The history of the Confederation, such as its importance deserves, is beyond the scope of my present purpose. Others may undertake to vindicate for its proceedings that enduring place in the annals of the country to which they are eminently entitled. Here, but a few words can be said.
As soon as the eclat of the first meetings had subsided, and the business began to assume a more routine character, the moral-force disciples, hitherto kept in awe by the mustered strength of the seceders and their followers, determined to give a practical illustration of the sincerity of their pledge by breaking the skulls of their opponents. On the first occasion, their onslaught was vigorous and successful. Blood was shed, and heads opened. This was deemed no infraction of the holy vow recorded in the books of the Association; for the body held its meetings without exercising its undoubted prerogative of “blotting out” the scene of outrage “from the map of Ireland.” On the second occasion, the wreckers of Conciliation Hall were met as they deserved, and after a short skirmish fled through the city.
The success of the new Confederacy was certain, but slow. But, in the same proportion as their principles obtained predominance, the hatred of the Old Irelanders became unscrupulous and implacable. Often in the house of prayer, they heard themselves denounced; often in the streets, they heard their names used as by-words of scorn. Mr. O’Connell disappeared from the scene of his glory, which relapsed to the guidance of his intolerant and intemperate son. Some attempts were made to force him to a reconciliation, which in public he appeared to yield to, but which in private he exercised his utmost cunning to baffle. In