the space is occupied by big glass shades, with flowers and other
tributes of respect and affection. I counted more than a hundred, many
of them elaborate. The Corkmen send the biggest, a small greenhouse
with two brown Irish harps and the legend DONE TO DEATH. An Irish harp
worked in embroidery lies sodden on the earth. Green shamrock leaves
of tin, with the names of all the donors--this is important--obtrude
themselves here and there. A six-foot cross of white flowers, like a
badge of purity, lies on the grave, labelled Katherine Parnell, in a
lady's hand. The place is swamped with Irish harps, and it occurs to
me that the badge would not be so popular if the patriots knew that
the harp was imposed as an emblem of Ireland by English Henry the
Second. The name PARNELL in iron letters is on the turf, flowers
growing through them, a poetical idea. As I walk past they vibrate
with a metallic jingle, which reminds me of the shirt of mail the
living man wore to preserve himself from his fellow-patriots. Tay
Pay's life of the dead leader proves that his sole secret of success
was inflexible purpose, and that his notion of party management was to
treat the patriot members as dirt. Parnell was an authority in Irish
matters, and his example should be useful to Messrs. Gladstone,
Morley, and Co. An eminent Irishmen to-day said:--"With your
wibble-wobble and your shilly-shally, your pooh-pooh and your pah-pah,
you are ruining the country. Put down your foot and tell the Irish
people that they will not now nor at any future time get Home Rule,
and not a word will come out of them." A word (to the wise) is enough.

Dublin, June 29th.

No. 42.--AT A NATIONALIST MEETING.

The most remarkable feature of Dundalk life is the fact that the
people are doing something. Not much, perhaps, but still something.
The port is handy for Liverpool and Glasgow, and a steam packet
company gives a little life to the quays. The barracks, not far from
the shore, indicate one large source of custom, for wherever you find
a British regiment you find the people better off. The Athlone folks
say that but for the soldiers the place would be dead and buried, and
the Galway people are complaining that the garrison, the hated English
garrison, has been withdrawn. This inconsistency at first surprises
you, but you soon grow familiarised with the strange inconsistencies
of this wonderful island. Dundalk has vastly improved during the three
dozen yea