Phillips also describes 'Mac' as ever varying in his account of how he lost his thumbs, and that one night, tired and perplexed by repeated questioning on the point,[513] he at last exclaimed, 'I don't know how I lost them!' It seems to me that 'Mac' was too cool and cunning to trip. Phillips, as a most distinguished co-operator with the Catholic Board, was a man worth McNally's while to 'draw'; and the hoary-headed 'father,' in encouraging the juniors' chaff, probably feigned features which he did not possess. We have seen how resolutely incredulous Phillips stood when the spy's real character was first impugned. Phillips is remembered by the English bar as a very cunning man. But as regards McNally's treachery he died unconvinced. The man whose seeming simplicity he loved to chaff was of deeper acumen. The 'Metropolis,' a review of the Bar, printed in 1805, indicated among McNally's gifts-- With all he saw or learned his memory fraught Acute perception of his neighbour's thought. Phillips seemed to pity the awkward simplicity of his venerable friend; but it was clearly McNally's game at times to pose as a 'butt,' and Charles adds no more than the truth in saying, 'his eyes and voice pierced you through like arrows.' 'Howell' should be consulted by those who care to trace the forensic career of McNally-- 'L' stands for Lysaght, who loves a good joke; 'M' for MacNally, who lives by the rope! sings 'the Alphabet of the Bar.' But it is McNally's speeches as a democratic orator, delivered on all great national occasions, in which he appears to best dramatic effect. The mission of General d'Evereux to Ireland, with the object of raising troops for Bolivar--the South American patriot--took place in 1819, and with it is involved McNally's last important acts of espionage. A military passion had seized on the popular mind. For many weeks the streets of Dublin, gay with plumage, reminded one of Paris during the Napoleonic fever. The city swarmed with stalwart, ruddy youths, clad in uniforms of green and gold, their swords clanking at every step. Levées were held by D'Evereux with all the pomp of a court; public banquets sought to do him honour. At first these things caused alarm at Dublin Castle; but, finally, it was decided that the statute which forbade foreign enlistment might be suffered to lie dormant: after all, the opportunity was not a bad one to rid the land of those military spirits whose presence could never conduce to its repose. In this connection Dr. Scallan has something to say:--