lls were insufficient to exclude the noise. The excellent nobleman
inside found himself obliged to cast round for original remarks about
the manuscript of the 'Book of Kells,' while the air was heavy with the
verses which commemorate the departure of 'fifty thousand fighting men'
to Table Bay. When at length he emerged on the library steps the tune
changed, as was right and proper, to 'God save the Queen.' Strangely
enough, Hyacinth had never before heard the national anthem. It is not
played or sung often by the natives of Connemara, and although the ocean
certainly forms part of the British Empire, the Atlantic waves have
not yet learned to beat out this particular melody. So it happened
that Hyacinth, without meaning to be offensive, omitted the ceremony of
removing his hat. A neighbour, joyful at the opportunity, snatched the
offending garment, and skimmed it far over the heads of the crowd. A few
hard kicks awakened Hyacinth more effectually to a sense of his crime,
and it was with a torn coat and many bruises that he escaped in the end
to the shelter of his rooms, less inclined to be loyal than when he left
them.

After a few weeks it became clear that the British armies in South
Africa were not going to reap that rich and unvarying crop of victories
which the valour of the soldiers and the ability of the generals
deserved. The indomitable spirit of the great nation rose to the
occasion, and the position of those who entertained doubts about the
justice of the original quarrel became more than ever unbearable.
Hyacinth took to wandering by himself through parts of the city in which
he was unlikely to meet any of his fellow-students. His soul grew bitter
within him. The course of petty persecution to which he was subjected
hardened his original sentimental sympathy with the Boer cause into a
clearly defined hatred of everything English. When he got clear of the
college and the hateful sound of the 'cook's son, Duke's son' tune, he
tramped along, gloating quietly over the news of the latest 'regrettable
incident.'

He was very lonely and friendless, for not even the discomfiture of his
enemies can make up to a young man for the want of a friend to speak to.
An inexpressible longing for home came over him. There was a shop in a
by-street which exposed photographs of Galway scenery in its windows for
a time. Hyacinth used to go day by day to gaze at them. The modest front
of the Gaelic League Hyce was another haunt o