What Robert Emmet did say to the people, a sentence seemingly of puzzling platitude, was, in him, one of profound truth: “My friends, I die in peace, and with sentiments of love and kindness to all men.” There is another and more animated contemporary account of his exit in _The Life and Times of Henry Grattan_. The whole passage may as well be quoted:— “Robert Emmet [was] devoid of caution, foresight, and prudence: ardent, spirited, and impetuous. ... He was an enthusiast, he was a visionary. Without a treasury, without officers, without troops, he declared war against England and France, and prepared to oppose both!—the one, if she sought to retain possession of Ireland, and the other, if she attempted to invade it. With a few followers, he rose to take the Castle of Dublin and defeat a disciplined garrison. He put on a green coat and a cocked hat, and fancied himself already a conqueror. If no lives had been lost he probably would not have suffered, although Lord Norbury was the judge who tried him.... When asked the usual question why sentence should not be passed on him, he exclaimed: ‘Sentence of death may be pronounced: I have nothing to say. But sentence of infamy shall not be pronounced: I have everything to say.’ He was as cool and collected before his death as if nothing was to happen. Peter Burrowes saw him on his way, and related a circumstance that occurred as he was going to execution. He had a paper that he wished to be brought to Miss Curran, to whom he was strongly attached: he watched his opportunity, and in passing one of the streets, he caught a friendly eye in the crowd, and making a sign to the person, got him near; then he dropped a paper. This was observed by others, and the person who took it up was stopped: the paper was taken from him and brought to the Castle. Mr. Burrowes and Charles Bushe saw it, and said it was a very affecting and interesting letter.”