On the second day of the trial the jury brought in their verdict, declaring the prisoner guilty, but at the same time recommending him to the merciful consideration of the court, because of the humanity which he had displayed towards the men whom he had in his power.  The finding took no one by surprise, and did not seem to trouble the prisoner in the faintest degree.  During the former trial some shades of anxiety might have been detected on his features; the charge of “murder” was grievous to him, but when that was happily disposed of, the world seemed to brighten before him, and he took his treason-felony trial cheerily.  He knew what the verdict on the evidence would be, and he was conscious that the penalty to be imposed on him would be no trivial one; he felt that it was hard to part from faithful comrades, and dear friends, and, above all, from the young wife whom he had married only a few short months before; but then it was in Ireland’s cause he was about to suffer, and for that he could endure all.

And yet, Ireland was not his native land.  He was born in Cincinnatti, Ohio, in the year 1841.  But his parents, who were natives of Castle-Lyons, near Fermoy, in the County Cork, were true children of Erin, and they taught their son to love, even as they did themselves, that green isle far away, from which a hard fate had compelled them to roam.  Patriotism, indeed, was hereditary in the family.  The great-grandfather of our hero suffered death for his fidelity to the cause of Ireland in the memorable year 1798; and a still-more remarkable fact is that Captain Mackay—­or William Francis Lomasney, to call him by his real name—­in leaving America for Ireland in 1865 to take part in the contemplated rising, merely took the place which his father wished and intended to occupy.  The young man induced him, to remain at home, and claimed for himself the post of danger.  Well may that patriotic father be proud of such a son.

When called upon for such remarks as he might have to offer on his own behalf, Captain Mackay, without any of the airs of a practised speaker, but yet with a manner that somehow touched every heart and visibly affected the humane and upright judge who sat on the bench, delivered the following address:—­

“My lord—­What I said last evening I think calls for a little explanation.  I then said I was fully satisfied with the verdict—­that it was a fair and just one.  I say so still, but I wish to state that I consider it only so in accordance with British law, and that it is not in accordance with my ideas of right and justice.  I feel that with the strong evidence there was against me, according to British law, the jury could not, as conscientious men, do otherwise.  I feel that.  I thank them again for their recommendation to mercy, which, I have no doubt, was prompted by a good intention towards me, and a desire to mitigate what they considered would he a long and painful imprisonment.  Still, I