e crowd--the music of his Irish brogue making
cadences of entreaty and again lashing the people into fury at the
memory of Ireland's wrongs.

"Irish men and women, we are met here to-day in the sight of God and in
defiance of the English government," (groans and hisses), "to clasp
hands, to unite our thoughts and to nerve our bodies to the supreme
effort of bringing hope to despair, freedom to slavery, prosperity to
the land and happiness to our homes." (Loud applause.) "Too long have
our forefathers lived under the yoke of the oppressor. Too long have
our old been buried in paupers' graves afther lives of misery no other
counthry in the wurrld can equal. Why should it be the lot of our
people--men and women born to a birthright of freedom? Why? Are ye men
of Ireland so craven that aliens can rule ye as they once ruled the
negro?" ("No, no!") "The African slave has been emancipated and his
emancipation was through the blood and tears of the people who wronged
him. Let OUR emancipation, then, be through the blood and tears of our
oppressors. In other nations it is the Irishman who rules. It is only
in his own counthry that he is ruled. And the debt of hathred and
misery and blasted lives and dead hopes is at our door today. Shall
that debt be unpaid?" ("No, no!") "Look around you. Look at the faces
of yer brothers and sisthers, worn and starved. Look at yer women-kind,
old before they've been young. Look at the babies at their mothers'
breasts, first looking out on a wurrld in which they will never know a
happy thought, never feel a joyous impulse, never laugh with the honest
laughther of a free and contented and God-and-government-protected
people. Are yez satisfied with this?" (Angry cries of "No, no!")

"Think of yer hovels--scorched with the heat, blisthered with the wind
and drenched with the rain, to live in which you toil that their owners
may enjoy the fruits of yer slavery--IN OTHER COUNTHRIES. Think of yer
sons and daughthers lavin' this once fair land in hundhreds of
thousands to become wage-earners across the seas, with their hearts
aching for their homes and their loved ones. The fault is at our own
door. The solution is in our own hands. Isn't it betther to die, pike
in hand, fightin' as our forefathers did, than to rot in filth, and
die, lavin' a legacy of disease and pestilence and weak brains and
famished bodies?" His voice cracked and broke into a high-pitched
hysterical cry as he finished the perorati