er and over again promised by the very men in
whose hands you, or rather Mr. Gladstone will place them. No; I
exculpate the English people from returning him to power, I know that
the brains of England as well as those of Ireland are against him. But
the English people stand by and see the thing pressed forward, hoping
for the best. They rely on their immense wealth and energy to get them
out of any hole they may get into. I am reminded of Captain Webb, who
said, 'I am bound to have a go at the Niagara rapids. I know it's
infernal risky and therefore infernally foolish, but I must have cash,
and I expect I shall pull through somehow.' And I once met a sailor
who said that his skipper had not his equal for getting the ship out
of a scrape, nor yet his equal for getting into one. Same with
England. Webb did not come up again. Might be the same with Bull.
England is risking all for peace, just as Webb risked all for money.

"The Irish Parliament may, after three years, break every contract
having regard to land, no matter when or how made. Think of the
ferment during that three years of waiting. Think of the situation of
farmers as well as that of landowners. Who will work the land and do
the best for the country without security? Then the College Green
folks will have power to establish an armed and disciplined force. The
Irish Army of Independence is already recruiting all over the country.
For what? Is it to assist England? Is it friendly to England? Why, the
very foundation of its sentiment is undying animosity to England. And
your English Home Rulers say, 'Quite right, too, the Irish have good
reason for their hatred!' Gladstonians come over here, mingle with
haters of their native land, and earn a little cheap popularity by
slanging John Bull. They get excellent receptions when they speak in
that vein, especially if they have any money to spend. But what do the
Irish think of them? The poor fools make me sick, splashing their cash
about and vilifying England for the cheers of Fenians and the
patronage of Maynooth priests. A lady from Wolverhampton, a good, kind
lady, was woefully imposed upon somewhere in Connemara. A priest told
me; a priest you have met." Here the name was given. "He laughed at
the simplicity of this well-meaning benefactor, who was shown nineteen
processes for rent, and who shelled out very liberally at the sight."

"Seventeen of them were old ones! The rent had already been paid. But
whenever an