Part 59 (2/2)

Life, they say, is a life of trials, and so may it be said of this tale--at least of the conclusion of it; for we feel that it devolves upon us once more to solicit the presence of our readers to the same prison in which the Red Rapparee and Sir Robert Whitecraft received their sentence of doom.

As it is impossible to close the mouth or to silence the tongue of fame, so we may a.s.sure our readers, as we have before, that the: history of the loves of those two celebrated individuals, to wit, w.i.l.l.y Reilly and the far-famed _Cooleen Bawn_, had given an interest to the coming trial such as was never known within the memory of man, at that period, nor perhaps equalled since. The Red Rapparee, Sir Robert Whitecraft, and all the other celebrated ”villains of that time, have nearly perished out of tradition itself, whilst those of our hero and heroine are still fresh in the feelings of the Connaught and Northern peasantry, at whose hearths, during the winter evenings, the rude but fine old ballad that commemorated that love is still sung with sympathy, and sometimes, as we can I testify, with tears. This is fame. One circ.u.mstance, however, which deepened the interest felt by the people, told powerfully against the consistency of the _Cooleen Bawn_, which was, that she had resolved to come forward that day to bear evidence against; her lover. Such was the general impression received from her father, and the attorney Doldrum, who conducted the trial against Reilly, although our readers are well aware that on this point they spoke without authority. The governor of the prison, on going that morning to conduct him to the bar, said:

”I am sorry, Mr. Reilly, to be the bearer of bad news; but as the knowledge of it may be serviceable to you or your lawyers, I think I ought to mention it to you.”

”Pray, what is it?” asked Reilly.

”Why, sir, it is said to be a fact that the _Cooleen Bawn_ has proved false and treacherous, and is coming this day to bear her testimony against you.”

Reilly replied with a smile of confidence, which the darkness of the room prevented the other from seeing, ”Well, Mr. O'Shaugh-nessy, even if she does, it cannot be helped; have you heard what the nature of her evidence is likely to be?”

”No; it seems her father and Doldrum the attorney asked her, and she would not tell them; but she said she had made her mind up to attend the trial and see justice done. Don't be cast down, Mr. Reilly, though, upon my soul, I think she ought to have stood it out in your favor to the last.”

”Come,” said Reilly, ”I am ready; time will tell, Mr. O'Shaughnessy, and a short time too; a few hours now, and all will know the result.”

”I hope in G.o.d it may be in your favor, Mr. Reilly.”

”Thank you, O'Shaughnessy; lead on; I am ready to attend you.”

The jail was crowded even to suffocation; but this was not all. The street opposite the jail was nearly as much crowded as the jail itself, a moving, a crus.h.i.+ng ma.s.s of thousands having been collected to abide and hear the issue. It was with great difficulty, and not without the aid of a strong military force, that a way could be cleared for the judge as he approached the prison. The crowd was silent and pa.s.sive, but in consequence of the report that the _Cooleen Bawn_ was to appear against Reilly, a profound melancholy and an expression of deep sorrow seemed to brood over it. Immediately after the judge's carriage came that of the squire, who was accompanied by his daughter, Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, for Helen had insisted that her father should procure their attendance. A private room in the prison had, by previous arrangement, been prepared for them, and to this they were conducted by a back way, so as to avoid the crus.h.i.+ng of the crowd. It was by this way also that the judge and lawyers entered the body of the court-house, without pa.s.sing through the congregated ma.s.s.

At length the judge, having robed himself, took his seat on the bench, and, on casting his eye over the court-house, was astonished at the dense mult.i.tude that stood before him. On looking at the galleries, he saw that they were crowded with ladies of rank and fas.h.i.+on. Every thing having been now ready, the lawyers, each with his brief before him, and each with a calm, but serious and meditative aspect, the Clerk of the Crown cried out, in a voice which the hum of the crowd rendered necessarily loud:

”Mr. Jailer, put William Reilly to the bar.”

At that moment a stir, a murmur, especially among the ladies in the gallery, and a turning of faces in the direction of the bar, took place as Reilly came forward, and stood erect in front of the judge. The very moment he made his appearance all eyes were fastened on him, and whatever the prejudices may have been against the _Cooleen Bawn_ for falling in love with a Papist, that moment of his appearance absolved her from all--from every thing. A more n.o.ble or majestic figure never stood at that or any other bar. In the very prime of manhood, scarcely out of youth, with a figure like that of Antinous, tall, muscular, yet elegant, brown hair of the richest shade, a lofty forehead, features of the most manly cast, but exquisitely formed, and eyes which, but for the mellow softness of their expression, an eagle might have envied for their transparent brilliancy. The fame of his love for the _Cooleen Bawn_ had come before him. The judge surveyed him with deep interest; so did every eye that could catch a view of his countenance; but, above all, were those in the gallery riveted upon him with a degree of interest--and, now that they had seen him, of sympathy--which we shall not attempt to describe. Some of them were so deeply affected that they could not suppress their tears, which, by the aid of their handkerchiefs, they endeavored to conceal as well as they could.

Government, in this case, as it was not one of political interest, did not prosecute. A powerful bar was retained against Reilly, but an equally powerful one was engaged for him, the leading lawyer being, as we have stated, the celebrated advocate Fox, the Curran of his day.

The charge against him consisted of only two counts--that of robbing Squire Folliard of family jewels of immense value, and that of running away with his daughter, a ward of Chancery, contrary to her consent and inclination, and to the laws in that case made and provided.

The first witness produced was the sheriff--and, indeed, to state the truth, a very reluctant one was that humane gentleman on the occasion.

Having been sworn, the leading counsel proceeded:

”You are the sheriff of this county?”

”I am.”

”Are you aware that jewellery to a large amount was stolen recently from Mr. Folliard?”

”I am not.”

”You are not? Now, is it not a fact, of which you were an eye-witness, that the jewellery in question was found upon the person of the prisoner at the bar, in Mr. Folliard's house?”

”I must confess that I saw him about to be searched, and that a very valuable case of jewellery was found upon his person.”

”Yes, found upon his person--a very valuable case of jewellery, the property of Mr. Folliard, found upon his person; mark that, gentlemen of the jury.”

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