The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-03-26 00:00:00

THE STOURBRIDGE OBSERVER.

now; and it withers—it scorches my heart. It was
base-bass-" . _

Leonia continued to mutter, but the listener could
make nothing from her disjointed rambling. She
questioned her in every way, to bring her back to the
point from which she had started; but in vain. Efer
mind had utterly wandered from it, and Pauline
listened half impatiently to her incoherent ravings,
till the physician who had been summoned arrived.
Dr. Brunel examined the condition of his patient,
shook his head, and looked ominous. Madame Crozat
had followed him into the cabin, and she inquired,
with much solicitude—
"Is there any real danger to be apprehended,
doctor?"
"She is in a very critical state, madame; and I
consider her recovery extremely doubtful."
She then inquired—
" Will Leonia regain entire possession of her senses
before she dies ?" _ _

_ _
" In ordinary fevers that is usually the course, but
In this case the symptomsare extremely unfavourable.
She may die in a stFtte of congestion, and be unable
to speak at all. Is her life particularly valuable,
madame?"

"To me it is," replied Pauline, before her mother
could speak. "Leonia was my attendant from my
seventh year, and she has been almost a mother to me.
Save her if you can, Dr. Brunel, and I will thank you
with my whole heart r
" I will do my best, mademoiselle; but the chances
are bad. The fever should have been taken at the
start; now it is almost unmana,,eable.
"Had I been at home you would have, been sum-
moned at once," said Madame Crozat, emphatically.
Pauline flushed at the implied reproach, and said—
" Leonie did not complain or lie down till yester-
day. I had no idea that she was seriously ill. At all
events, I will not fail in my duty to her now. If
madame mere will permit me, I will remain near her,
and assist in nursing her myself."
Madame Crozat regarded her with an expression of
surprise, for she had thought Pauline too self-
indulgi_nt to undertake such a duty, even for the nurse
who had been faithful to her through long years of
service. She said— _ _ _

"That would be something entirely new for-you
to Undertake, my daughter. Desiree is an ex-
perienced nurse, and I will send her to wait upon
Leonie.'
"Excuse me, madame, but I prefer remaining
myself," replied Pauline, with resolute emphasis.
" ',kink) has nursed me through many long hours of
illness, and it is surely my place to attend to her in
this extremity."
Madame Crozat steadily regarded her step-daughter,
as if endeavouring to fathom her motives; but in her
heart she believed her too shallow to have any. She
had forgotten that portion of her conversation with
M. Mel2o-i which referred to this woman and her
former connt,otion with the Montreuil family ; ani
she began to believe that some natural feeling of
gratitude moved the heart of Pauline to perform for a
faithful servant the last kindness she would probably
need on earth. After moment's hesitation, she
said—

"You can do as you wish, I shall not thwart you in
so useful a duty. Remain with Leonia if it is your
desire to do so, but I shall also send Desiree to assist
in nursing her."
Pauline assented to this arrangement, and the
neg,ress soon came to apply the remedies ordered by
the physician.
The most active treatment was resorted to, but
without avail—the woman hourly sunk, and on the
evening of the fourth day from her seizure she was
evidently dying. The two who nursed her had kept
a constant watch upon her: one to discover her
secret for her own behoof, the other to obey the
stringent commands of her mistress not to lose a
syllable that fell from the lips of the distraught
creature.
On the evening of the fourth day, Desiree was
nearly worn out with watching, and the labour that
had been chiefly borne by her, while her young lady
had rested many hours in the large cushioned chair she
had caused to be brought from her own room to the
cabin.
The curiosity of Pauline was sharpened by what had
fallen from the sick woman's ups in her delirious
ravings. Leonie dwelt upon the incidents of her early
life, and the revelations she made were of a character
to arouse a strong desire to fathom the wicked past
which now clouded her last moments with fear and
anguish.
The heavy breathing of the sick woman filled the
room as she lay in a perpetual slumber. The head of
the wearied black fell upon the foot of the bed, and in
a few moments she slept so deeply that it would have
taken force to awake her.
At that crisis, Pauline aroused herself, left the chair
in which she had been coiled up, and looked upon the
being whose soul was so rapidly flitting to another
world. She had lost all hope that Leonia would
recover her consciousness, and the thought crossed
her mind that it was time to summon the priest to
perform the last rites of the church for her.
As she turned, with the purpose of doing so, the
large eyes of the dying woman suddenly unclosed, and
looked around, with intelligence in their glance. She
feelo,y said---
"My darling, Is it indeed you? I have been very
ill, I believe, for I feel weak and sinking. Have you
stayed by me all the time?"
"Yes, dear Maumer, who should nurse you, but
your own Pauline? You are better? I am BO glad
that you know me again."
The woman looked wistfully at her, and slowly
said—
" I am dying, I fear, fan feel /111 if the earth is
crumbling away beneath me."
"That is because you are so weak. Here is wine
the doctor ordered for you, if you awoke in your
senses."
-
"Give it to me. I want strength to talk. I have
much to tell the priest. Let him come to me."
"Father Eustace left home this morning, and has
gone no one knows whither. He will probably not be
back before night. Make me your confessor, Leonia,
for it will ease your mind to tell some of the wrong
that weighs upon it. Besides, it may be useful to me.
Your ravings have already partially revealed to me
events, which, if fully in my possession, would be of
material use to me. Can you not speak the whole to
me exactly as you would to the priest if he were
here ?"
Leonia regar led her with a startled expression.
She was still under the influence of fever, and she said,
with a ghastly smile—
" And you-really seek to 'become my confessor?
Will you give me absolution for my crime? Can
you ask pardon for me in that world which I am
hastening? Oh, my pretty one, it will be a sad
tale for you to hear from the lips of your old
Maumee
"Never mind that; tell it to me, for it may be
important to my future welfare to know it. I wish
you to understand me, Leonie ; you can serve me
by relating to me the story of Louise Montreuil. I
mvst hear it, for the happiness of my whole life is
v;tallv concerned inknowing the events of her early

career."
I.e.onie opened her wild eyes, and stared vaguely at
her. Her mind was affected by the opiates which
had been administered to her, and she obeyed the
voice that commanded her to speak, with the flicker-
ing idea that she was confessing to the priest—her
eyes half closed, as if weary of light, and she ramb7ed

on—
" You wish me to speak of my first mistress. The
beautiful Louise, the fascinating Louise, the rich
Loui.e ! ! ha! she was all these, but she was
not the happy Louise—no—no—no !"
There was another interval of wandering, and then
h went on—
" I grew up with her I was her little maid when
she was six years old, and I was ten, for I was the
eldest. She taught me to read as she learned herse:f ;
she loved me, and she believed that I loved her too;
but I did not—no, I did not."
he paused, and seemed about to slumber again,
but Pauline aroused her by saying—
" Why did you not love her, Maumer ? She was
kind to you, and I cannot think you would be other-
wise than faithful to her. See what you have been to
me."
"You—you! Oh, you were a little child, thrown on
me for care; but she was young, beautiful, and
beloved, in those days of vanity when I yearn' d for
an that she was endowed with, and envied her its
possession. Oh, yes! I was bitterly envious of this
gentle mistress of mine, and I am afraid I too eagerly
embraced the chance to ruin her happiness."
"You a 7cornpanied Mademoiselle Montreuil to Paris,
I believe; tell me about that," said Pauline, to induce
her to continue her narrative.
" Yes; I went with her to her convent, where her
education was finished. They let me in as an humble
boarder, that I might be near my young mistress;
and there I picked up education enough to make me
fully aware of lila wide gulf between Mademoiselle
Louise and myself,
"In the same house there was a young lady, called
Estelle Lecour, who was the intimate triend of my
young mistress; and the superior permitted herself to
be persuaded to allow the young ladies to go on a
visit to the family of Monsieur_Du Vernay a friend of
M. Montrt nil's.
"At his chateau they met with the twin brothers
Durand, and the imprudent girls became desp,erately
enamoured of them. Ma,demoiselle Estelle knew that
she was destined to take the veil, and my young
mistress had been betrothed from her infancy to the
son of one of her father's oldest friends, and to him
she knew M. Montreuil was resolute to give her. Ah
she also knew that he was a violent man, a deter-
mined one, and he would shrink from nothing that
promised him the fulfilment of a w:sh on which he
had set his heart.. It was that which led her into
such a disobedient course. She thought if biit? was
once married, her fate would be beyond his control.
Poor thing! she little dreamed of what wrong he was
capable."
Leonia paused, as if exhausted, and Pauline offered
her more wine, as she said—
"Go on, Maumer. It is as good as a romance. I
am theply interested. Did those girls marry their
lovers?"
" Ah, yes. In an evil hour for both they were
clandestinely united to them. The two 'were married
on the sage night by the same priest, and, 'after a
brief taste of wedded happiness, they returned to their
convent, to await the result of the applications made
to their parents for consent to the unions which bad
already taken place."
"And what was the result?"
forth with be! hut-
-40 gstelle was permitted to

bind, with the curse of her father as her only dower,
to live in poverty and repentance, though I believe
she did not live long to bear it."
"And Louise? It is of her I most wish to hear."
"It is a sad story when you do hear it. As her
father was in Louisiana, it was three months before

he could be heard from; but such a letter as did
come at last might well make any poor girl tremble
and grow heart-sick. He utterly refused his consent
to the proposed union, and commanded the superior
to keep a constant watch upon his daughter, as he
would hold her responsible for her safety. Ah ! it was

too late then! The tie had been woven, the vows
.had been spoken, thit made her a wife, and her
helrt clung to the man to whom she had pledged her
faith.

6 M. Durand refused to submit to her father's
decision. He had a small property of his own, and

he declared that he would labour to increase it. She
should never know want if she would trust herself to
him. He demanded her as his wife, and unless she
refused to go with him, there was no power to retain
her vested in her protectors."
I hope she consented, though I know of course
she did?"

"Yes, she elected to go with him, and they took
possession of the humble cottage he had inherited,
for, although of noble blood, the family was an im-
poverishfd one; but my mistress was very happy,
for M.. Durand was a gentleman, and he was de-
votedly attached to his young wife. I did not envy
her then, although she was wedded to the choioe of
her heart, for she had relinquished for him the very
things that made her lot desirable in my estimation—
the power of wealth and high position, and the ad-
miration of society. These were what I yearned to
possess, and I regarded her infatuation with con-
temptuous pity. She seemed to have no fears for the
future; but I knew her happiness could not last —no,
no, it could not last."
She paused, as if recalling old memories, and Pauline
impatiently asked—
,' What happened then? Did the imperious father
come and tear her from him by force ?''
"Oh, no! He knew better than to attempt that,
but he did fir worse. M. Montreuil belonged to a

family who possessed great power in France. He
wrote to one of his kinsmen to obtain a sealed order

for the arrest of M. Durand as a dangerous political
person, and to have him thrown into prison without
the knowledge of any one connected with him. They
did such things In those days, and I afterwards
learned that M. Durand was thrown into the Bastile,

where he lay in one of the underground cells for
eigiit long years. When that building wag torn
down, he was rescued from it a broken, white-haired
man."

"And where was his wife during all that time ?"
"Let me tell you in my own way, for my head is a
little confused. M. Durand was summoned to Paris,
to attend to some business which was represented as

important. His wife could not accompany him, be-
cause her infant was scarcely two weeks old. He
placed her under my care, and left with the assurance
of a speedy return. When he tailed to come, and day
after day passed without any news from him, the
uneasiness of my mistress became terrible. She could
not leave her sick room to go in search of him, and
she confided this task to me as one who was interested
in her happiness. I departed in good faith, for I had
no idea of the treacherf I was afterwards induced to

practise towards her.
"When I reached Paris, I found my master there.
Be had followed his letter to see that his wishes were

executed; from M. Montreuil I heard such bitter de-
nunciations of his son-in-law, as made me tremble for

my poor young mistress and her helpless little babe.
When he heard of the infant, I thought he would have

gone wild. He said—
" The father is safe enough, and now I must deal
with the brat. Louise shal I never ixamo cm(4, nn
evidence of Aer shame to my home, for it is my un-
faltering resolve that she shall yet become the wife of
Eugene Mendon. I have promised, it, and lam not
the man to break my word."
"M. Montreuil then developed his plan of action to
me, and demanded my co-operation. He offered me
a bribe which I had not strength to refuse. Freedom,
and a sufficient annuity to support me in comfort,
were the terms, if I would aid him in imposing on his
daughter the nefarious story he had prepared. He
had caused her husband to be imprisoned, he believed
for life; his object now was to traduce M. Durand to
his wife, and lead her to believe that she had been de-
ceived into uniting her fate with that of a man who
already claimed another wife. A woman was hired to
personate that wife, a forged contract was shown to
my mistress, and I falsely swore that I httd seen M.
Durand meet this woman, and had hoard him address;

her as his darling Marie. I asserted that I was afraid
to inform my mistress at the time it occurred, lest I
should incur the anger of her supposed husband. M.
Durand had doubtless deserted her in her turn, and
was now deceiving some other trusting heart, as easily
as he had deceived hers."
"And where was M. Durand's brother and his Wife,
that they did not come to her, and prove the false-
hood of this calumny?"
"The poor young wife did come, bringing with ber
a feeble, wailing baby, a few weeks older than our
little one; but her husband had been compelled to
leave her shortly after their marriage, and go to South
America. Her father would give them nothing, and
M. Julien Durand went to Rio Janeiro to look after
some property bequeathed to him by an uncle, who
had been a merchant there.
"M. Montreuil bade me prepare tho mind of my.
mistress to relinquish her child. He vowed that it
obould never go with her to Louisiana, for he was
determined that this wretched and disgraceful portion
of her history should never be known in her native
colony. If she refused to part from the infant, he de
olarel that he would abandon her to absolute penury.
It was an awful struggle, but the tyrannical father
conquered, as he knew he must from the beginning."
"And what became of the child?" - -

"Madame Julien Durand took - charge of it, with
_ . _

the promise of a suitable provision for it from M.
Montreuil, for he was lavish enough of his money
when things went to suit him."
"I know what happened afterwards. Louise came
back to Louisiana, and gave her hand to M. Eugene
Mendon ; but how did her father dare to permit such
marri ige, when he knew that her first husband was
living! How could she consent, after all that had
happened to her ?" _
"If you had known her father, mademoiselle, you
would not ask such questions. He always carried his
point, either by fair means, or by force. I did not re-
turn to this country with my mistress, for I wished
to enjoy my new freedom, and the comfortable
annuity my treachery had purchased; so I stayed in
Paris, and led a very gay life with those who were as
fond of pleasure as I was, and not above sharing my
prosperity, although I belonged to a caste inferior to
their own.
"I occasionally heard from my old home, and
after my return to Louisiana, I heard the whole story
of those days at Bellair. My young mistress was
forced to dress, dance, entertain company, and finally
she was induced to give her hand to the young planter,
to whom she hactbeen promised from her cradle. Her
first dream was past; and she expiated her dis-
obedience to her father by complying with his wishes
so soon as her wounded heart could bear the accep-
tance of a second lover."
"And were they happy together I°
"I believe they were passably so. I am sure that
my young lady did not deceive M. Mendon. I believe
he married her with a full knowledge of her early
misfortune, for she was too true and noble in her
nature to have carried such a secret locked in her
bosom, when she gave him her hand. When I re-
turned to Louisiana with your father as your atten-
dant, M. Montreuil and his chosen son-in-law were
both d( ad, and the unhappy widow had been mad
enough to marry that dreadful old man who now
lives at Bellair. M. Lecour kept her shut up in her
own house, and he positively refused me ad-
mittance when I sought an interview. But 'baffled
him at mat; and I succeeded in seeing Madame
Lecour once before her death. God knows if that
interview hastened it, but I have sometimes feared
that it did, for I then told her of the treachery I had
practised, and the great wrong her father had per-
petrated against her. She listened to my terrible
story with a degree of apathy I should once have
deemed impossible with her. She told me that she had
already found the record of these events among her
father's private papers, but too late to save her from
the fatal step she had taken in her last union. She
had also found there the certificate of Henri Durand's
death, which had been forwarded to M. Montreuil
only a few months before her union with her second
bushand.
"I was confounded at this assertion, for I knew
that M. Durand was not then dead; but I did not
tell her. It would have been a useless p7ece of
cruelty, for this poor lady could then have done
nothing to rescue her from the miserable position in
which she was placed. In a week from that day it
was known through the country that Madame Lecour
was dead, and had bequeathed the whale of her fine
fortune to her husband."
"How did it happen that you came back with us?
Why did you not stay in Paris, and enjoy life?"
"Things began to get too unsettled in France. The
great Revolution was approaching, and I feared for
my life. I witnessed the destruction of the Bastile,
and while I stood among the crowd, a man who had
just been rescued from its dungeons, staggered up and
spoke to me. I thought him an utter stranger, for
his bair was white as snow, and his body was wasted
to a skeleton. He asked me for his wife and child,
and I knew him then from the sound of his voice. At
first I was afraid to answer him; but the poor
creature had been too long dead to all emotion to
betray much thenand there. I took him to my lodg
ings, and, after a scene that makes me shiver now
when I recall it, gradually made M. Durand under-
stand what had happened.
" I concealed from him my own agency in the de-
ception practised on his wife, but told him how she
bad been induced to believe he had abandoned her. I
informed him of the second marriage of Mademoiselle
Montrsuil, and entreated him to leave her in peace.
His appearance on the scene could now only embitter h's
life, and fill her heart with remorse towards him, and
resentment towards her father.
'• He listened to me, admitted the truthpf my words,
lantdhitnhkenit
Morgue before the week was over.
wp?obtabbilfiel"hisY.-d i
et.idnelv)oeldysa*w.atislzkif:unakd6lt rttht!
"The bankers with whom my money was placed
failed, and I was glai to hire myself to nurse your
mother in her last illness. We went to Madeira for
the winter, and when she died thore. she entreated rne

to remain with you. I came on to Louisiana, glad to
get back once more to my old home, although I found
everything changed there. My annuity died with my
old master, and for years I have been only permitted
to remain upon this place as a favour accorded me by
your father's second wife. As the plantation was her
property when she married him, I should feel grateful
even for the permission to remain near you, the
darling of my heart. See how I have talked on,
solely to gratify your wish, although I know that with
every moment my life is ebbing from me."
Pauline pressed her hand, as she said.-
" You have done me a real service, Maumer, and I
thank you for it. Your voice is stronger, your eyes
brighter, since you commenced your narrative. Ah,
I don't believe you will die yet awhile, for I cannot
spare you."
I have exhausted the little life left in me, in obey-
ing your wish to hear this miserable story. It is
finished, and with it my span of existence. Call Father
Eustaee, my child! Quick! quickly let him come, for
I am failing fast."
Her face became so gbastly as she spoke, that
Pauline, was alarmed, and roused Desiree with much
effort, to go and ascertain if the priest had returned
from a visit he had set out to make in the early part
of the day. It was now twilight, and after a brief
absence the negress returned, accompanied by Father
Eustace.

(7o I* continued.)

THA STATE OF IRELAND.
A PRIEST COMMITTED.

Father Keller on Saturday appeared in the
witness-box in the Dublin Court of Bankruptcy,
where he was to be examined a 3 to his knowledge of
the placing of the money of a bankrupt tenant in the
hands of trustees under the Plan of• Campaign; but
he declined to answer any question bearing on the
subject. Judge Boyd warned him that the stern duty
of committing him to prison was imposed upon him
if the questions were not answered, and, as Father
Keller persisted in his refusal, a warrant for his
committal for contempt of court was made out.
Father Keller was accompanied to Kilmainham
Gaol by Archbishop Walsh and some leading
Nationalists. The horse was taken out of his cab,
which was dragged through the streets amidst a scene
of great enthusiasm.

REMARKABLE SCENES.
The special correspondent of the Daily News in
Dublin sent the following description of the scenes
attendant upon the committal of Father Keller: The
Rev. Daniel Keller, P.P., Youghal, was brought up in
the Court of Bankruptcy before Judge Boyd, for the
purpose of being examined as a witness in the case of
Patrick O'Brien, a tenant on the estate of Mr.
_

Ponsonby, at Youghal. The reverend gentleman had
passed the night, in custody, at the Imperial Hotel.,
the supervision of his custodian, the Bankruptcy mes-
senger, being of the most nonemal character. Shortly
before 12 o'clock, the Lord Blayor's carriage drew up
in front of the hotel, and Father Keller having entered
it, together with the Lord Mayor's secretary, and Mr.
Win. O'Brien, the party proceeded to the Four Courts,
the Bankruptcy messenger following in a cab. As
early as eleven o'clock a crowd had begun to assemble
in the precincts of the court, and for some time
before the opening of the doors of the court
the laree entrance - hall was crowded, and num-
bers of people were gathered outside. The ad-
mission to the court-house was placed in the hands
of Police Superintendent Mockler, but the crowd was
so great and the determination of every one to gain
admission was so strong, that the police were over-
whelmed and the crowd rushed pelt-mall into the
building. The arrival of Father Keller was the signal
for an outburst of cheering and yelling which lasted
for some time, and which delayed the proceedings for
some minutes after Judge Boyd had taken his place
on the Bouch. The disorder was at its highest point
when Judge Boyd entered ;the court. His lordship
immediately gave orders to have the doors closed. In
a few minutes, however, the Lord Mayor arrived,
and this gave rise to renewed cheering. The uproar
ceased for a brief interval after the admission of Mr.

Sullivan; but only to recommence on the arrival of
Archbishop Walsh. His Grace was received with cheers,
. . . . . . .

and the shouts of "Let in the Archbishop" at
length had the desired effect. Mr. Ignatius O'Brien
intimated that he appeared for Father Keller, but
said that owing to the crowded state of the court he
had not been able to consult his client. A brief in-
terval having been granted for this purpose, the case
wa3 called, and Mr. Kisbey, Q.C., who (in the absence
of Mr. Carton, Q.C., who is understood to have sent

back his brief to the solicitor for the assignees), ap-
peared for the assignees, called Daniel Keller. Mr.
Ignatius O'Brien said that before the oath was admin-
istered he had a preliminary objection to make. Mr.
Kisbey *it'd counsel might attend and watch the pro-
ceedings on behalf of a witness, but had no right to
interpose. After some discussion, Judge Boyd said he
learned from the Registrar that it had been the prac-
tice not to allow counsel to interfere; but since his
appointment he had changed that practice.
Father Keller was then called a second time, and
he entered the witness-box. The Registrar (Mr.
Lloyd) was about to hand him the Testament to be
sworn, but Father Keller asked if it was a Protestant
Testament.. Mr. Lloyd said it was, but that he had

a copy of the Douay version, at th.e smlsimili make
clined to take the book, and Mr. Lloyd said, "Kindly
take the book in your hand." Father Keller on taking
the book [aid he wished to say that if he was com-
pelled to take the oath he should not answer any
questions by which he might disclose any informa-
tion entrusted to him as a priest. Judge Boyd saki the
witness had batter take the oath, and when the question
was put to him make his objection. Father Keller said
that with this restriction he should take the oath.
Judge Boyd said he could not recognise any re-
strictions. The witness was then sworn, and in
reply to Mr. Kiebey said that the bankrupt was not
a parishioner of his, and that he could not remember
when be had last seen him. "Do you remember,"
said counsel, "being in the Mall House, in Youghal,
on the 16th November ? " "I respectfully decline to
answer the question," replied the witness, and on
being allowed to explain said be declined to answer
because "it might drift him to answers which would
disclose secrets which he could not disclose or declare
with honour to his sacred profession." After some
discussion, Judge Boyd said he was anxious, as far as
possible, to protect any witness in the position of
Father Keller from being obliged to answer a question
which would disclose anything entrusted to him as a
priest in the confessional; but he could not recognise
the right to ref use to answer on the ground of "honour."
There was a certain honour as regards eecrecs even
amongst the lowest classes, and if this was to be
recognised there would be n 3 evidence given in a
court 31 law. Father Keller: With great respect the
nature of the question might tend to elicit from me
matters connected with the bankrupt or other parties
whicn Came, au and solely ha.
cause I am a priest. Judge Boyd: The matter you
were asked about had reference rather to your duties
outside those of a clergyinah, and you are not, in
answering, to disclose anything entrusted to you under
a religious obligation. The Rev. Mr. Keller said his
lordship was, of couree,the proper interpreter of the
law, but be could not be expected to understand the
obligations of a Catholic priest. Here there was loud
applause in court, and Judge Boyd threatened to
bale the court cleared if the disturbance was re-
newed. Mr. Kisber said he did not wish that Father
Keller should be taken by surprise, and he therefore
called his attention to the section of the Act giving
his lordship power to imprison for refusal to answer
or for unsatisfactorily answering. Father Keller re-
peated:that he declined to answer, and Mr. Ki,bey then
applied for an order of committal. Judge Boyd said
that, notwithstanding observations made elsewhere, it
was a matter of extreme pain to him to have to exer-
cise the powers which were not only coderred hut
imposed on him. One of these powers was the power
to commit for contempt witnesses who refu-ed to
answer lawful questions. Mr. Ignatius O'Brien asked
that a stay of execution should be put on the warrant,
as probably the question which had been raised would
be tested. Judge Boyd said if he thought these was
anything in the point he would comply with the re-
quest; but he considered there was nothing in it The
warrant of committal was then made out, but con-
siderable delay occurred. Judge Boyd retired to his
chamber and sent for Mr. O'Brien, and, it is believed,
intimated that he would grant an adjournment if the
witness or his counsel applied for it. Mr. O'Brien
consulted Father Keller and Mr. Wm. O'Brien (of
United Ireland), who eat beside him during the entire
proceedings, but nothing came of the proposal. At
length Judge Boyd again took his seat on the bench,
and the warrant having been signed it was handed to
the messenger of the Court, who, after some delay,
necessary to provide an escort, intimated to Father
Keller that the cab was in readiness.
Father Keller then rose, and following the mes-
senger left by the private exit door, accompanied by
Archbishop Walsh and his secretary (Father Petit).
Judge Boyd had meantime left the court; and as
the prisoner left the court a deafening cheer was
raisad from the back benches. A rash was made for
the private door in Chancery-place, where the cab
was in waiting together with about 20 police on cars.
The crowd gathered round the cab in which Father
Keller, Archbishop Walsh, Father Petet, and the
Court Messenger were seated. So great was the
crowding round the vehicle that it was impossible to
get it started, and after a delay of a couple of
minutes, the people detached the horse, and yoking
themselves to the cab, dragged it along at a walking
pace. The police followed closely on four or five
cars, and thin came the Lord Mayor's carriage,
with Alderman O'Connor, M.P., Mr. Timothy Har-
rington M.P., Mr. W. O'Brien, and the secretary
to the Lord Mayor. The route taken was along the
northern line of quays to Kingsbridge and thence to
Kilmainham Prison, the journey of less than two
miles occupying about- three-quarters of an hour. The
crowd sang "God save Ireland," the men who were
dragging the cab beingthe mostdemonstrative in their
vocalism. This was occasionally varied by the refrain
of "We'll hang Judge Boyd on a sour Orange tree."
Arrived at the prison, a number of Roman Catholic
clergymen, at the request of the police authorities,
assisted in clearing a passage for Father Keller to pass
into the prison. The reverend gentleman then walked
into the gate amid the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd.
Archbishop Walsh, Mr. T. Hartington, M.P., and Mr.
Wm. O'Brien entered the prison also, and remained
for about half an hour. On Mr. O'Brien and Mr.
Hartington coming out they entered the Lord Mayor's
carriage. Mr. O'Brien, in response to calls for a
speech, stood up in the carriage and said:
Fellow Countrymen,—We are taking part in one of
the most memorable scenes in Irish history—a noble
priest of the Irish people consigned to a prison cell
for Ireland—(cbeers)—and proudly conducted to that
prison cell by one of the greatest dignitaries of the
Irish f 'hurch. (Cheers.) I don't pity Father Keller
—I congratulate him, and I envy him with all my
heart. One thing is certain—there is no man living
who envies to-day the thougl ts of Judge Boyd—
(hisses and groans)—or of Mr. Arthur Balfour
(grosns)—for they have entered to-day upon a conflict
and a contest the magnitude of which they little know
—the end of which will be the destruction of their power
and of the infamous system of alien misrule of which
they are the instruments. (Cheers.) I know not
words that could express my feelings to-day as
to the noole dignity and fortitude of Father
Keller in the presence of the subdued and beaten
bully. (Loud cheers.) Father Keller is a specimen
of the priesthood of whom Ireland may well be proud
—(cheers)—and a specimen of true nationality and a
true-hearted Irish priest. Again I say, I envy him
in his prison cell, and I know no greater honour in
life, or more noble ambition, than to share the prison
cell with such a man, and to deserve it, as he has
deserved it, by loyalty to his people and to his race.
(Cheers.) The beet way we can honour Father
Kellerda proud example is by following in his foot-
steps, and to be like him loyal and trite to home, faith,
and freedom to the last. (Cheers.) .
The earriage arose off. End tbe crowd disperses],

r7477,' AFFRAY WITH MOONLIGHTERS:
About nine o'clock on Sunday night a man named
Pat rick Lineban was shot dead by a police patrol at
Knackavaddra, about three miles from Tralee. From
what can be learned through the police he was one of
a party of nine or ten Moonlighters who visited the
house of a man named Morgan King, for the pur-
pose of intimidating him in regard to the approach-
ing poor-law elections. Three police-constables were
concealed in an outhouse opposite King's, and when
they called upon the marauders to surrender, they
were answered by two shots. The police returned
the fire, one of the shots killing the man Linehan as
he4was in the act of opening the door of the house
adjoining King's, where a man named Scollard lives,
ad by whom he was employed. Scollard's window
was shattered with buckshot, and a woman who was
within had a narrow escape. The inmates of Scol-
lard's house maintain that the deceased could not
have belonged to the Moonlighting party, as he had
only gone out a short time before he was shot, and
he was undisguised.
• • •=.)