“Why, of 16 whom he pardoned, and of 41 whose sentences he commuted in the gaol of our own city, 13 were re-committed, and of these no fewer than 10 were in due time transported. One of the latter, Mary Lynch, was subsequently five times committed, and at last transported; Jeremiah Twomey, _alias_ Old Lock, was subsequently six times committed, and finally transported, while two others were twice committed. These are a specimen of the persons whom his lordship delighted to honour. Of the whole 57 (who were liberated between January, 1835, and April, 1839), there were, at the time of their sentences being commuted, or themselves discharged, 34 under sentence of transportation, and two under sentence of death. In the county gaol, 47 prisoners experienced the benefit of viceregal liberality. Of these 18 had been under sentence of transportation, 11 of them for life; but how many of them it became the duty of the government to introduce a second or third time to the notice of the judge, or what was their ultimate destiny, we are, unfortunately, not informed. The recorder, we observe, passed sentence of transportation yesterday on a fellow named Corkery, who had some years ago been similarly sentenced by one of the judges, but for whose release his worship was unable to account. The explanation, however, is easy. Corkery was one of the scoundrels liberated by Lord Normanby, and he has since been living on the plunder of the citizens, on whom that vain and visionary viceroy so inconsiderately let him loose.” Now I detest figures, and, therefore, I won't venture to dispute the man's arithmetic about the “ten in due time transported,” nor Corkery, nor Mary Lynch, nor any of them. I take the facts on his own showing, and I ground upon them the most triumphant defence of the calumniated viceroy. What was it, I ask, but the very prescience of the lord lieutenant we praise in the act? He liberated a gaol full of ruffians, not to inundate the world with a host of felons and vagabonds, but, simply, to give them a kind of day-rule. “Let them loose,” cried my lord; “take the irons off--devil a long they 'll be free. Mark my words, that fellow will murder some one else before long. Thank you, Mary Lynch, it is a real pleasure to me to restore you to liberty;” and then, _sotto_, “you'll have a voyage out, nevertheless, I see that. Open the gates--pass out, gentlemen highwaymen. Don't be afraid, good people of Cork, these are infernal ruffians, they 'll all be back again before six months. It's no consequence to me to see you at large, for I have the heartfelt conviction that most of you must be hanged yet.” [Illustration: 250] Here is the true defence of the viceroy, here the real and well-grounded explanation of his conduct; and I hope when Lord Brougham attacks his noble friend--which of course he will--that the marquis will hurl back on him, with proud triumph, this irresistible mark of his united foresight and benevolence.