successive act was more and more gigantic; each resolution bolder. When
the meeting at Clontarf was projected, the heart of the nation beat
quick and hotly. Yet no man was surprised; none condemned. The
associations of the spot suggested a perilous future. Still the hazards
it prefigured created no alarm; the directions of a sub-committee
respecting the military order of the processions towards the place of
meeting was but the expression of the public hope that lay at every
heart.

While the bustle of preparation was at its height; while the flushed
capital was dizzy with wild excitement, a proclamation appeared on the
walls--'twas nearly evening's dusk--forbidding the proposed
demonstration. For that proclamation there was no law; scarcely any
object. It could not render the meeting illegal. It would not entitle
the chief magistrate to disperse it; for if it were proved to be
constitutional, he would be answerable before the laws of his country.
It was simply a warning utterly inefficient for good or ill in any trial
that may follow. In this state of things, a responsibility of the
greatest magnitude devolved on the Association, or its committee. They
were hastily summoned or came together spontaneously. Alarm, surprise,
disappointment, chagrin, swayed their hurried consultation. The
decision was weak, and it was fatal. It was only carried by a small
majority, but in that majority was the great spirit of the confederacy.
Never after did he stand on equal terms with his adversary. He was
driven before him amidst broken hopes, and broken promises--his
challenge, a boast unfulfilled, his prestige withered.

What the issue might have been if the decision were different, it would
be rash to conjecture. It might have been carnage; it might have been a
triumph. The historian has nothing to do with conjecture. But in this