SKETCHES OF DUBLIN IN THE LAST CENTURY

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 104, 24 April 1875, Page 8

SKETCHES OF DUBLIN IN THE LAST CENTURY

THE SPOT WHERE EMMET DIED. Stjch a place, to look at it as we are doing now, prompts tlie mind to thoughts of nothing save good-mil and geatle peace, but the memory it fills us with is, in truth, of a deed of blood, nevermore to he forgotten in this land. Here, in front of the church, two and seventy years ago, in the flush of a September day, when the Irish sky was tender, and Irish air was soft and sweet, the sentence of British law upon the life of Kobert Emmet was carried into full effect. One of Ms depots for munitions of war — the house now m the occupation of Hampton, Leedom & Co., and the yard to the rear of it — stood opposite to this church on the other side of the street, and hence the spot was fixed on for sensational effects by the instruments of power. Rude was the gibbet that took the life of Ireland's gallant son. Some barrels were placed together in the middle of the street, and on these a few planks laid side by side formed a platform lasting enough for the bloody work in hand. Prom this platform rose two uprights, and a beam from one to the other upheld the hangman's rope, under which a single plank, supported at tlie ends on ledges, supplied the final foothold of the victim. When Emmet stepped out' of the carriage that had brought him from Kilmainham gaol, he mounted the ladder ainio3t without assistance, though his arms were tightly bound. His words to the crowd, which included fellow-students not a few, who had witnessed his brilliant triumphs as an orator in Trinity College, were brief and calmly spoken. "My friends," said he, <c I die in peace, and with sentiments of universal love and kindness towards all men." Then he shook hands with some men about him, gave his watch to the executioner, took off his necktie, and helped to adjust the rope around his neck. He was placed upon the plank. The cap was drawn over his face. A moment afterwards he was seen to lift up his manacled hands, raise the cap as far as he could, bend down towards the executioner and whisper. A thought had struck him. Standing erect, he held a handkerchief in his hand. He wished to dictate the instant of his death by letting the handkerchief fall. There was a pause. Then the hangman spoke to him : " Are you ready, sir ?" " Not yet." From under the hideous cap the sound of the words came muffled. Another pause. Dead silence all around. No signal from the manacled hand. Again : " Are you ready, sir ?" / "Not yet/ Alas ! it was hard to give the sign. A third time came the terrible, question: " Are you ready, sir ?" The great spirit hovered flutteringly on the verge of the unknown life. "Not—" Ere another word could be said, the plank was tilted off, and presently all was over. All was over with the gallant Emmet, but not yet with his sentence. The dead body waa taken down and beheaded; the head, grasped by the hair, was carried around the platform by the executioner, who cried out to the horrified people, " This is the head of Robert Emmet, a traitor." Ay, traitor to the alien, with his store of bribes and torments, but leal to the cause of his native land ! The hero's blood, streaming down from his headless body, was lapped up by the dogs of the street, but men aud women also came to the scene of that brutal spectacle, and, coming, they dipped their hankerchiefs in the martyr's " blood for reverential memory of his name. His body, taken back to Kilmainham gaol, lay waiting for his friends to claim it. Friends ! What friends ? His father had been dead for months. His mother, by the mercy of God, passed out from a. life of grief a day or two before himself. His brother was beyond the ocean. The brave men whose hearts were with, him were safe in British gaols, and those outside who would gladly have done honor to his clay were too fearful to speak or move, "so full of dismal terror was the time." He was buried in Bully's Acre, a graveyard for criminals and paupers. It is' thought that his remains were in secret and by night removed toSt. Michan's churchyard, and that a very large slab, with no inscription upon it, which is laid along a grave about midway on the left-hand side of the walk from the church to the wall at the extremity of the churchyard, marks the spot where lie the ashes of ( him who said, " Let my tomb remain uninscribed until other times, I and other men can do justice to my character."

A baphsodt. — Oil ! would I were a London newßboy, for then I shoxild be the happiest fellow in the 'World.' I should have all the ' News of the World,' and be ' Independent ' of the ' Times ' and ' Public Opinion.' I should, with the eyes of an ' Argus,' be an ' Observer ' and an ' Examiner ' of events, and ' Chronicle ' the ' Daily News' in my 'Journal.' I should travel with the speed of an ' Arrow,' like ' Mercury ' all over the ' Globe.' As a ' Spectator,' I should have the ' Sun ' -whenever I liked, and study the ' Stars ' both ' Morning ' and c Evening.' I should ' Despatch ' my ' Courier ' at 'Peep o' Day' by the 'Express' or 'Daily Telegraph,' with his ' Budget ' to those who lead a ' Sporting Life ' or spend a ' Sunday at Home.' As the leading ' London Journal,' I would make my ' Gazette ' the ' Advent ' of ' Good Words ' and ' Fun,' which would raise me to such a ' Standard ' in the ' Era ' of the ' World,! that I should become a ' Welcome Guest ' whenever I had a ' Leisure Hour ' to take ' Punch ' with 'John Bull.' As ' Guardian ' of the ' British Constitution,' I should be always at my ' Post,' and, as an ' Economist ' I would'have the ' Commercial Directory of England ' so arranged that every ' British Workman ' should he well paid, for hiß labor • Once a Week' and be happy c All the Year Hound.'