mily, but when agonized nature could endure no more, she too rushed out ; she was not piked like the others, but the ruffians, having seized her, dragged her to the place where her husband's body lay, and, with ferocious exultation, violated her on his bleeding corpse!

After the detail of the burning of the Sheas, our author gives an account of the murder of Colonel Hutchinson, near Macroom, in 1800, an event still well remembered in the south, but which is principally remarkable for the punishment of the murderers. Their heads were fixed on the spikes in the market-place of Macroom, where their bleached skulls remained for many a day, a source of superstitious awe to the country people. The occurrence, does not, however, present a picture, in the main, very uncommon. fact that they were betrayed by Duggan, the most abandoned villain in the entire gang, who by their deaths procured his own safety, and a reward of £300, is one of common occurrence. But there is one singular feature in the

case.

The

A party of yeomanry in pursuit of the suspected murderers were fired upon. For this two men, unconnected with Duggan's gang, were immediately arrested, and were tried and sentenced to transportation. Their fate excited much sympathy, and the country people entered into a treaty with the government to give up two of the murderers, one of whom was Hutchinson's own game-keeper, on the terms of procuring the pardon of these convicts. The two murderers were then hunted like foxes, and were at length seized by a party of peasants, to whom they came to beg for a mouthful of food, given up to the authorities, and executed. The two other convicts were pardoned. A strange sort of treaty for a dignified executive to entertain!

These sketches give Mr. Madden occasion for many strong observations, painfully true, on the necessity of a vigorous execution of the law. He remarks, with just severity, on the terrible impediments presented by the sympathy of the people with the criminal. The fact that a murder could be committed in the neighbourhood of many persons, whose indignation is never roused to pursue or punish the assassin, indicates, no doubt, a frightfully demoralized tone of feeling. Such an act

may be easily dealt with by the legislature at once making it severely punishable. But the protection which the murderer afterwards meets with is more difficult to deal with; that, though a crime as the law at present stands, and no doubt a grievous civil calamity, is yet, it is equally plain, often the result of virtuous feelings. Put the case to the best educated and most constitutional citizen in society: If your friend-not to say near relative-came to you, throwing himself on your mercy, in the confidence that you will not give him up, would you take advantage of that trust, without which he would have avoided you as much as the constable, and betray him? We do not color the question, by adding, as we might, the further considerations of clanship, and mutual protection, so strong among the peasantry. It has been truly said, that the gentleman's vices of the past, are the peasant's vices of the present generation. There was no feeling more universal in Ireland, fifty years ago, than this-that it was but honourable and manly to help your kinsman in a scrape, no matter how much he was in the wrong. But, setting aside all such accidental motives, and putting the naked supposition above-mentioned, of a fugitive coming in confidence, where is the man of such Spartan virtue, that he could drown the emotions of generosity and mercy to the individual, in the strong sense of his duty to the community?-so philosophically social, that he would catch his friend in the trap, and arrest him in the queen's name? Would he not, at least, warn him of his misplaced confidence, and beseech him to flee, to save him from the pain of becoming the instrument of his punishment? The case supposed is that which actually happens with the peasant. It is a hard measure flippantly to condemn him as atrociously criminal, and allow no palliation for his conduct. How to check this mighty evil, is one of the most serious difficulties ever propounded to a statesman.

But we will dwell no longer on these painful puzzles and sickening horrors. The special commission was haunting our fancy when we took up the book, and these chapters of terrors attracted us with a basilisk-like fascination. We cannot leave them, however, without calling attention to one

suggestion we were glad to see in this book. It is on a subject too grave to be examined, as it deserves, in a passing notice like this; but being introduced by a man of our author's opinion, merits the more to be noticed. Mr. Owen-Madden not only exhibits generally a sympathy for Roman Catholicism, in which we are very far from coinciding; but he frequently reasons on the false hypothesis, that the executive may justifiably use superstition as a means for facilitating government, and employ religious enthusiasm or ignorance as a bugaboo or sugar-plum to suit their convenience in managing the children of the state; but though we do not agree in his reasoning, we were well pleased with one of his conclusions. At the execution of Colonel Hutchinson's murderers, he mentions, that what was particularly observed by the country people was, that no priest was in attendance on the criminals at their deaths. The clergymen had been allowed to attend them in the gaol, but only on a part of the journey to the place of execution. He observes, and with truth, that Napoleon's plan of wholly forbidding the intercourse of the criminal with a clergyman, would be too abhorrent to the Christian and humane feelings of the present age; but the plan adopted in the instance above-mentioned, might be advantageously used to enhance the terrors of an execution intended to be exemplary. In our judgment the custom of allowing the clergyman to accompany the criminal to the gallows foot, should, in every case, be discontinued. The object of all well-directed public punishment is example, not cruelty. The more terrible in appearance, and the more mild in reality it is, the more perfectly it accomplishes the object intended. The attendance of a clergyman to the last, is directly opposed to this principle. It does not lighten the actual suffering; for to the most superstitious it can make but little difference whether his priest leaves him in the press-room, or on the grating of the drop; while, on the other hand, it most materially weakens the apparent severity of the sentence: the criminal, instead of appearing an outcast, deprived of the benefits of society, appears enjoying a privilege often denied to a virtuous citizen, and dies under circumstances suggesting, at least to the ignorant,

not the terrible retributions of hereafter, but the hopes of blessedness which they attach to the intercession of clerical offices. This, of course, assumes that capital punishments are, in some cases, to be continued. It is not intended here to say one word on the momentous question of their abo

lition.

As we have referred to Mr. OwenMadden's politics, we must say there is much in them which we condemn. He is a complete Whig, and often writes as if he regarded virtue and Whiggery as convertible terms. He speaks with just reprobation of the impostures had recourse to, to carry Irish elections, and the utter insincerity with which Repeal principles have been professed; at the same time, his book throughout suggests to the reader how much such a state of things is the inevitable consequence of his own school of politics-of the incongruous combination of aristocratic prejudices and ambition for democratic leadership, which characterises Whiggery in Ireland. He also writes of what he calls Protestant pride and oppression, and of what he describes as Catholic claims and Catholic virtues, in a tone which an impartial student of Irish history must condemn as altogether one-sided. It is impossible, from his book, to collect what his religious opinions are; but from his manifest partiality to "Catholics," we should say he is what is called a "liberal" Protestant. In two chapters of his book, one entitled "The Power of the Priesthood," and the other, "The Penal Days," these errors, we think, are most prominent. There is, however, also a vast deal, both political and speculative, in the book, in which we heartily concur; and it is but candid to add, that, throughout, his opinions are given in a manly and candid way; there is no tinge either of sectarian bigotry or political exclusiveness, and what he says of himself that he writes "in the spirit of independence and rational liberalism"-is, in intention, perfectly true. The reader, though he may agree with us in believing Mr. OwenMadden's opinions on many matters mistaken, cannot but respect him for the manner in which he enunciates them.

To turn to more agreeable topics than politics. In a chapter, entitled

"A Scotchman in Munster," the author gives an account of the foundation of Fermoy. This affords one of the most striking instances on record of what the peaceful energy and enterprise of a single man may effect. Fermoy now contains 7,000 inhabitants, and is one of the most handsome and thriving country towns in Ireland. Sixty years since, it was a small collection of dirty cabins-its best building a miserable carman's inn, and its wealthiest inhabitant the frieze-coated innkeeper. This wondrous change

was not worked by any great revolution in trade, or peculiar advantages of the place; nor is it due to the partial munificence of a powerful prince, or conquering army. It was accomplished by the enterprise of one merchant, without any peculiar advantage :

"John Anderson was a Scotchman, born in humble circumstances, of which he always boasted when raised to mix with the nobility of his adopted country. While very young he learned to read and write, and attributed the energy of his character to the stimulus which he received from education. He made a few pounds in some humble employment, and settled at Glasgow about the year 1784. There he was fortunate in some small speculations, and by a venture in herrings acquired five hundred pounds-an immense sum to him. He then determined to seek some new sphere, where he might exert himself; and he thought that Ireland would be the best place for him to fix in. commercial advantages of Cork, with its noble harbour, attracted him, and he settled there. He became an export merchant, and trafficked in provisions, the staple trade of the place. In a very few years he realized twentyfive thousand pounds, and laid it out on the purchase of four-sixths of the Fermoy estate."

The

Mr. Madden says, if he had been an Irishman, he would have turned idle gentleman, and lived in ostentation for the rest of his days. This may be true of the Irish character almost a century ago; but it is not a fair picture of our mercantile habits at present:

"But Anderson, instead of giving a tone to society, aspired to create society where it did not previously exist.

He resolved to build a town at Fermoy.

"The first thing he did was to build a good hotel, for the accommodation of those travelling post. He added next a few houses, built a square, and, at his own expense, rebuilt the bridge, which had become ruinous. He did not go with hat in hand to the Lord Lieutenant, begging for a share of the public moneys. He was resolved to depend upon himself. When he had mapped out his design for a town, he learned that the government were meditating the erection of large barracks in Munster. Anderson saw the advantage which the presence of a garrison would be to his rapidly-rising little town, and he at once offered government a capital site, rent free, for the barracks. He made this offer in 1797, when the country was disturbed, and when accommodation was an object to the governHis offer was accepted. Two very large and handsome barracks were built. But Anderson did not stop there. He was not of that pernicious opinion, too prevalent in Ireland, that government should be invoked to do the work of individuals. He saw that the presence of officers would be likely to make a gay neighbourhood, and, accordingly, he built a theatre, and some additional houses, and invited various families, with more or less capital, to come and settle at Fermoy. He built for himself a handsome residence, and placed himself at the head of the community which rapidly began to grow around him.

ment.

"Meantime this enterprising man had not given up his business. He established a bank, and discounted to a considerable extent. To develop the material resources of the country around him became a leading object with him. Travelling in Ireland was very dangerous and expensive. Anderson determined to reform it. He established a Mail Coach Company, and the first coach which ran between Cork and Dublin was Anderson's.

"In addition to his other works he established an agricultural society. He did not neglect education, and built a large school-house for the town. A military college was also built by him, which was afterwards turned into a public school, and was presided over by the Rev. Thomas Hincks."

Yet the man who accomplished all this was not possessed of any enormous capital. He was probably never worth more than £50,000. It was by the active circulation and judicious employment of this capital in useful enterprise,

that he effected so great a work. He, of course, was well received by the best society in the south; but he always felt a just pride in the retrospect of his unaided career.

"On one occasion, in the very height of his prosperity, he was entertaining a large company at his residence in Fermoy. Amongst the party were the late earls of Kingston and Shannon, and the present Lord Riversdale. The conversation turned on Anderson's great success in life, and Lord Kingston asked him to what he chiefly attributed his rapid rise. To education, my lord,' replied Anderson; every child in Scotland can easily get the means of learning to read and write. When I was a little boy, my parents sent me to school every day, and I had to walk three miles to the village school. Many a cold walk I had, in the bitter winter mornings, and I assure you, my lords,' he added, smiling, that shoes and stockings were extremely scarce in those days.""

"The good, however, which Mr. Anderson had accomplished, did not terminate with his reverses. He left behind him, in the handsome town of Fermoy, a noble monument of what can be accomplished by one man possessed of energy and talent. The intellect of Mr. Anderson was not very remarkable-it was probably inferior to many of his idle neighbours. His superiority lay in his moral qualities-in his determination to succeed, and his resolution never to be idle. He was no heartless adventurer, bent on self-aggrandizement-no speculator upon the passions or follies of his fellow-men, using them as stepping-stones to power. He was a creator and a civilizer-a man who left behind him a splendid example of what industry and enterprise can achieve, in a land where the vanity of the rich and high-born, and the slothfulness of the humble and the lowly, seek every possible excuse which their fond imaginations can invent, for idleness and poverty."

What an encouragement to exertion in the present crisis is afforded by the example of this one stranger, so vividly sketched by our author!

We would gladly devote a few more pages to this interesting volume; but as this is our second notice of the book, we must be brief. Before concluding, however, it is our duty, reddere cuique suum. We introduced, in our former notice, among the sketches of the bar, an account of the singular fate of the author of "The Metropolis," stating it was not elsewhere mentioned. This was a mistake; for the circumstances are mentioned in Dr. Walsh's "Residence at Constantinople."

Having acknow

ledged this error, we finally close Mr. Owen-Madden's book, heartily recom mending it to our readers as one which, notwithstanding some preju dices of the author, must be read with much pleasure, and not a little profit.

All

It

THE special commissions in the disturbed districts have terminated, with seventeen capital convictions. parties have done their duties. was no ordinary effort of courage on the part of jurors and prosecutors, who must, as soon as present protection shall have been withdrawn, continue exposed to the attacks of the mid-day assassin, or the midnight incendiary, to depose to the facts which came to their knowledge, and return true verdicts, according to the evidence, in the cases of the prisoners committed to their charge. Nor did it require only an ordinary measure of legal ability on the part of the officers of the crown, to prepare the indictments upon which the several prisoners were arraigned, and sift and arrange the testimony (much of it resting upon circumstantial grounds) by which their guilt or innocence was to be established. And it is no small praise to say, that, in every instance, the leading facts were so set forth and so supported, as to leave no doubt upon the mind of any human being who heard the evidence, as to the guilt of every one of the prisoners who were capitally convicted.†

That the dreadful examples which have been made, must, to a certain extent, have a salutary effect, we cannot doubt. Would that we could entertain any confident persuasion that they will reach the root of the evil, by which our unhappy country has been distracted.

In one point of view we are inclined to believe that, by the late commissions, much good has been done. They have served to disclose to the people of England a state of society in Ireland, which is, we believe, unexampled in all the civilized world beside. They must also have served to dissipate the groundless prejudices which have. obtained against Irish landlords, as a race whose unheard-of oppressions have driven their unhappy victims mad. It is now undeniably evident that vast

numbers of the peasantry are leagued together by a bond of blood; that a law of opinion prevails, which accounts as a very slight offence, indeed, the guilt of murder; that no effectual ef forts have been made to impress upon an ignorant and excitable peasantry, a horror for a violation of the sixth commandment; that, for a small sum of money, an assassin may be procured to take away the life of any one who has provoked the wrath of any of those monsters in human form by whom the country is infested; that murders have been perpetrated in mid-day, and in the presence of numbers, with a coolness and audacity which argued the most perfect confidence in the sympathy of the beholders, who either would not, or dared not, raise a hand to arrest the assassins, or protect the victims; that murder has its regular market-prices in the south and west of Ireland; and that, when a few pounds are forthcoming, the red hand is never wanting to proceed to any extent of atrocity, which, in any given case, may be required; that collections are openly made for the raising of this sum of money; that no secret is made of the object of those by whom it is levied; and that a man, supposed to be favourable to the cause, becomes ob noxious, or suspected, if he does not, according to his means, contribute liberally to the reward of the miscreant who is, as it were, the finisher of ribbon-law, and but carries into effect, in the case of those who have never done him any personal injury, the sentence which the more wary conspirators have pronounced against them!

Is not this a state of things truly appalling Can any Englishman, sitting in peace and security by his fireside, realize, for a moment, such a picture, without a sentiment of horror and of indignation; of horror, that such monsters should be found; and of indignation, that they should have been so long permitted, with all but