erting the human
inheritance of freedom! Whose banner but ours ever bore the double
insignia of rule and obedience?--ours, the great Faith, equal to every
condition of mankind and to every age and every people? Never, never
despair of it!"

D'Esmonde sat down, and covered his face with his hands; and when he
arose, his pale features and bloodless lips showed the strong reaction
from a paroxysm of intense passion.

"Let us leave this, Michel," said he, in a broken voice. "The little
inn I speak of is not too distant for a walk, and if we start at once we
shall reach it before daybreak. While you awake Meekins, and arrange
all within, I will stroll slowly on before." And, thus saying, D'Esmonde
moved away, leaving the others to follow.

D'Esmonde was more than commonly thoughtful, even to depression. He had
been but a few days in Ireland, but every hour of that time had revealed
some new disappointment to him. There was all that he could wish of
religious zeal, there was devotion and faith without limit amongst the
people; but there was no unity of action, no combination of purpose,
amongst those who led them. Discursive and rash efforts of individuals
were suffered to disturb well-laid measures and reveal long-meditated
plans. Vain and frivolous controversies in newspapers, petty wars of
petty localities, wasted energies, and distracted counsels. There
was none of that organization, that stern discipline, which at Rome
regulated every step, and ordained every movement of their mighty host.
"This," muttered he to himself, "is an army without field-officers.
Their guerilla notions must be henceforth exchanged for habits of
military obedience. Little think they that their future General is now
the solitary pedestrian of a lonely road at midnight." The recurrence
to himself and his own fortunes was one of those spells which seemed to
possess an almost magical influence over him. From long dwelling on the
theme, he had grown to believe that he was destined by Heaven for
the advancement, if not the actual triumph, of the great cause of the
Church; and that he, whose origin was obscure and ignoble, could now sit
down at the council of the Princes of the Faith, and be heard, as one
whose words were commands, was always sufficient evidence that he
was reserved by fate for high achievements. Under the spell of this
conviction he soon rallied from his late dejection, and his uplifted
head and proud gait now showed the ambitious