I have fixed upon the State Trials as an epoch in this history, marking a distinct phase in the character of the Repeal Association.  The proceedings of that extraordinary inquest are familiar to most men.  It is not my intention to refer to them, except as a sort of pivot upon which public sentiment veered.  When they were commenced there was untold wealth in the coffers of the Association.  There was still a greater store of public purpose in the country.  Threats, hot and violent, had been uttered.  Pledges had been made which could only be violated in shame and death.  A challenge had been given from which it would be baseness to shrink.  The world looked on in wonder and awe.  Each successive act was more and more gigantic; each resolution bolder.  When the meeting at Clontarf was projected, the heart of the nation beat quick and hotly.  Yet no man was surprised; none condemned.  The associations of the spot suggested a perilous future.  Still the hazards it prefigured created no alarm; the directions of a sub-committee respecting the military order of the processions towards the place of meeting was but the expression of the public hope that lay at every heart.

While the bustle of preparation was at its height; while the flushed capital was dizzy with wild excitement, a proclamation appeared on the walls—­’twas nearly evening’s dusk—­forbidding the proposed demonstration.  For that proclamation there was no law; scarcely any object.  It could not render the meeting illegal.  It would not entitle the chief magistrate to disperse it; for if it were proved to be constitutional, he would be answerable before the laws of his country.  It was simply a warning utterly inefficient for good or ill in any trial that may follow.  In this state of things, a responsibility of the greatest magnitude devolved on the Association, or its committee.  They were hastily summoned or came together spontaneously.  Alarm, surprise, disappointment, chagrin, swayed their hurried consultation.  The decision was weak, and it was fatal.  It was only carried by a small majority, but in that majority was the great spirit of the confederacy.  Never after did he stand on equal terms with his adversary.  He was driven before him amidst broken hopes, and broken promises—­his challenge, a boast unfulfilled, his prestige withered.

What the issue might have been if the decision were different, it would be rash to conjecture.  It might have been carnage; it might have been a triumph.  The historian has nothing to do with conjecture.  But in this case was involved a mighty question, palpable, self-created and conclusive.  The wisest forethought may fail to arrive at a sound conclusion as to the result of holding the meeting.  The risk existed, no doubt, that some ill-disposed or hired villains, or even rash enthusiasts may provoke the troops, and thus afford a pretext for carnage.  But opposed to that were the dictates of prudence, honour and fear on the part of those in command of the army; and