Lord Cavan, the commanding officer in that part of Ireland, invited the prisoners of a certain rank to breakfast. On the way, Tone was recognised by, or, according to another account, had the impudence to make himself known to, an old acquaintance, that chanced to be on the spot. Lord Cavan was speedily apprised that Wolfe Tone was sitting at his table. The latter was accordingly made to pass into an adjoining room, where, his identity being ascertained, he was formally placed under close arrest on a charge of high treason, and soon after put in irons. This latter indignity he appears to have felt most acutely. Alluding to it upon his trial, he says, "After a combat nobly sustained, and which would have inspired a sentiment of interest in a generous enemy, to the eternal shame of those who gave the order, I have been dragged hither in chains." The friends of Lord Cavan asserted that this extreme severity was provoked by Tone's outrageous deportment, when he found that he was not to have the privileges of a prisoner of war. It may have been so; but the ordinary character of the man strongly contradicts the supposition. He was sent on to Dublin on horseback, and guarded by an escort of dragoons. A gentleman, then in Ireland, who saw him pass through one of the northern towns, remembers two strong impressions which Tone's appearance made :-first, its extreme singularity from his foreign uniform, and still more from his incapacity (encumbered with irons as he was) of sitting with tolerable ease in his saddle; and, secondly, the admirable serenity of countenance with which he bore his fate. Among the groups of females that thronged the windows, his eye caught the features of a young lady whom he had not seen for many years. He instantly recognised her, and carelessly observed, "There is my old friend Miss Beresford, I see: how well she looks!"

Upon his arrival in Dublin he was brought up for trial before a court-martial, convicted, and sentenced to die in eight-and-forty hours. His address to the court- -a dying declaration rather than a defence— was manly and eloquent. His only concern was to die with dignity : the only favour he asked was to be indulged" in a soldier's privilege of being shot by a file of grenadiers." This being refused, he resolved to die by his own hand.

There is a tragic singularity of interest in what followed. The only point that Tone had urged in the way of defence, was his commission in the French service; and this the court could not listen to. But it subsequently appeared that as far as that trial was concerned, he had a valid legal defence, of which he had been unaware. His execution was fixed for one o'clock on the 12th of November. On the evening of the 11th, his father, then in Dublin, was induced to take the opinion of counsel on the legality of his trial and conviction. The opinion given was, that the whole proceedings were illegal, for want of jurisdiction in a court-martial to try the offence; and Mr. Tone (the father) was advised to prepare an affidavit of the circumstances, and to move the King's Bench, at the sitting of the court the following morning, to have the body of his son brought up by a writ of Habeas Corpus. This was accordingly done; but no intimation of the intended proceeding was made to the prisoner. The court at once admitted the case to be one demanding its instant interference; and, while the writ was preparing, despatched the sheriff to the barracks of Dublin to

court.

99

prevent the execution. matic as any of Sir Walter Scott's, is detailed, but scantily, in Howell's The scene upon this occasion, as awfully draState Trials. The sheriff speedily returned from the barracks, and announced that the authorities there refused to obey the order of the This was followed by an intimation that the writ of Habeas Corpus, which had been made out and served by the father, had been equally disregarded. Such was the period, that the general impression now was that the prisoner would be led out to execution in defiance of the court and the law.* This apprehension was legible in the countenance of Lord Kilwarden, the chief-justice; a man who, in the worst of times, preserved a religious respect for the laws. of the scene, describing its effect upon him, observed, that "his agitaA witness tion was magnificent.' The notorious indifference of some of his contemporaries to legal observances, when blood was to be shed, suggested a phrase which would otherwise savour of Irish exaggeration. The sheriff was again despatched to the barracks, with directions to take the prisoner into his custody; and, further, to apprehend the Prevot-marshal and Major Sandys, who had so presumptuously disobeyed the former order of the Court. The sheriff was refused admittance to the barracks. He was, however, given to understand there (and this was the first announcement of the fact), that Wolfe Tone had the night before attempted his life, by cutting his throat with a penknife, and was in such a condition that his removal would occasion instant death. It is by no means improbable that this latter circumstance may have operated fully as much as the injunction of the Court of King's Bench to prevent his execution. The last words recorded of him are his reply to the surgeon, who, upon He died a few days after of his wound. examining the wound, observed that though dangerous it might not prove fatal, the carotid artery having escaped incision-" I am sorry to find that I have been so bad an anatomist."

In perusing these extracts from Wolfe Tone's biography, some classes of our readers cannot fail to have been struck by the ardent terms in which his wife is mentioned, and will be naturally desirous to know what became of her and her infant family after the catastrophe just narrated. We have been enabled to subjoin a few particulars on head. After the death of her husband, she settled in France, where a this pension was assigned her by the Government of that country. She resided in France until the fall of Napoleon, greatly regarded and admired by all who knew her. Her conversation was in a high degree animated and eloquent. She never murmured at her destiny, but sustained it with that cheerful elevation of mind which springs from an early and unabated sympathy with important objects. Her firmness of character may be collected from a single instance. The anecdote is also too honourable to a man whom it was once considered a national duty to dishonour, to be suppressed. A large arrear of her pension, her only means of support, being unpaid, and all her official applications and remonstrances on the subject treated with neglect, she determined upon applying in person to the Emperor for redress. she proceeded alone to the Forest of St. Germain at an hour when she With this view,

The cart and military escort were already in attendance outside the barracks.

knew that he was to pass through it. As soon as the royal equipage appeared, she placed herself in the middle of the road, and compelling the postilions to draw up, advanced to the carriage and told her story. Napoleon no sooner discovered who she was, than he treated her with the most marked kindness and respect. He promised that his first care upon his arrival in Paris should be to order the instant payment of her arrears; and he kept his word. He further delayed for a considerable time, to inquire minutely into the situation of herself and her family, and entreated that in future, whenever she had any object to attain for herself or them, she would not hesitate to make him acquainted with her wishes. She was too self-denying and proud to use this privilege as others would have done. The few favours that she afterwards solicited were immediately granted. These related to her son, her only surviving child, for the rest perished in their infancy. There is one fact connected with him, so highly characteristic of one "of the great men now no more," that it deserves to be recorded. Young Tone, who had industry and literary talents, was anxious, and it was also his mother's wish, to advance himself in a civil line; but the rigorous spirit of French institutions compelled him to become a soldier. While yet a boy, he was placed by the laws of France in a military school, and in due season transferred to the army. He attained the rank of lieutenant; and in the celebrated retreat from Leipsic, where he distinguished himself, acted as aid-de-camp to a general. After the battle of Waterloo he extricated himself from the French service; and, a wealthy connexion of his mother's having invited him to settle in England, he resolved to return to his original country, and, being still extremely young, to try his fortune at the English bar. The only obstacle to this scheme was the fact of his having committed the technical offence of high treason, by serving in the French army. The British ambassador at Paris, upon the circumstances being represented to him, acted like a man of sense and feeling. He transmitted the particulars to his government, and strongly recommended that young Tone should have the protection of a pardon for his involuntary breach of the laws of England. This was refused. Lord Castlereagh (as the family were informed) objecting to the influence which the proximity of a son of Wolfe Tone might have upon the political feelings that prevailed in Ireland. The young man offered to bind himself under any penalty never to set foot in Ireland, but unavailingly. He soon after went to America, where he is now serving in the army of the United States. A son of Wolfe Tone, as an English barrister, would have been perfectly innocuous. If there be any ground for the recent prediction, that America is destined "to settle the Catholic question," he may not prove equally so where he is. His mother is still living, and, if we are rightly informed, is now the wife of an opulent gentleman of Scotland.

VALENTINE.-CANTO II.

BEAUTY! queen in all time, to whom the crown
Of bard and soldier is an offering made;
Before whom Age is warm and Youth bows down,
Priests gloat, and Kings forget ambition's trade;
To thee morality is air,-renown,

Honour and truth, the shadows of a shade
When they oppose thy arbitrary sway-
Yet they who wish thy reign diminish'd may-
I do not-for thy presence oft can bring,
Like music, influence to charm away
Base thoughts and mitigate affliction's sting;
Thou art an emanation from the ray

That lights up heaven, tinting the seraph's wing
And form of glory with a hue more gay—
Strong without strength, o'erreaching without guile,
In tears resistless, mighty with a smile-

In solitude all potent, when the scene

From Nature's decoration adds its charm,
And makes the brilliant seem more bright in sheen,
Set as in precious metal, glowing warm

From its rich case-there's something too, I ween,
Like selfish pleasure when without alarm
Alone, unseen, th' eye feasts on loveliness,
None else partaking it and making less.
And thus it first appear'd to Valentine,
Improved by Nature-with a tenfold power
The sight impress'd him, as it made the shine
Of female grace the stronger at the hour
When no restraint was on it, when the fine
And mellow evening did around it pour
Rich and warm shadows that the background hid,
Heightening the scene of light as Rembrandt did;—
And flinging over it a mantle grey-

A tone romantic which the soul may feel,

But never painter's art nor poet's lay

Can limu as we experience, or reveal The saddening, softening, thrilling ecstasy It makes pervade us-as when roses steal In odours on the eastern Cashmire air,

So sad and killing sweet they almost wake despair.
Nature is the best guide-better than masters
Who point the way among society,

And warn maid-hunting youths of sad disasters,
If they imagine love can needful be
In marriage à la mode; right faithful pastors,
Bred in the base world's university;
Who for love's god preach an attorney vile,
To woo by rent-roll, settlement, and guile.
But I am wandering-Valentine knew not

What are call'd social comforts such as these,
He had them yet to learn-Love first had got,
If any thing he'd lost, his bosom's ease:
He ponder'd much upon the scene, the
spot
Where he had seen those creatures; many days
Past over him, and still in his soul's eye
Their forms were uppermost incessantly.

Walking or sitting-when he woke at night
They were seen the strongest, just as if the mind
Expatiated more, the bodily sight

Being pent up and in the dark confined:

And sleep brought her gay visions clothed in light,
All glorious as reality-combined

Together they engross'd the youth's whole thought—
Eating or hunting all things else were nought.
Deliberating between filial devotion,

And his desire to get another gaze

At what had so o'erpower'd him with emotion-
First he fear'd evil, then a doubt would seize
Upon his mind, as wind upon the ocean

Making it restless-then a wish would raise,
Upon the side he wish'd, a lacking reason

That he'd deem good though 'twere to license treason.
Where was the mischief should he merely go
And cautiously obtain another look?

For he would take his hunting-spear or bow

With which much fiercer creatures he had strookIn case they should attack him; who would know What his intentions were ?-and Nature's book, The only one he'd read, shew'd many things Dangerous alone from mere imaginings. Thus caution's warning reasonably he past, Somewhat as virgins conquer love's first fears By leaping boldly o'er them, when at last, Love or no love, the only chance appearsSteering upon self-power and holding fast Hope's cobweb cords for cables-thus careers Their bark, and so did that of Valentine, Led by an instinct powerful and divine. For there is power encircling woman's form, Experienced once, fixing the soul for everThere is a circle like a glory, warm

With life and joy drawn close around her, never
To be unfelt, once felt, until the storm

Of death the invisible influence shall sever-
There is a spell mysterious, which man's soul
Can tame and bind, give licence or control-
A spell that holds in every nook of being,
Which to evade is fruitless, break is vain-
Like the old Scythian, 'tis a victor fleeing,
And cleaves as closely as the brand of Cain;
It penetrates the heart with eye all-seeing-
It mingles with the blood in
every
it steals into the springs of animation,
And breathes from every object in creation

vein

Then how should Valentine who'd seen her miss
To feel her power!-he could not dream about
The thrilling rapture of the passionate kiss,

In which the very soul is given out—

The eloquence of eyes, the lover's bliss,

The hand's warm pressure, and the lips that pout— The sweet consenting of a virgin heart

The long-drawn sigh breathed forth when lovers part