The trial that followed already occupies a large space in history. Its
effects were immediate and disastrous. The personnel of the accused
assumed the nation's place. Exhortations full of intense eloquence were
addressed to the people from which the question of the country's
deliverance was entirely excluded. Technicalities of law absorbed the
attention which was due to Liberty. A demurrer, a motion in abatement,
or in arrest of judgment, was canvassed with a deeper interest by the
people of the provinces than by even the distinguished Bar, which were
arrayed on either side. Mr. O'Connell's infallibility in law engaged the
anxious solicitude, the pride, the passions of Ireland. Yet throughout
that long trial the question which would test it was not mooted. The
indictment was a subtle net-work, which excluded such argument. The
objections to the indictment also were objections of form merely, and
the final issue upon which the judgment was reversed was not even
remotely connected with the main enquiry, whether or not the charge of
conspiracy was sustainable in point of constitutional law. During the
progress of the trial, a fraud, a swindle, a petty theft, was
perpetrated by the officers of government, which more than one man, high
in office, had a hand in suborning. This fact had supreme influence on
the decision of the House of Lords. But the plain truth is, the judgment
was reversed as an essential move in a great party game.

Ireland triumphed. Her triumph was a just and a great one.

But her exultation was on a fallacious basis. She believed Mr.
O'Connell's infallibility was re-established. No one cared, or perhaps
dared to correct the error. In itself it seemed little worthy of notice,
yet it had its share of evil influence. First, it diverted men's minds
from the one question; secondly, it left behind it the demoralising