At the head of the table, which occupied the centre of the apartment,
and in an arm-chair raised by a few steps from the floor, sat the
president of the society of United Irishmen. He alone was covered, and
though plainly dressed, there was an air of high breeding and
distinction about him; while in his bland smile were exhibited, the open
physiognomy of pleasantness, and love-winning mildness, which still mark
the descendants of the great Anglo-Norman Lords of the Pale, the Lords
of Ormond, Orrery, and Arran, the Mount Garrets, and Kilkennys,--in
former times, the great oligarchs of Ireland, and in times more recent,
the grace and ornament of the British court.
The president was the Honourable Simon Butler: beside him, on a lower
seat, sat the secretary. His uncovered head, and unshaded temples
received the full light of the suspended lamp. It was one of those
finely chiselled heads, which arrest the imagination, and seem to bear
incontrovertible evidence of the certainty of physiognomical science. A
dress particularly studied, was singularly contrasted with the athletic
figure and antique bearing of this interesting looking person. For
though unpowdered locks, and the partial uncovering of a muscular neck,
by the loose tie of the silk handkerchief had something of the
simplicity of republicanism, yet the fine diamond chat sparkled at the
shirt breast, and the glittering of two watch-chains (the foppery of the
day), exhibited an aristocracy of toilet, which did not exactly assort
with the Back-lane graces. The secretary of the United Irishmen, was
Archibald Hamilton Rowan.
On the opposite side sat a small, well-formed, and animated person, who
was talking with singular vivacity of look and gesture, to one of
extremely placid and even formal appearance. The first was the gay,
gallant, and patriotic founder of the society, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the
other was the celebrated and clever Doctor Drennan, a skilful physician,
and an elegant writer, who might have passed in appearance, for the
demure minister of some remote village-congregation of the Scotch kirk.
A tail, elegant, and sentimental looking person sat near to them, in an
attitude of interested attention, listening to the speaker, to whom, it
seemed, he was about to reply. It was Thomas Addas Emmet, the son of the
state physician of Ireland--then a young lawyer of great promise, and
now the Attorney-General of New York. The handsome and animated Dr.
Mackenna, one of the most popular writers of the day, and Oliver Bond,
the representative of the most reputable class of merchants, had grouped
forward their intelligent heads; while one who brought no personal
beauty to the cause (that letter of recommendation to all causes), James
Napper Tandy, stood waiting with a packet of letters, which he had
received in his former quality of secretary to the meeting.
While other leaders of the Union distinguished for their birth, talents,
or principles (and it is remarkable that they were all protestants),
filled up the seats near the head of the table; more mixed groups less
distinguished by the _beau sang_, which then came forth, in the fine
forms of the genuine Irish gentry of both sects, were congregated in the
obscurity of the bottom of the room--_Lady Morgan's O'Briens and
O'Flahertys._
* * * * *