a fishing-smack in the wash of a great
merchantman.

But let one illusion be buried. If Ireland does not govern herself it is
quite certain that the British Parliament does not govern her. Changing
the venue of inquiry from London to Dublin we find ourselves still in
regions of the fantastic. From the sober and unemotional pages of
"Whitaker's Almanack" one learns, to begin with, that "the government of
Ireland is semi-independent." The separatism of geography has in this
case triumphed. The _de facto_ rulers of Ireland in ordinary slack
times, and in the daily round of business, are the heads of the great
Departments. Some of these are not even nominally responsible to
Parliament. The Intermediate Board, for instance, has for thirty years
controlled secondary education, but it has never explained itself to
Parliament and, because of the source from which its funds are derived,
it is not open to criticism in Parliament. But none of the heads are
really responsible to any authority except their own iron-clad
consciences and the officials of the Treasury, with whom, for the sake
of appearances, they wage an unreal war. In theory, the Chief Secretary
answers to Parliament for the misdeeds of them all. In practice, this
fines itself down to reading typewritten sophistications in reply to
original questions, and improvising jokes, of a well-recognised pattern,
to turn the point of supplementary questions for forty minutes on one
day in the week during session. In its own internal economy the
government of Ireland is a form of Pantheism, with the Chief Secretary
as underlying principle. He is the source of everything, good and evil,
light and darkness, benignity and malignity, with the unfortunate result
that he is in perpetual contradiction with himself. As we know, the
equilibrium of modern governments is maintained by mutual strain between
the various ministers. Sometimes, as in the case of Lord Randolph
Churchill, a strong personality, moved by a new idea, tears the
structure to pieces. But the Chief Secretary knows no such limitations
from without. Theoretically, he may be produced to infinity in any
direction; he is all in every part. But, as a matter of fact, through
the mere necessity of filling so much space his control becomes rarefied
to an invisible vapour; he ends by becoming nothing in any part. With
its ultimate principle reduced to the status of a _Dieu faineant_
political Pantheism is transformed into politi