forces on Mallow Junction, but the rapid movement of the Queen’s troops frustrated the design, and the general rising was postponed.  Presently two vagrants were arrested on suspicion at Liverpool, and proved to be two of the most notorious of the Fenian leaders, “Colonel” Kelly and “Captain” Deasy.  It was when these prisoners, remanded for further enquiry, were being driven under a strong escort to gaol that the prison-van was attacked by a rescue-party, and Sergeant Brett, who was in charge of the prisoners, was shot.  The rescuers, Allen, Larkin, and Gould, were executed on the 2nd of November, and on the 1st of December Clerkenwell Prison was blown up, in an ineffectual attempt to liberate the Fenian prisoners confined in it.  On the 20th of December Matthew Arnold wrote to his mother, “We are in a strange uneasy state in London, and the profound sense I have long had of the hollowness and insufficiency of our whole system of administration does not inspire me with much confidence.”  The “strange uneasy state” was not confined to London, but prevailed everywhere.  Obviously England was threatened by a mysterious and desperate enemy, and no one seemed to know that enemy’s headquarters or base of operations.  The Secret Societies were actively at work in England, Ireland, France, and Italy.  It was suspected then—­it is known now, and chiefly through Cluseret’s revelations—­that the isolated attacks on barracks and police-stations were designed for the purpose of securing arms and ammunition; and, if only there had been a competent General to command the rebel forces, Ireland would have risen in open war.  But a competent General was exactly what the insurgents lacked; for Cluseret, having surveyed the whole situation with eyes trained by a lifelong experience of war, decided that the scheme was hopeless, and returned to Paris.

Such were some—­for I have only mentioned a few—­of the incidents which made 1867 a memorable year.  On my own memory it is stamped with a peculiar clearness.

On Wednesday morning, the 2nd of October, 1867, as we were going up to First School at Harrow, a rumour flew from mouth to mouth that the drill-shed had been attacked by Fenians.  Sure enough it had.  The caretaker (as I said before) lived some way from the building, and when he went to open it in the morning he found that the door had been forced and the place swept clean of arms and ammunition.  Here was a real sensation, and we felt for a few hours “the joy of eventful living”; but later in the day the evening papers, coming down from London, quenched our excitement with a greater.  It appeared that during the night of the 1st of October, drill-sheds and armouries belonging to the Volunteer regiments had been simultaneously raided north, south, east, and west of London, and all munitions of war spirited away, for a purpose which was not hard to guess.  Commenting on this startling occurrence, the papers said:  “We have reason to believe that one