was a deed of peril to do—gave information
to the authorities. And on his testimony the
murderer was tried and convicted. He attracted
sympathy by his youth, his handsome face and
figure, and his undaunted bearing in the dock.
But in the vast body of the peasantry who
attended, there was noticed a gloom, and fiercely
compressed lips, and an ominous silence and
attention. And the prisoner was heard to declare
that he was indifferent about his death, but that
he should be avenged before the year was out.

By way of a striking effect, it was determined
that the execution should take place at the scene
of the murder. Large bodies of troops attended,
and not less than fifteen thousand persons were
present: not from any relish for such spectacles,
for which the Irish have always shown a
remarkable distaste, but as a sort of stern
manifestation of sympathy. As a last keepsake, the
prisoner took off his gloves and handed them to
an old man near him, who swore not to take
them off until vengeance was obtained. With
that, the prisoner was swung into the air, and
died without a struggle.

Now sets in the dramatic portion. The
denouncer's life, it was known to the authorities
and every one in lower station, was not worth a
day's purchase. This was reasonably assumed
as a matter of course; and he was smuggled
away at once, out of the country. Thus public
vengeance was balked; but it was known that
he had left relations behind him—three brothers,
who, besides being guilty of the crime of
consanguinity, had actually worked at the hated
police-barrack. There was an open league
entered into, and it was well known, far and
near, that these men were doomed. The task
was entrusted to eight picked men, who waited
their opportunity, and fired upon the three
brothers as they were leaving work. But their
ancient muskets, through rust or other
imperfections, missed their aim, and the three
contrived to escape. One, however, was hunted
down into a widow's house, where his brains
were beaten out.

It was determined to check this terrible spirit,
and government offered the unusually large
re-ward of two thousand pounds "for such
information as would lead to the conviction of the
offender." Will it be credited, that notwithstanding
this tremendous bribe, and though the men
were known, and were seen every day moving
about at their accustomed tasks for more than
three months, not one person could be got to
come forward and claim the tempting prize?
It was only when one of the ringleaders was
himself arrested and convicted on another capital
charge, that he offered, if his life were spared,
to give the necessary information. Even when
giving his testimony, he was anxious to have
it exactly understood that it was only from
a feeling of personal safety that he was
induced to play this odious part. For three
weeks the bloody assize lasted, marked with the
strangest incidents. It was a ghastly Rembrandtish
effect when at the close, at four o'clock
of an Easter Sunday morning, an aged woman
was carried in to identify one of the prisoners,
and when, on her reasonably objecting that
his being pointed out to her would naturally
assist her memory, all the other prisoners not on
trial were huddled from their beds in the
condemned cells, and crowded into the dock, with
dazed faces and blinking eyes, not knowing
but that they were wanted for judgment and
instant execution. That Easter Sunday morning
was long remembered in the district. The "rewards"
offered for the discovery of these offences
furnish keys to the serious view taken of them
by the government of the country. The sum
of five thousand pounds has often been given on
such occasions.

There was a frightful night attack, known as
the "Burning of the Sheas," which left a
terrible impression. These people had turned out
one Gorman, and were forthwith denounced.
At the dead of night, a band of desperadoes came,
strongly armed, and surrounded the cottage,
secured the door outside, and set it on fire.
Horrible to relate, no fewer than seventeen human
beings were consumed in that conflagration!

Justice was very prompt, and almost as savage
as prompt, in those days. For a murder of an
old gentleman near Cork, nine out of a band of
fourteen concerned (which were all, indeed, that
could be captured) were hung, and their skulls
fixed upon spikes at the top of the jail. Until
a very few years back, they were kept there,
grinning horribly, to the disgust of the passers-by.
But the effect was wholesome. Some such
terrorism was necessary.

In the province of Munster, and stretching
into Leinster, there is a region popularly known
by the title of "The Golden Vein." It runs
through, I think, four counties. It is a long
belt of territory, remarkable for the pastoral
beauty of the scenery, and the prolific richness
of the soil. In fact, this is the region which won
from Cromwell the enthusiastic exclamation