Many of our readers may be led to imagine that the terrors of Mary O’Regan were altogether unproportioned to anything that might be apprehended from the approach of the officers of justice, or, at least to those who came to execute the law.  The state of Irish society at that time, however, was very different from what it is now, or has been for the last twenty years.  At that period one party was in the ascendant and the other directly under their feet; the former was in the possession of irresponsible power, and the other, in many matters, without any tribunal whatsoever to which, they could appeal.  The Established Church of Ireland was then a sordid corporation, whose wealth was parcelled out, not only without principle, but without shame, to the English and Irish aristocracy, but principally to the English.  Church livings were not filled with men remarkable for learning and piety, but awarded to political prostitution, and often to young rakes of known and unblushing profligacy, connected with families of rank.  The consequence was, that a gross secular spirit, replete with political hatred and religious rancor, was the only principle which existed in the place of true religion.  That word was then, except in rare cases indeed, a dead letter; for such was the state of Protestant society then, and for several years afterwards, that it mattered not how much or how little a man of that creed knew about the principles of his own church; and as it was administered the less he knew of it the better—­all that was necessary to constitute a good Protestant was “to hate the Pope.”  In truth—­for it cannot be concealed, and we write it with deep pain and sorrow—­the Established Church of Ireland was then, in point of fact, little else than a mere political engine held by the English government for the purpose of securing the adherence of those who were willing to give support to their measures.

In such a state of things, then, it need not be wondered at, that, neglected and secularized as it was at the period we write of, it should produce a class of men, whose passions in everything connected with religion and politics were intolerant and exclusive.  Every church, no matter what its creed, unfortunately has its elect of such professors.  Nor were these confined to the lower classes alone—­far from it.  The squire and nobleman were too frequently both alike remarkable for the exhibition of such principles.  Of this class was our friend M’Clutchy, who was now a justice of the peace, a grand juror, and a captain of cavalry—­his corps having, a little time before, been completed.  With this posse, as the officers of justice, the pranks he played were grievous to think of or to remember.  He and they were, in fact, the terror of the whole Roman Catholic population; and from the spirit in which they executed justice, were seldom called by any other name than that of M’Clutchy’s Bloodhounds.  Upon the present occasion they were unaccompanied by M’Clutchy himself—­a circumstance which was not to be regretted, as there was little to be expected from his presence but additional brutality and insult.