The death of Brett was a sad mischance, but no one who read the evidence could regard the killing of Brett as an intentional murder.  Legally, it was murder; morally, it was homicide in the rescue of a political captive.  If it were a question of the rescue of the political captives of Varignano, or of political captives in Bourbon, in Naples, or in Poland, or in Paris, even earls might be found so to argue.  Wherein is our sister Ireland less than these?  In executing these men, they would throw down the gauntlet for terrible reprisals.  It was a grave and solemn question.  It had been said by a previous speaker that they were prepared to go to any lengths to save these Irishmen.  They were not.  He wished they were.  If they were, if the men of England, from one end to the other, were prepared to say, “These men shall not be executed,” they would not be.  He was afraid they had not pluck enough for that.  Their moral courage was not equal to their physical strength.  Therefore he would not say that they were prepared to do so.  They must plead ad misericordiam.  He appealed to the press, which represented the power of England; to that press which in its panic-stricken moments had done much harm, and which ought now to save these four doomed men.  If the press demanded it, no Government would be mad enough to resist.  The memory of the blood which was shed in 1798 rose up like a bloody ghost against them to-day.  He only feared that what they said upon the subject might do the poor men more harm than good.  If it were not so, he would coin words that should speak in words of fire.  As it was, he could only say to the Government:  You are strong to-day; you hold these men’s lives in your hands; but if you want to reconcile their country to you, if you want to win back Ireland, if you want to make her children love you—­then do not embitter their hearts still more by taking the lives of these men.  Temper your strength with mercy; do not use the sword of justice like one of vengeance; for the day may come when it shall be broken in your hands, and you yourselves brained by the hilt of the weapon you have so wickedly wielded.”

In October he had printed a plea for Ireland, strong and earnest, asking:—­

“Where is our boasted English freedom when you cross to Kingstown pier?  Where has it been for near two years?  The Habeas Corpus Act suspended, the gaols crowded, the steamers searched, spies listening at shebeen shops for sedition, and the end of it a Fenian panic in England.  Oh, before it be too late, before more blood shall stain the pages of our present history, before we exasperate and arouse bitter animosities, let us try and do justice to our sister land.  Abolish once and for all the land laws, which in their iniquitous operation have ruined her peasantry.  Sweep away the leech-like Church which has sucked her vitality, and has given her back no word even of comfort in her degradation.  Turn her barracks into flax mills, encourage a spirit of