CHAPTER X.

1827.

Speech on the death of the Duke of York-Theobald Wolfe Tone-Articles in l'Etoile-Prosecution of Mr. Sheil-Mr. Staunton-Defiance of the Government—The Times—Attempt to obtain evidence-Conduct of Mr. Hughes-True bills found.

MR. SHEIL'S position as a public man was daily becoming more recognised and defined. The ambition of his life had gradually come to be realized. His earliest dreams in boyhood had been of oratoric fame. While at Stoneyhurst, the hours of relaxation which his companions spent in active sports, had been by him frequently devoted to supernumerary studies in the art of rhetoric. The sense of great natural deficiencies had early been forced upon him by his failure in the recitations that formed part of the ordinary school exercises. He could neither restrain his voluble impetuosity nor modulate the harsh intona

tions of his voice. When appointed on one occasion to read aloud the letter of Pliny describing his uncle's fate, "Sheil's exhibition," says one of his class-fellows, "I can never forget. His pronunciation of the Latin was French; his voice was pitched at the highest treble, and sustained there throughout; and excited probably by the subject of the letter, he rushed through it with the fervour and energy of one actually engaged in the scene described, and without a particle of modulation or inflection of voice from beginning to end; so that when he delivered the last word of the letter-vale his voice, instead of being lowered, as at the end of a sentence, was still at its highest pitch, as if in the middle of one, and the word was accented broadly on the final syllable. As might be expected from such an audience, the reading of the letter was accompanied by continual laughter, which did not appear to have the slightest effect upon the reader, who was so thoroughly possessed by his subject as to be insensible to all disturbing influences.. But when he delivered the final word, the burst of laughter was unbounded; and the effect of the performance was to obtain for Sheil the sobriquet of Vale,’

which he bore long afterwards.

Incidents like these

forced upon him the consciousness of his defects, and

made him feel the humiliation of inferiority occasioned thereby. It was not in his nature to acquiesce in the continuance of such a condition; and he had a still stronger motive to exertion operating in the same direction. He had always, as long as I can recollect, been in the habit of speaking of eloquence as beyond all other objects of admiration; and to become a great public speaker was, from the outset, the professed object of his ambition. Aware as he soon became of the obstacles to its attainment in his striking defects of voice, utterance, personal appearance, and manner, he went to work to correct them all with an undoubting faith in his success, and a determination to spare no toil or effort to accomplish it. The course he pursued was to practise declamation, accompanied by gesture and reading aloud. He would often apply to me and others to criticise his performance, and bespeak our candid opinion of its merits or defects; and the earnestness with which he courted and entreated the most unmitigated exposure of his faults, and the thankful spirit in which he welcomed it, were not the least remarkable or least interesting traits of his character. The fact was, he was throughout sustained by the thorough conviction that he was destined to become one day a great orator; and I am satisfied

that never for a single day, even while he was at school, was that impression absent from his mind."* Subsequent care and practice had perfected the training thus begun in schoolboyhood, with such results as we have seen.

When the fate of the Duke of York became known, Mr. Sheil availed himself of the opportunity afforded by the first Catholic assembly held in the new year, to give utterance to a graceful tribute to the many personal virtues of the prince. He dwelt at considerable length on the proofs he had given of his care, while commander-in-chief, for the wants and comforts of the private soldier. He recalled the faults of his education, and the numerous beguilements wherewith his youth had been beset. At the approach of death, all enmity and resentment ought to be laid aside, and no feeling inconsistent with the respect that the wise and thoughtful ever own in the presence of the dread leveller, should find utterance amongst them. The obsequies of departed greatness were all that then remained to be performed.

.

"The pomp of death will, for a few nights, fill the gilded apartments in which his body will lie in state. The artist will endeavour to avert that decay to which even princes are doomed,

*Letter from Mr. Justice Ball to the author.

and embalm him with odours which may resist the cadaverous scent for a while. He will be laid in a winding-sheet fringed with silver and with gold-he will be enclosed in rich and spicy wood, and his illustrious descent and withered hopes will be inscribed upon his glittering coffin. The bell of St. Paul will toll; London, rich, luxurious, Babylonic London, will start at the recollection that even kings must die. The day of his solemn obsequies will arrive-the gorgeous procession will go forth in its funereal glory-the ancient chapel of Windsor Castle will be thrown open, and its gothic aisle will be thronged with the array of royalty the emblazoned windows will be illuminated-the notes of holy melody will arise-the beautiful service of the dead will be repeated by the heads of the church, of which he will be the cold and senseless champion-the vaults of the dead will be unclosed-the nobles, and the ladies, and the high priests of the land, will look down into those deep depositories of the pride, and the vanity, and the ambition of the world. They will behold the heir to the greatest empire of the world taking possession, not of the palace, which was raised at such an enormous and unavailing cost, but of that house which lasts till doomsday.' The coffin will go sadly and slowly down; they will hear it as its ponderous mass strikes on the remains of its royal kindred; the chant will be resumed, a moment's awful pause will take placethe marble vault, of which none but the Archangel shall disturb the slumbers, will be closed-the songs of death will cease-the procession will wind through the aisles again, and restore them to their loneliness. The torches will fade in the open daylightthe multitude of the great, who will have attended the ceremony, will gradually disperse; they will roll again in their gilded. chariots into the din and tumult of the great metropolis; the business, and the pursuits, and all the frivolities of life will be resumed, and the heir to three kingdoms will be in a week forgotten. We, too, shall forget, but, before we forget, let us forgive him."*

VOL. I.

* Speech delivered 3rd January, 1827.

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