lood of light is thrown on the fact of respiting
him alone amongst the four men admittedly concerned in the rescue.
Shore was an American. He had a country to avenge him if legally
slaughtered on a vitiated verdict. To hang _him_ was dangerous; but
as for Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien, _they had no country_ (in the same
sense) to avenge them. America was strong, but Ireland was weak. If
it was deemed dangerous to sport with the life of the American, it was
deemed safe to be brutal and merciless towards the Irishmen. On these
the full arrear of British vengeance might be glutted.

But there were not many to discern, in the first flush of its
proclamation, this sinister aspect of Shore's respite. The news
reached Ireland on Friday, 22nd November, and was, as we have already
said, generally deemed conclusive evidence that the next day would
bring like news in reference to Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien.

Early next morning--Saturday, 23rd November, 1867--men poured into the
cities and towns of Ireland reached by telegraphic communication, to
learn "the news from Manchester." Language literally fails to convey
an idea of the horror--the stupefaction--that ensued when that news
was read:--

"_This morning, at eight o'clock, the three condemned Fenians, Allen,
Larkin, and O'Brien, were executed in front of Sulford Gaol._"

Men gasped in awe-struck horror--speech seemed denied them. Could it
be a dream, or was this a reality? Had men lived to see the day when
such a deed could be done? For the reason that incredulity had been
so strong before, wild, haggard horror now sat on every countenance,
and froze the life-blood in every heart. Irishmen had lain quiescent,
persuaded that in this seventh decade of the nineteenth century, some
humanizing influences would be found to sway that power that in the
past, at least, had ever been so merciless to Irish victims. But now!
Alas!--

In that dreadful hour the gulf between the two nations seemed widened
and deepened, until it gaped and yawned wide, deep, and dark as hell
itself. There was a scowl on every brow. Men went about--sullen,
moody, silent, morose--with clenched teeth and darkened faces,
terrible passions raging in their bosoms. For all knew that the
sacrifice of those three Irish patriots was a cold-blooded and
cowardly act of English policy, more than a judicial proceeding--an
act of English panic, cowardice, hate, and terror. All knew that
Allen, Larkin, and O'Brien would nev