ld up before their
eyes, menaces were freely resorted to, but amongst them the government
sought vainly for an informer. Many, of them died in captivity or in
exile; their homes were broken up; their wives and children left
destitute and friendless; but the words that would give them liberty
and wealth, and terminate the sufferings of themselves and their
families were never spoken. Had O'Brien chosen to escape from the
country like Doheny, O'Gorman, Dillon and other of his friends, it is
probable he might have done so. He resolved however on facing the
consequence of his acts and sharing the fate of the Irish rebel to the
bitter end.

The rain fell cold and drearily in the deserted streets of Thurles on
the night which saw the arrest of William Smith O'Brien. Away over the
shadowy mountains in the distance, the swimming vapours cast their
shroud, wrapping in their chilling folds the homes of the
hunger-stricken prostrate race that sat by their fireless hearths. The
autumn gale swept over the desolate land as if moaning at the ruin and
misery that cursed it, and wailing the dirge of the high hopes and
ardent 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