subsidies in both Houses; that the aim of the Catholics in questioning the right of some of the other party to seats in the House, was not to deny the King the needful supplies, but rather, by obtaining a majority, to be able to pass these bills, and lay a greater obligation on the King than was at all judicious, considering the strength of the Catholics. Delay would but weaken the Protestant party. Therefore his opinion was, that the bill should be brought forward the next morning. The President of Connaught replied that, now the Lord Deputy having delivered his vote, none of them should dare to argue against him; otherwise, he conceived, many of them would not venture to bring it forward so soon. Loftus, the Chancellor, declared that he was so convinced of the wisdom of the Deputy's proposal, that even if it had been different, he would have craved leave to dissent. To the President's remark implying that, if any want of success followed from the undue haste, the blame would rest with the mover, Wentworth replied that " he cared very little what resolution the House would fall on, as he served too just and gracious a master ever to fear to be answerable for the success of affairs in contingence, so long as he did sincerely endeavour that which he conceived to be for the best. That there were two ends he had his eye on; and one he would infallibly attain to—either a submission of the people to his Majesty's good demands, or a just occasion of breach; and either would content the King. The first was evidently best for them; a breach better for the King than any supply they could give him in Parliament. His master was not a prince that either could or would be denied just things. The course he advised was that the Master of the Rolls should move the supply upon general grounds, enforcing it with the best arguments he could, and divide the House on it. If it was carried, the House would at once go into Committee and not leave until the supply was voted. If the motion was lost, then the Council should again consider how to proceed." He then broke up the meeting, telling them that his master expected every member should, in performance of his promise, speak heartily for the six subsidies to be paid in four years, and prepare his friends with all his power to aid in the same work.

The next day, Friday the 18th, the Master of the Rolls moved the question in the House with great ability. A division took place, and it was carried by a majority of twenty-eight voices. The House immediately went into Committee: the Opposition, fearing to lose their share of the honour and thanks, feeling, besides, how powerless their efforts were to purge the House, came round with cheerfulness; and all, with one voice, concluded the gift of the six subsidies as was desired, before twelve o'clock.* "The rest of the session we have enter

* In former times a subsidy in Ireland meant a decennial tax of a mark—i.e thirteen shillings and four pence-on every ploughland which had been tilled, a condition which opened a way to endless frauds in the collection. On this occasion the subsidy was changed into the payment of four shillings in the pound on land, and two shillings and eight pence on goods and stock, after the manner of England. The contribution of the Commons in this way amounted to about £40,000; the subsidy of the Lords was assessed at 4 per cent. on their incomes, and produced £6,000.Carte's "Life of Ormonde," I. 62. Lingard, VI. 336.

tained them and spun them out in discourses, but have kept them from concluding anything. No other laws passed but the two acts of subsidies, and that other short law for confirming all such compositions as are or shall be made upon the Commission of Defective Titles. And thus we have already, God be praised, obtained more than I ever durst put you in hope of, which I can, next to his Majesty's wisdom, ascribe to nothing so much as the secrecy wherewith the business had been carried on all sides."* For some time a breach was likely to take place between the two Houses on points of etiquette. A conference had been arranged between a committee of each House. That of the Lords came to the place appointed and waited for nearly two hours; the Commons neither came nor sent any excuse for their absence. The Lords resented such conduct, and refused to hold the meeting until reparation had been made by the Commons admitting it to be their duty to be the first at the place, and to stand during the conference uncovered whilst the Lords sat covered. The matter was made up by the Commons sending Sir George Radcliffe to make an apology for their absence, which, he assured the Lords, was owing to the unexpected length of a debate on very important business.t "For my part," the Deputy writes to Coke, "I did not lay it very near my heart to make them agree, as having heretofore seen the effects which follow when they are in strict understanding or at difference among themselves. Besides, I saw plainly that keeping them at a distance, I did avoid a petition for the Graces, which infallibly they would have done; which now comes only singly from the Commons. I conceive it will be very easy the next session either to agree, or keep them still asunder."

The Lords employed themselves in debating upon various laws and orders, which they demanded the King's Attorney to draw them up into formal statutes. Wentworth, not wishing to enter into a dispute with them until the subsidies were passed, waited till the last day of the session to inform them that they had acted in direct violation of Poynings' Act. Their good faith would, no doubt, excuse them; but he felt bound to register his protest against any invasion of the King's prerogative in this tender and important particular. He besought their Lordships to be better advised for the future, and not to exceed that power which was left them by that law, viz. a liberty only to offer by petition to the Deputy and Council such considerations as they might conceive to be good for the Commonwealth, by them to be transmitted for laws or stayed as to them should seem best." The Peers withdrew their proposals, and the protest was entered without opposition as a warning to the Upper House for the future.t

However willing the Houses showed themselves to grant the subsidies, they did not cease "to press extremely" for the "Graces," especially for that which entitled a possession of sixty years to pass unquestioned by the Crown. They named a Committee to prepare

Letter of the Lord Deputy to Mr. Secretary Coke.-I. 278.

† Carte's "Life of Ormonde," I. 63.

The Protest is given in full at p. 290, Vol. I. of "Letters and Despatches."

petitions for the next session. The public mind was sufficiently aroused already on the subject; and further discussion would but increase the difficulty of refusal. Wentworth, with the assent of the Council, wrote to the Committee of the Commons that he and the Council could not grant the confirmation of titles asked for, or any other graces prejudicial to the Crown; rather they would, as faithful servants, advise his Majesty that he was not bound either in justice, honour, or conscience to grant them. And so "putting themselves between them and his Majesty's pretended engagements, they would take the hard part wholly and bear it themselves."

The Parliament was prorogued on the 2nd of August. King's session, as it is called, lasted just eighteen days. reserve for our next issue the history of the second or session."

(To be continued.)

Thus the We must the people's

D. M.

THE hour allotted them to prepare for death was passed by the prisoners in a shed adjoining that in which they had been condemned. Few words passed between them. MacDermott sat silent and suffering in a corner of the damp hut. His thoughts wandered unceasingly from the solemn subject that claimed them at the moment-the account of his life that was about to be demanded of him-to his distant home, and to the loved friends who should, perhaps, never know how or where he died. Well, it was better that they should not. The anxiety of doubt would be more endurable for them than the anguish of certainty. They would wonder, for a time, that no news came from him, but they would at length grow tired of waiting; they would think of him as one whose return might be looked for some day, whom it would be time enough to mourn when they were assured he was dead. It was fortunate there was not to be any witness of his death, who would carry the news to his comrades in arms, and thus there was little chance of its ever reaching the friends to whom it would cause the deepest sorrow.

Sometimes, too, the prisoner thought of the orphan inhabitants of the castle, so near, yet separated from him by an open grave which he was never to cross. In the depth of his own affliction he could spare a pitying thought for the lot of those hapless maidens. He felt that he bore with him to his doom the gratitude of these two gentle hearts, and this consciousness had a soothing effect upon his proud spirit, which more than once had grown impatient with his lot. How would they fare when he was gone? The mischance which had condemned him to death had left them without a protector other than their cousin. The thought made him start up with a quick, impatient movement which startled the stolid sentry at the door, and caused him to lay his finger on the trigger of his pistol.

MacDermott speedily recollected himself, and turned towards his fellow-prisoner. He was struck with the change that had taken place in him. O'Duigenan was no longer the gay, reckless trooper he had been but a minute before. He was kneeling on the damp straw, his great, rough hands crossed upon his iron-covered breast. His helmet lay on the ground beside him, and his unkempt hair streamed unheeded over his honest, sunburnt face. Heedless of everything about him, he was praying in the tenderly pathetic language peculiar to the prayers of the Irish peasant. There was no mark of craven fear in his attitude of adoration-no trembling in his manly voice. He prayed for forgiveness for the errors of his life, and hoped that he would be admitted to mercy to which he did not profess any claim. He prayed, too, that the Consoler of the afflicted would visit the little hut by the shores of Lough Key, where an old woman would soon be weeping for the son who should not return to her any more from the wars, that He would shield her from the dangers of that stormy time, and let her die in peace in their poor home. With passionate ardour the condemned captive pleaded with Heaven the cause of the land for which he had fought and bled, and for which he was about to die. In a strain of wild, poetic, prayerful sorrow he deplored the evils that had come upon her, and begged that a ray of her old glory might shine upon her again; that victory might once more follow her standard; that the "Red Hand" might crush its foes, and be again what it had been the pride and the stay of the nation.

MacDermott was awed by the grandeur which the character of his simple companion seemed suddenly to have assumed. He had never before been privileged to look into the depths of generous and tender feeling which lie deep down in the untutored Irish heart, covered over, in most cases, by a gay and reckless exterior, existing there unknown to the possessor, and revealed only when some great crisis in his life unveils the secrets of his nature. The artless pathos of the trooper's prayer, and the confiding sincerity of his faith, touched MacDermott more deeply than any appeal ever before made to his religious instincts. Sinking on his knees beside his companion, he said in a low voice:

"Pray, too, for me, O'Duigenan. You will be heard where, I fear, I should not."

The soldier started at the interruption.

"Pray for you, captain ?" he said, after a pause. "Ay, willingly would I do that, or anything else you asked. But the prayers of an ignorant trooper like me are of little use. I was taught to pray long ago when Chichester's riders were abroad. I learned badly, and I have not practised much since. I only stammer out what comes into my head, hoping that God will pity my ignorance."

"How I wish I were wise with that ignorance, honest fellow!" said MacDermott, in a half soliloquy. "It would better help me to meet the bullets of these assassins than the maxims of fashionable piety I have had the benefit of so often."

"They say it makes up for everything, captain," suggested his companion, with simple earnestness, "to die for the good cause. The time is passing. A few prayers," he added, with his old smile, "just to warn the saints we are coming, and then we'll meet these ruffians with a bold face. For the honour of the Red Hand' we must defy them to the last."

In moments when men are standing upon the brink of life, and are forced onward across the dread limit that bounds the unknown hereafter, the power of Faith becomes paramount. A dark mystery lies before, whose secret human science cannot unravel, whose terrors human courage cannot disregard, though human apathy sometimes does. The qualities that win pre-eminence in life, and lift men to the leadership of their fellows, are here utterly at fault. The light which religion sheds around the soul alone enables the eye to penetrate the gloom ahead, and gives strength to advance fearlessly. It is not wonderful, then, that at such moments those to whom the gift has not been vouchsafed, or who have neglected to use it, should seek the guidance of others their inferiors in earthly accomplishment but surpassing them in the clearness and intensity of their supernatural belief.

MacDermott humbly joined in the devotions of his companion. The spirit of resignation and confidence which pervaded the manner of the poor trooper seemed gradually to infuse itself into his soul. His impatience as well as his despondency melted gradually away. The tramp of a detachment of dismounted cavalry filing into the yard fell upon his ear. He knew what the sound of those jingling spurs and clanking sabres foreboded. His hour was come. But no storm of anger or impatience, no cloud of doubt or fear rose within him. He continued to listen silently to the half-whispered prayers which O'Duigenan was still pouring forth. When at last the rattle of armour was heard beside him, and the glare of torches lit up the darkness of the hut, and a rough voice announced to him that the hour of preparation had expired, he rose, without a word, and followed the messenger into the yard.

The scene that met him there would have appalled a less manly heart. A line of dismounted cuirassiers was drawn up at one side of the enclosure, their pistols resting on their arms, their bodies immovable, as if they had been suddenly transformed into statues. The glare of many torches lit up the farmyard, giving a ghastly glitter to the armour of the rigid line of troopers, and bringing out with dis