l. It is time now to revert to other
actors in the scene. Even before the trial, elements of antagonism had
begun to manifest themselves. With the party since called "Young
Ireland," every consideration was subordinate to the great question of
national deliverance. They laboured incessantly to elevate the morals,
the literature, the taste, passions, genius, intellect and heart of the
country to the sublime eminence of a free destiny. Far the foremost man
in urging and encouraging this glorious endeavour was Thomas Davis. From
sources the most extraordinary, and the least known, there welled forth
abundant and seductive inspiration. He struck living fire from inert
wayside stones. To him the meanest rill, the rugged mountain, the barren
waste, the rudest fragment of barbaric history, spoke the language of
elevation, harmony and hope. The circle, of which he was the beloved
centre, was composed of men equally sincere, resolute and hopeful; there
was not one of them undistinguished. Some of them had now the first
literary distinction. The character of each was remarkable for some
distinctive and bold feature of originality. I, of course, exclude
myself from this description. I know not to what circumstance I owe the
happiness of their trust and friendship. My habits, my education, my
former political connections, disqualified me for such association.
Since first I took my place among them, seven or eight years have now
rolled by. They have been years of severest trial, years of suffering
and sorrow, years of passion and prejudice and calumny, years of rude
and bitter conflict, years of suspicion and acrimony, and finally of
defeat and shame; still, in that eventful course of time, to me at
least, there has occurred no moment wherein I would exchange the
faintest memory of our mutual trust, unreserved enjoyment and glad hope
for the hoarse approval of an unthinking world. There was no subject we
did not discuss together; revolution, literature, religion, history, the
arts, the sciences--every topic, and never yet was there spoken among us
one reproachful word, never felt one distrustful sentiment. Our
confidence in one another was precisely that of each in himself; our
love of one another deeper than brotherly. When we met, which was at
least weekly, and felt alone, shut in from the rude intrusion of the
world, how we used to people the future with beauty and happiness and
love. Little did we dream that those for whom we toil