icient of themselves to rouse your
feelings, I might mention the independent spirit and firmness of that
noble woman who, on the tomb of her husband and her brother, mingles
with her sighs aspirations for the deliverance of Ireland. I would
attempt to give you an expression of that Irish spirit which is blended
in her countenance with the expression of her grief. Such were those
women of Sparta, who, on the return of their countrymen from the battle,
when with anxious looks they ran over the ranks and missed amongst them
their sons, their husbands, and their brothers, exclaimed, 'He died for
his country; he died for the Republic.'" When the Republic fell, and in
the upheaval her rights were ignored, she went to the Emperor Napoleon
in person and, recalling the services of Tone, sought naturalization for
her son to secure his career in the army; and to the wonder of all near
by, the Emperor heard her with marked respect and immediately granted
her request. She sought only this for her surviving son. She had seen
two children die--there was moving pathos in the daughter's death--and
now she was standing by the last. Never was child guarded more
faithfully or sent more proudly on his path in life. One should read the
memoirs to understand, and pause frequently to consider: how she
promised her husband bravely in the beginning that she would answer for
their children, and how, in what she afterwards styled the hyperbole of
grief, she was called to fulfil to the letter, and was found faithful,
with an unexampled strength and devotion; how she saw two children
struck down by a fatal disease, and how she drew the surviving son back
to health by her watchful care to send him on his college and military
career with loving pride; how, when a Minister of France, irritated at
her putting by his patronage, roughly told her he could not "take the
Emperor by the collar to place Mr. Tone"--she went to the Emperor in
person, with dignity but without fear, and won his respect; how the
suggestion of the mean-minded that her demand was a pecuniary one, drew
from her the proud boast that in all her misfortunes she had never
learned to hold out her hand; how through all her misfortunes we watch
her with wonderful dignity, delicacy, courage, and devotion quick to
see what her trust demanded and never failing to answer the call, till
her task is done, and we see her on the morning when her son sets out on
the path she had prepared, the same quiv