exposed the more
resolute to inevitable ruin; that the conditions held out were better than
they had reason to expect _now_, infinitely better than they could expect
hereafter. Let them put the sincerity of their enemies to the test. If
the treaty should succeed, the nation would be saved; if it did not, the
failure would unite all true Irishmen in the common cause, who, if they
must fall, would not fall unrevenged. There was much force in this
reasoning; and it was strengthened by the testimony of officers from
several quarters, who represented that, to negotiate with the parliament
was the only expedient for the preservation of the people. But Clanricard
treated the proposal with contempt. To entertain it was an insult to him,
an act of treason against the king; and he was seconded by the eloquence
and authority of Castlehaven, who affected to despise the power of the
enemy, and attributed his success to their own divisions. Had the assembly
known the motives which really actuated these noblemen; that they had been
secretly instructed by Charles to continue the contest at every risk, as
the best means of enabling him to make head against Cromwell; that this,
probably the last opportunity of saving the lives

[Sidenote a: A.D. 1651. Jan. 10.]

and properties of the confederates, was to be sacrificed to the mere chance
of gaining a victory for the Scots, their bitter and implacable enemies,[1]
many of the calamities which Ireland was yet doomed to suffer would,
perhaps, have been averted. But the majority allowed themselves to be
persuaded; the motion to negotiate with the parliament was rejected, and
the penalties of treason were denounced by the assembly, the sentence of
excommunication by the bishops, against all who should conclude any private
treaty with the enemy. Limerick and Galway, the two bulwarks of the
confederacy, disapproved of this vote, and obstinately refused to admit
garrisons within their walls, that they might not be overawed by the
military, but remain arbiters of their own fate.

The lord deputy was no sooner relieved from this difficulty, than he found
himself entangled in a negotiation of unusual delicacy and perplexity.
About the close of the last summer, Ormond had despatched the Lord Taafe
to Brussels, with instructions, both in his own name and the name of the
supreme council,[2] to solicit the aid of the duke of Lorrain, a prince of
the most restless and intriguing disposition, who was acc