nfraction of the Ten Commandments, was smoking
moodily on the steps.

"Did ye injy the matein?" he inquired.

"Thought it rather dead," I replied.

"Faix, 'twas yerself that kilt it."

I feared as much. What happened after I left no man will tell, though
doubtless the resolutions adopted by the twenty men sitting on the
forrums of ellum would vibrate through the Empire, and shake the
British monarchy to its iniquitous base. Irish meetings must be taken
with a grain of salt. A Westport man long drew fees for reports of
mass meetings which never took place. Three or four Nationalists met
in a back parlour, and their speeches, reported verbatim, rang through
Ireland. Gallant Mayo was praised as heading the charge of Connaught,
and Westport was lauded for its public spirit. And all the while the
Westport folks knew nothing about it. The Dundalk folks will doubtless
be equally astonished to learn that the cause is advancing so
powerfully in their midst. This hole-and-corner meeting, waiting for
the priest, addressed by the priest, bossed by the priest, is a fair
sample of the humbug which seems inseparable from the Irish question.
A very short acquaintance with the country and its people is
sufficient to convince any reasonable person that the whole movement
is based on humbug, sustained by humbug, and is itself a humbug from
beginning to end. To see the English Parliament managed and exploited
by these groups of low-bred and ignorant peasants, nose-led by
ignorant and illiterate priests, is enough to make you ashamed of
being an Englishman. The country has come to something when Britons
can be worked like puppets by mean-looking animals such as I saw in
the Dundalk Labourers' Hall, where the only respectable thing was an
iron safe bearing the stamp of Turner, of Dudley. And this meeting, in
status, numbers, and enthusiasm, was quite representative of
Nationalist meetings all over Ireland. The English people are waiting
for their turn while Papal behests are executed. John Bull stands hat
in hand, taking his orders from Father O'Baithershin. The Irish say
that England is in the first stage of her decadence, and they say it
with some reason. England, the land of heroes, sages, statesmen, is
the mere registrar of the parish priest and his poor, benighted dupes.
Raleigh, Cromwell, Burleigh, Pitt, Palmerston, are succeeded by Healy,
Morley, Sexton, Harcourt, Gladstone. England is Ireland's lackey, and
must wait till her bet