This  Kemble  delivered  with  marked  emphasis,  and  the  clamor  which  followed
showed  that  his  shot  had  told.  Having  paused  for  a  moment,  he  repeated
the  line  in  a  tone  of  such  sardonic  scorn  that  no  one  in  the  house  could  mis-
take his  meaning,  and  the  rest  of  the  piece  was  inaudible.
The  story  does  not  end  here.  William  Ireland  subsequently  (in  1796)  made
a  full  confession  of  his  fraud.  But  the  confession  was  neither  humble  nor  con-
trite ;  even  its  truthfulness  has  been  doubted.  All  through  he  appears  to  be
laughing  at  the  public  whom  he  had  deluded.  He  tells  his  story  with  a  degree
of  impudence  and  humor  which  makes  it  very  curious  reading.  One  is  in*
dined  to  pardon  the  scamp  for  the  sake  of  his  very  audacity.  He  takes  all
the  blame  upon  himself,  and  is  at  much  pains  to  exonerate  his  father.  He
had  had,  he  said,  but  a  single  confidant,  a  young  man  named  Talbot,  who  had
surprised  him  one  day  in  the  very  act  of  forgery,  and  who  therefore  became
necessarily  a  sharer  of  the  secret.  Ireland,  however,  gave  proof  of  skill  and
energy.  Like  all  who  have  followed  the  same  business,  he  procured  paper
by  tearing  out  the  blank  leaves  of  old  books.  He  was  careful  to  soil  them
afterward,  particularly  on  the  edges,  in  order  to  give  them  an  ancient  air.
