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THREE:The British Government had employed the best portion of the Session of Parliament between the commencement of November and Christmas, 1797, in receiving the report of the insults of the French Commissioners at Lille to our Ambassador, and his summary dismissal from the place of meeting without any chance of peace, and in voting money to carry on the war at our own doors. Pitt called for the grant of twenty-five million five hundred thousand pounds, and for trebling all the assessed taxes. All this was readily granted. In April, 1798, he called for three millions, and that was as freely conceded. In fact, by that time, the Irish were on the very verge of appearing in arms to cast off the yoke of England and accept the boasted fraternity of France. Lord Edward Fitzgerald, brother of the Duke of Leinster, one of the leading members of the Society of United Irishmen, had spent some time in France during the Revolution. He had married Pamela, the daughter of Madame de Genlis. To him, on his return to Ireland, French emissaries of revolution were secretly sent over, and he introduced them to the leading members of the projected revolt. In 1794 a Jacobinised Irishman, the Rev. William Jackson, came over from Paris, at the time of the fiercest raging of the Reign of Terror, to concert with Wolfe Tone and his fellow-conspirators the plans of insurrection. At the very time that some of these��Bond, Simon Butler, and Hamilton Rowan��were[461] tried as accomplices of the Scottish reformers, Muir and the rest, and acquitted as men only seeking reform of Parliament, they were deep in this scheme of French invasion. Jackson was arrested in Dublin, was tried and convicted of high treason, but anticipated his sentence by suicide. The most public display of sympathy with his views and mission was made by a vast attendance of carriages at his funeral, and the features of rebellion became so undisguised that a stop was put to all questions of political concession and amelioration.It was still early. The mountain echoes had not sung back the tattoo of the trumpets as yet. There was a storm coming on from the snow peak in the west, and the clouds, dark with light edges, were thick in the sky. Lawton was sober enough now. Not so far away in its little pocket among the hills he could see the post, with all its lights twinkling, as though one of the clear starry patches in the heavens were reflected[Pg 205] in a black lake in the valley. And the road stretched out faint and gray before him.