“Why,” said Tierney, “their own party could not quarrel with them for not taking an advantage of a verdict, as to the legality of which there is so much difference of opinion even among the judges. I don’t know much about these things, myself; but, as far as I can understand, they would have all been found guilty of high treason a few years back, and probably have been hung or beheaded; and if they could do that now, the country would be all the quieter. But they can’t: the people will have their own way; and if they want the people to go easy, they shouldn’t put O’Connell into prison. Rob them all of the glories of martyrdom, and you’d find you’ll cut their combs and stop their crowing.” “It’s not so easy to do that now, Mat,” said Morris. “You’ll find that the country will stick to O’Connell, whether he’s in prison or out of it;—but Peel will never dare to put him there. They talk of the Penitentiary; but I’ll tell you what, if they put him there, the people of Dublin won’t leave one stone upon another; they’d have it all down in a night.” “You forget, Morris, how near Richmond barracks are to the Penitentiary.” “No, I don’t. Not that I think there’ll be any row of the kind, for I’ll bet a hundred guineas they’re never put in prison at all.” “Done,” said Dot, and his little book was out—“put that down, Morris, and I’ll initial it: a hundred guineas, even, that O’Connell is not in prison within twelve months of this time.” “Very well: that is, that he’s not put there and kept there for six months, in consequence of the verdict just given at the State trials.” “No, my boy; that’s not it. I said nothing about being kept there six months. They’re going to try for a writ of error, or what the devil they call it, before the peers. But I’ll bet you a cool hundred he is put in prison before twelve months are over, in consequence of the verdict. If he’s locked up there for one night, I win. Will you take that?” “Well, I will,” said Morris; and they both went to work at their little books. “I was in London,” said Mat, “during the greater portion of the trial—and it’s astonishing what unanimity of opinion there was at the club that the whole set would be acquitted. I heard Howard make bet, at the Reform Club, that the only man put in prison would be the Attorney-General.” “He ought to have included the Chief Justice,” said Morris. “By the bye, Mat, is that Howard the brother of the Honourable and Riverind Augustus?” “Upon my soul, I don’t know whose brother he is. Who is the Riverind Augustus?” “Morris wants to tell a story, Mat,’ said Blake; ‘don’t spoil him, now.” “Indeed I don’t,” said the member: “I never told it to any one till I mentioned it to you the other day. It only happened the other day, but it _is_ worth telling.” “Out with it, Morris,” said Mat, “it isn’t very long, is it?—because, if it is, we’ll get Dot to give us a little whiskey and hot water first. I’m sick of the claret.”