space is devoted to calling the Parnellites ill names such as were
formerly applied by Irish patriots to Mr. Gladstone. And all because
they compete for the cents of Irish-American slaveys and bootblacks.
The Parnellites are not to be deterred by mere idle clamour. Both
parties are accustomed to be called liars and rogues, and both parties
accept the appellations as a matter of course. Nothing can stop them
when on the trail of cash. Is Irish sentiment to be again disappointed
for a paltry six thousand pounds? Is the Sisyphean stone of Home Rule,
so laboriously rolled uphill, to again roll down, crushing in its fall
the faithful rollers? Will not some American millionaire come forward
with noble philanthropy _and_ six thousand pounds to rescue and to
save the most beautiful, the most unfortunate country in the world
from further disappointment? Only six thousand pounds now required for
the great ultimate, or penultimate, or antepenultimate effort. Another
twopence and up goes the donkey!

Roscommon, June 27th.

No. 41.--THE CHANGED SPIRIT OF THE CAPITAL.

The Dubliners have quite given up the bill. The Unionist party have
regained their calm, and the Nationalists are resigned to the
position. Nobody, of whatever political colour, or however sanguine,
now expects the measure to become law. The Separatist rank and file
never hoped for so much luck, and their disappointment is therefore
anything but unbearable. My first letter indicated this lack of faith
and also its cause. The Dublin folks never really believed a British
Parliament would so stultify itself. The old lady who, on my arrival,
said "We'll get Home Rule when a pair of white wings grows out o' me
shoulders, an' I fly away like a big blackburd," finds her pendant in
the jarvey, who this morning said, "If we'd got the bill I would have
been as much surprised as if one o' me childhren got the moon by
roarin' for it." Distrust of Mr. Gladstone is more prevalent than
ever, and the prophets who all along credited that pious statesman
with rank insincerity are now saying "I towld ye so." The
Lord-Lieutenant is making his Viceregal progress in an ominous
silence. The Limerick people let him go without a cheer. At Foynes
something like a procession was formed, with the parish priest at its
head; but the address read by his Rivirince reads very like a
scolding. It points out that "our rivers are at present without
shipping, our mills and factories are idle,