It would take long to describe the paroxysms of excitement, panic,
and agitation that raged in the English mind within the period that
intervened between the committal of the prisoners and the date at
which we are now arrived. Nothing was heard of but the Fenians;
nothing was talked of but the diabolical plots and murderous designs
they were said to be preparing. The Queen was to be shot at; Balmoral
was to be burned down; the armouries had been attacked; the barracks
were undermined; the gas works were to be exploded, the Bank blown
up, the water poisoned. Nothing was too infernal or too wicked for the
Fenians, and every hour brought some addition to the monstrous stock
of canards. North and south, east and west, the English people were in
a ferment of anxious alarm; and everywhere Fenianism was cursed as an
unholy thing to be cut from society as an ulcerous sore--to be banned
and loathed as a pestilence--a foul creation with murder in its glare,
and the torch of the incendiary burning in its gory hand. Under these
circumstances, there was little chance that an unprejudiced jury could
be empanelled for the trial of the Irish prisoners; and their counsel,
seeing the danger, sought to avent it by a motion for the postponement
of the trials. The Home Secretary was memorialed on the subject,
and the application was renewed before the judges in court, but the
efforts to obtain justice were fruitless. The blood of the British
lion was up; with bloodshot eyes and bristling mane he stood awaiting
his prey, and there was danger in trifling with his rage. Even Special
commissicns were voted slow, and a cry arose for martial law, Lynch
law, or any law that would give the blood of the victims without
hindrance or delay. So the appeal for time was spurned; the government
was deaf to all remonstrance; British bloodthirstiness carried the
day, and the trials proceeded without interruption.

We have not patience to rehearse calmly the story of these trials,