purposes that a few short weeks before had gladdened the hearts of its people.  Calmly and deliberately with folded arms O’Brien walked through the streets, and entered the Thurles Railway Station.  He wore a black hat, a blue boat cloak, in which he was rather tightly muffled, and a light plaid trousers; in his hand he carried a large black stick.  He walked to the ticket office and paid his fare to Limerick; then wrapping himself up in his cloak and folding his arms, again he walked slowly along the platform awaiting the arrival of the train.  He had resolved on surrendering himself for trial, but he wished to pay one last visit to his home and family.  That gratification however was denied him, he was recognised by an Englishman named Hulme, a railway guard; in an instant he was surrounded by police and detectives, and torn of with brutal violence to gaol.  That same night an express train flashed northwards through the fog and mist bearing O’Brien a prisoner to Dublin.  In the carriage in which he was placed sat General M’Donald, a Sub-Inspector of Constabulary and four policemen.  On entering the train a pistol was placed at O’Brien’s head, and he was commanded not to speak on peril of his life.  Disregarding the injunction, he turned to M’Donald and asked him why he was so scandalously used.  The General “had a duty to perform,” and “his orders should be obeyed.”  “I have played the game and lost,” said O’Brien, “and I am ready to pay the penalty of having failed; I hope that those who accompanied me may be dealt with in clemency; I care not what happens to myself.”

On Thursday, September 28th, he was arraigned before a Special Commission on a charge of high treason at Clonmel.  The trial lasted ten days, and ended in a verdict of guilty.  It excited unprecedented interest throughout the country, and there are many of its incidents deserving of permanent record.  Amongst the witnesses brought forward by the crown was John O’Donnell, a comfortable farmer, who resided near Ballingarry.  “I won’t be sworn,” he said on coming on the table, “or give evidence under any circumstances.  You may bring me out and put a file of soldiers before me, and plant twenty bullets in my breast, but while I have a heart there I will never swear for you.”  He expiated his patriotism by a long imprisonment.  Nor was this a solitary instance of heroism; Richard Shea, a fine looking young peasant, on being handed the book declared that “he would not swear against such a gentleman,” and he too was carried off to pass years within a British dungeon.  But their sacrifices were unavailing; of evidence there was plenty against O’Brien; the police were overflowing with it, and the eloquence and ability of Whiteside were powerless to save him from a verdict of guilty.

The papers of the time are full of remarks on the firmness and self-possession displayed by O’Brien throughout the trial.  Even the announcement of the verdict failed to disturb his composure, and when the usual question was asked he replied with calmness and deliberation: