The Project Gutenberg eBook, Paddy at Home, by E. De Mandat-Grancey, Translated by Alice Pullein Morton

ORIGINAL AND ONLY GENUINE.

COUGHS, COLDS, ASTHMA, BRONCHITIS.

Dr. J. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE IS THE GREAT SPECIFIC FOR CHOLERA DIARRHŒA, DYSENTERY.

Dr. J. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE.—Dr. J. C. BROWNE (late Army Medical Staff) DISCOVERED a REMEDY to denote which he coined the word CHLORODYNE. Dr. Browne is the SOLE INVENTOR, and, as the composition of Chlorodyne cannot possibly be discovered by Analysis (organic substances defying elimination), and since the formula has never been published, it is evident that any statement to the effect that a compound is identical with Dr. Browne’s Chlorodyne must be false.

This Caution is necessary, as many persons deceive purchasers by false representations.

DR. J. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE.—Vice Chancellor Sir W. PAGE WOOD stated publicly in Court that Dr. J. COLLIS BROWNE was UNDOUBTEDLY the INVENTOR of CHLORODYNE, that the whole story of the defendant Freeman was deliberately untrue, and he regretted to say it had been sworn to.—See The Times, July 13th, 1864.

GENERAL BOARD of HEALTH, London, REPORT that it ACTS as a CHARM, one dose generally sufficient.

Dr. GIBBON, Army Medical Staff, Calcutta, states: “2 DOSES COMPLETELY CURED ME of DIARRHŒA.”

From Symes & Co., Pharmaceutical Chemists, Simla. Jan. 5, 1880.

To J. T. Davenport, London.

Dear Sir,—We congratulate you upon the widespread reputation this justly-esteemed medicine has earned for itself all over the East. As a remedy of general utility, we much question whether a better is imported, and we shall be glad to hear of its finding a place in every Anglo-Indian home. The other brands, we are happy to say, are now relegated to the native bazaars, and, judging from their sale, we fancy their sojourn there will be but evanescent. We could multiply instances ad infinitum of the extraordinary efficacy of DR. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE in Diarrhœa and Dysentery, Spasms, Cramps, Neuralgia the Vomiting of Pregnancy, and as a general sedative, that have occurred under our personal observation during many years. In Choleraic Diarrhœa, and even in the more terrible forms of Cholera itself, we have witnessed its surprisingly controlling power.

We have never used any other form of this medicine than Collis Browne’s, from a firm conviction that it is decidedly the best, and also from a sense of duty we owe to the profession and the public, as we are of opinion that the substitution of any other than Collis Browne’s is a deliberate breach of faith on the part of the chemist to prescriber and patient alike.—We are, Sir, faithfully yours, SYMES & CO., Members of the Pharm. Society of Great Britain, His Excellency the Viceroy’s Chemists.

DR. J. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE is the TRUE PALLIATIVE in NEURALGIA, GOUT, CANCER, TOOTHACHE, RHEUMATISM.

DR. J. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE is a liquid medicine which assuages PAIN of EVERY KIND, affords a calm, refreshing sleep WITHOUT HEADACHE, and INVIGORATES the nervous system when exhausted.

DR. J. COLLIS BROWNE’S CHLORODYNE rapidly cuts short all attacks of EPILEPSY, SPASMS, COLIC, PALPITATION, HYSTERIA.

IMPORTANT CAUTION.—The IMMENSE SALE of this REMEDY has given rise to many UNSCRUPULOUS IMITATIONS. Be careful to observe Trade Mark. Of all Chemists. 1s. 1½d., 2s. 9d., and 4s. 6d.

Sole Manufacturer,
J. T. DAVENPORT, 33 Gt. Russell St., W.C.

Dr. BROWNE coined the word CHLORODYNE to designate his discovery, therefore to apply the word to other preparations is dishonest.

PADDY AT HOME.

(“CHEZ PADDY.”)

PADDY AT HOME.

(“CHEZ PADDY.”)

BY

THE BARON E. DE MANDAT-GRANCEY.

TRANSLATED BY

ALICE PULLEIN MORTON.

FOURTH EDITION, REVISED.

LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, Limited,
11, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1888.

Richard Clay and Sons,
london and bungay.

DEDICATION.

H.R.H. THE COUNTESS OF FLANDERS
HAS DEIGNED TO
ACCEPT THE DEDICATION
OF THIS BOOK.

PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.

Agriculture has been subjected for some years past in all parts of Europe, and particularly in France, to a crisis so intense and terrible as only to be compared to that which Italy passed through at the time when, by the extinction of piracy in the Mediterranean, the transport of grain from Egypt and Algeria to Rome became possible. The effect of that measure was to ruin the agriculture of the peninsula, and to compel the rural population to exile themselves from their country; but it must be admitted that the result in the end was to benefit all the nations of the Mediterranean coast by enabling them to participate in the advantages of civilisation, which until then had been the appanage of a very small number. This economic revolution, disastrous as it was to the Roman Empire, proved beneficial to humanity.

I am absolutely convinced that the application of the discovery of steam, to diminish the spaces which separate us from the thinly-populated continents of America and Australia, must bring about an analogous revolution—that is to say, a more equal division of wealth, and a more logical distribution of the human race upon the surface of the globe. I understand very well that those who can set the love of humanity before the love of country will rejoice at this—but I am not one of them.

I believe that for certain countries success in the contest of competition is impossible. In those countries a large emigration is the only remedy. With us in France it is different. I believe we can compete, and compete successfully, when aided by protection, and I am glad to recognise the fact that most of the continental nations adopt this policy, for it is the only one which, in my opinion, will preserve to the Caucasian race and to European civilisation the position which they hold at the head of mankind.

I have been to seek in Ireland the confirmation of these theories. I believe I have found it there. I know how repugnant such ideas will be to some, and that possibly they may call forth but little sympathy from the mass of English readers; I have therefore been desirous of offering these few words of explanation in order that they may understand the spirit in which this book has been conceived and written as it is—by a Frenchman for Frenchmen.

“Traduttori! tradittori!” says an Italian proverb, and this I had so forcibly in my mind that I had some hesitation when Mr. Chapman did me the honour to offer to publish an English translation of my book. I know well the difficulty of translating a book of this style, however intimate the translator may be with the two languages; and I should never have thought it possible for any one to succeed so completely in rendering even the slightest thoughts of the author, as has been accomplished by Mrs. Morton, who has so kindly served me by interpreting me to the English public. I may perhaps be permitted to offer to her here some expressions of my gratitude and of my admiration for her literary talent, which I have felt so strongly while reading the proof sheets.

Edmond de Mandat-Grancey.

17th July, 1887.

PREFACE.

Ireland and France are still united by so many sympathetic memories that we have watched all the incidents of the struggle undertaken by the unfortunate Irish against England with the keenest interest. This struggle has now lasted nearly three hundred years, but the Irish have never despaired. They have always preserved their faith and their nationality unsullied. England has tried every means for their subjection. First—extreme repression. We may say that until the commencement of this century, the brutality and perfidy she has displayed, surpass all that one could imagine. How, for instance, can we allude calmly to the Bill (2 Anne, C. VI. § 3) which provided that if in a Catholic family the eldest son became a Protestant, he might, through that alone, lay claim to the property of all his relations who remained Catholic; the latter only retaining the usufruct, and being then obliged to remit a portion of the rents to him. This law has been repealed; but it was not until 1829 that a Catholic member could sit in Parliament. These measures were quite inadequate to advance matters one single step. The two races always refused to assimilate. England herself has been conquered, and the Norman invaders were not too merciful towards the Saxons. However, the fusion took place so rapidly that at the end of one or two centuries there was no longer any distinction between the two peoples.

But it appears as though the Norman race in blending with the Saxon, had lost all its powers of assimilation. From that time England has made many conquests. Nearly everywhere she has scrupulously respected the customs, the religion, and even the prejudices of the vanquished. And yet neither in Canada, in India, nor anywhere else has she ever been able to assimilate the conquered race, in spite of the material progress that she often brings them, whilst the Spaniards or the Portuguese, who used the most abominable means to conquer their colonies, who did nothing for them, who exhausted them in every possible way, still managed to completely modify the nationality of the races with whom they were dealing, so that after they regained their freedom these colonies remained Spanish or Portuguese in language, customs, and religion.

It therefore seems as though modern Englishmen have an absolute inaptitude for the assimilation of foreign races. From 1829 they have done all in their power to win submission from Ireland by kindness, since they could not conquer it by violence. Everything that we hear about the state of this unhappy country shows us that these attempts have not been more successful than the former ones.

Now Mr. Gladstone wishes to try a third experiment. He says that unquestionably the union between Ireland and England has, until now, been a most unhappy one. We have only to look at the map to see that they must live under the same political legislation. A divorce is impossible. Let something like a judicial separation be tried; each one would regain liberty to a certain extent, and there would only be left those details under the old dual regulations which it would be absolutely impossible to deal with separately. This is the programme now laid before the English people. Has it any chance of being accepted by the parties interested? And then if it is adopted, what influence would it have over the future of the two countries?

I have often asked myself these questions, sympathising with one side when reading the excited debates in the House of Commons, with the other when hearing of the lamentable state of Ireland. But I seem to catch a glimpse of one view of the question that no one has yet alluded to. The Irish attribute their misery to England’s tyranny; the English, indignant at the accusation, reply that the laws which rule Ireland are the same which render the English people rich and prosperous; they assert that the Irish have only themselves to blame for their misery. In this discussion each starts with a fixed idea—that the misery of Ireland must have some social, religious, or political cause. May it not quite simply result from economical causes? The facility of transport is tending to level the value of land and population all over the world; and consequently it is ruining agriculture in Europe. This evolution is only commencing amongst us, whilst the accumulation of capital and the fertility of the soil have until now singularly mitigated its effects. But in Ireland, where no capital exists, and where the soil is very poor, this evolution commenced a long time ago, and its consequences must be more terrible than anywhere else. Is it not here that we must look for the real origin of the Irish crisis? And if this is so, may not the events now taking place in that unhappy country be reproduced amongst us sooner or later, if we do not guard against them?

It was in order to verify this theory that I determined last year to go and pass some weeks in Ireland, where I have many friends. The notes which I now ask you to read have been collected from day to day. As far as possible, I have named the persons who have given me information, and designated by their right names the localities through which I passed. But I have been forced to break this rule three or four times, in order not to expose my hosts to personal danger.

Grancey, April, 1887.

CONTENTS.

PADDY AT HOME.

CHAPTER I.

THE STORY OF A MINISTER, HIS SECRETARY, AND A PAIR OF SATIN SHOES—MR. R——’S THEORIES—LONDON—ENGLISH SOLDIERS—THE CHANNEL TUNNEL—HYDE PARK—HOLYHEAD—DUBLIN—THE JAUNTING CARS—United Ireland AND MR. O’BRIEN—The Freeman’s Journal AND MR. DWYER GRAY.

July 1st, 1886.—At twenty past eight this morning I left the Gare du Nord and arrived at Charing Cross at half-past five. When we reached Dover at three o’clock the English Custom House officers had closely examined all the luggage carried in the hand. Others now waited for us in London, who searched our trunks quite as minutely. They made me unscrew the little boxes in my dressing-bag, apparently to ascertain that they did not contain dynamite; for at the present time dynamite causes great preoccupation, not only to the English police, but also to a great many of Queen Victoria’s faithful subjects. I can prove this by a story which is only a few months old, and which was related to me a day or two ago.

It happened at the time when O’Donovan Rossa, at New York, daily announced in his newspaper that the week would not close before all the public buildings in London were destroyed by the exertions of pupils who had just left the special school which he had founded at Brooklyn for the study of the use of dynamite; and since these threats have been corroborated by the explosions at the Tower of London and at the War Office, public excitement had reached its highest point. One morning when a very high official reached his office he saw a small, strangely-shaped parcel, which Had been placed on his writing-table.

“What is that?” demanded the official, addressing his secretary.

“I do not know,” replied the other; “it was there when I came in, and no one can tell me who put it there.”

“Oh, oh!” said the official. “I am obliged to go out for a few minutes; be kind enough to open it and see what it is,” and the great man precipitately left the room.

The secretary advanced to open it, but changed his mind.

“Mr. Jones,” said he to one of the chief clerks who was reading in the next room, “the chief has sent me to the city. Will you kindly open the small parcel you will find on the writing-table?” and he ran down stairs.

Half an hour later when the chief returned he found the man who cleans the office examining with an astonished face a pair of satin shoes that the minister’s wife, who was then in the country, had sent to her lord and master in order that they might be returned to the shoemaker.

However, for the moment dynamite seems to have become a matter of secondary interest. Every one is thinking of the elections and of the events passing in Ulster.

You must know that of the population of this Irish province about fifty-five per cent. are Protestants, nearly all of Scottish origin. For two hundred years, thanks to English supremacy, they have not neglected a single opportunity of tormenting their Catholic neighbours, and they say that if Mr. Gladstone’s Bill should render Ireland independent, the positions will be reversed, and the Catholics will lose no time in returning their persecutions with interest. Their exasperation has therefore assumed alarming dimensions. It must also be acknowledged their arguments are very specious.

“We have,” say they, “been brought here by the English to consolidate their conquest. In all the southern revolts we have formed the vanguard of the English troops. It is just because we are loyal subjects of the Queen that we are hated by the Irish; and now England talks of abandoning us, bound hand and foot, to our enemies.

“We maintain that in doing this she will exceed her rights. No Government is allowed to cut the bonds that unite the different parts of the kingdom. English we are, and English we mean to remain; and if they intend to separate us, in spite of ourselves, we will resist, if necessary, even in arms. And we shall soon see whether the Queen will send her soldiers against us merely because we wish to remain her subjects.”

With this subscriptions were organised, not only in Ulster, but in most of the colonies; rifles were bought, volunteers were enlisted, and the party newspapers loudly announced that an army of 75,000 men was only waiting until Mr. Gladstone’s Bill passed before taking the field.

No doubt there was a great deal of exaggeration in all this. However, that the movement existed cannot be denied, and from its nature it must create very great difficulties for Mr. Gladstone if he succeeded in passing his Bill, for he will be forced to send an English army against Englishmen only because they wish to remain English subjects. Would the army go? Would the soldiers accept such an odious commission? We may well inquire, for the other day at Aldershot some drunken soldiers invaded a Gladstonian election meeting. They beat the persons present, treating them as rebels, and when the guard were called in they did not conceal their sympathy for their comrades.

I also read in the Morning Post a fact which appears to me very significant. The officer who commanded the detachment which reached Khartoum some hours too late to save Gordon—Lord Charles Beresford, captain in the navy—is now candidate for the section of Marylebone, in London, which he represented in the last Parliament. A rumour had spread that he, General Lord Wolseley, and several other superior officers who are Protestants but of Irish origin, had promised in case of a conflict, to take the command of the Ulster volunteers. He was questioned on this point, and this was his answer:

“They have grossly distorted my words,” said he. “I am an officer, and I can never join men who fight against Her Majesty the Queen; but if I were ordered to serve against my fellow-countrymen I would resign my commission.”

It is therefore not impossible that the least skirmish in Ulster would end, always supposing that the Bill passed, in mutiny in the English army. The situation is consequently very serious. At least this appears to be the general opinion. I had the good fortune to dine with several political men this evening. Our host, a very fine old man, occupies an important position in the magistracy. He is also a distinguished author who has exercised considerable influence in the Liberal movement of the last fifty years; he was the intimate friend of de Tocqueville and his assiduous correspondent.

Mr. R——, who honoured me with a long conversation before dinner, appeared to me deeply moved by current events. The crisis provoked by Mr. Gladstone seemed to him so serious, that, although an old Liberal who had belonged to the Whigs all his life, and although for some years he had not engaged in active politics, he had not hesitated to re-enter the arena and to take the field against his friends in favour of the Conservatives. Naturally, his attitude produced a great impression, and the other day he was invited to make a speech at a meeting over which Lord Malmesbury was to preside.

The newspapers published and commented upon his speech. I told him how much the reports given of it had interested me, and he was kind enough to condense into a few words the thesis that he had supported.

His estimate of the situation threw such a vivid light upon the question that I cannot do better than reproduce his words.

“What Mr. Gladstone really proposes to us,” said he, “is a dismemberment of England. He wishes that with our free consent and without any struggle we should submit to the loss of one of our provinces, just as after a disastrous war, you lost Alsace.

“The wound thus inflicted upon the country would perhaps be even more dangerous than the one that France has suffered from, because, for many reasons, the scar would always remain open. And to whom in fact do they propose to surrender Ireland? To a Parliament elected by herself! But they know who the members of that Parliament would be. It would be Mr. Parnell and his partisans, the Irish members of the present Parliament, or rather Mr. Parnell and his followers, for no one denies the well-known fact that the Irish Nationalists, before their nomination, were obliged to sign an agreement which bound them to the most absolute obedience to Mr. Parnell’s orders.

“We should therefore surrender Ireland to Mr. Parnell, and to the National League of which he is president. Now the National League is a society organised in America under the patronage of Irish revolutionists and their accomplices whom they can find amongst us, whose avowed aim is to substitute their authority for that of the Queen. And they have so far succeeded that this irresponsible power has been able to establish in Ireland all the elements and all the machinery of regular authority. It raises taxes, promulgates laws, and has tribunals which simulate justice in the application of these laws, which are scrupulously obeyed because, whilst the enforcement of our law is hampered by the thousand formalities which always accompany the administration of regular justice, they use the dagger and pistol to ensure the execution of their decrees. Hundreds of innocent lives have already been sacrificed in this way. Their power is so great that they have found means to render life intolerable to all who show the least inclination to free themselves; for their spies penetrate everywhere, and the country is so terrorised that the victims themselves dare not complain. And now they propose that we should surrender Ireland into the hands of these men!

“But this is not all. Is there, at least, any chance that so dishonourable an abdication, so painful a sacrifice, would secure peace? We assert that it would not do so. The Irish Nationalists have no definite aspirations. They use each concession that is made to them as an argument and basis for claiming a second. They are no longer content to demand that Ireland should have the right of framing her own laws; theoretically, this would still be admissible; they now wish that she should no longer submit to the laws of the English Parliament. As though two parts of the same nation can be ruled by different legislatures, by two codes so entirely different, and inspired by opposing principles. The experiment has already been tried in 1782, and it was then so clearly proved that this combination was absolutely impracticable, that Mr. Pitt won eternal honour by re-establishing, in 1800, that union which is so indispensable to a nation, yet which they now dare to ask us to repeal.

“I now approach another side of the question. I have the most profound respect for those of our fellow-citizens who profess the Catholic religion. But, as you know, the eighty-six present members of Parliament who have attached themselves to Mr. Parnell, owe their election to the influence of the Catholic clergy. They are completely and absolutely devoted to the prelates of that Church. It is therefore these prelates who would rule Ireland. They would have the direction of the public education. But then, what would be the fate of the Protestant population, which is still loyal to England, whose cause they have defended for two hundred and fifty years? You would abandon them to their worst enemies. Would the Catholics at once proceed to massacre them as they did in 1641? Perhaps not. Still I feel convinced, that should troubles arise, the lives of the Protestants would be endangered, but, in any case, you may be sure that the Catholics would know how to render life intolerable to them.

“There is another consideration not less important than the former. From the day that Ireland possesses Home Rule, not a single Englishman will remain there, it would immediately be followed by a great emigration of the richer classes. Some would go to the colonies, but the others, in greater number, would come to England. Some of the linen manufacturers in Belfast are already making arrangements for the transfer of their business to the Isle of Man.

“Work, which is already scarce in Ireland, would then completely disappear. After the masters’ emigration we should see that of the workmen, and their influx upon the labour market in England, which is already overcrowded, would necessarily lead to a serious fall in wages.

“You now see the probable results of separation from both the social and economic aspects. Its consequences, from all political and military considerations, would be still more fatal. In case of war unity is indispensable in a great empire. It was through unity that in our generation Italy has attained independence; it is through unity Germany governs Europe. And it is at this moment, when every nation is realising the necessity of strengthening the links that unite their different parts, that the proposal is made that we should create on our own coasts an independent, if not hostile, power....”

It appears to me that this speech, of which I can only give an epitome, faithfully reproduces the objections which Englishmen raise against the Gladstonian Bill. The first effect of the Bill was to throw the Liberal Party into absolute confusion. A lady whom I met to-day said to me:

“Really, everything is upside down! My husband was in the House of Lords; my eldest son is now a member of it; his two brothers sat in the last House of Commons; my family has always been Liberal. During the fifty years that I have lived in the political world I have always been accustomed to see the Tories considered our enemies. And now, thanks to Mr. Gladstone, we are forced to acknowledge that, for the moment, only the Tories can save England; and all my sons have entered the field on behalf of their former adversaries.”

It is evident that every one whom I have seen is much alarmed. People are greatly exasperated against Mr. Gladstone, who, in order to succeed, will not hesitate to provoke a war of classes. The dissentients who have abandoned him have shown great loyalty to their new allies, for, in many instances several of them have withdrawn from the contest, leaving the field open for the Conservatives.

What will be the result of this struggle? In the general opinion of all who were present at the dinner the elections would not throw any light upon the situation. The Conservatives would gain a great deal, but would not have a majority without the support of some of the dissentients. Now the latter will vote for them and against Mr. Gladstone on the question of Home Rule, but they will vote for Mr. Gladstone and against the Conservatives on every other subject. It will therefore, if these predictions should be realised, become necessary to have a third election before long. These are some of the circumstances in which we admire a parliamentary government.

Here I leave the English side of the question. To-morrow I start for Ireland. I am going to live in the country governed by the Land League; I shall see the principal heads of the Nationalist movement; in their turn they will explain the situation to me from the Irish side; and after hearing the pros and cons of the question I will endeavour to form an opinion.

July 3rd.—I really do not know why London should be described as a frightful city; but it is the English who speak of it in those terms. The French are contented to believe the report, and, as a rule, take care not to go there. For my part I have only visited it two or three times in my life, and have never remained more than four days at a time, but I own that I think London is charming. I only find fault with the distances.

In Paris one can get anywhere in twenty minutes; here the shortest drive takes at least half an hour or forty minutes, and yet the cabs travel faster than our fiacres. But what animation in the streets, which are nearly all filled with two and sometimes four rows of carriages following each other uninterruptedly. And, besides, I have a weakness for the small English houses, which, without any architectural pretensions, all look so clean and comfortable. Still, the absence of porches for carriages (portes cochères) must be very inconvenient, particularly for women. What state must their satin shoes be in when they are obliged to cross a muddy pavement on a wet evening? We are, perhaps, a little inclined to exaggerate English comfort. But, really, when we have seen M. Boulanger’s untidy, bearded army, it is quite refreshing to look at the fine English soldiers, who walk about the streets holding a small cane in the hand. We may, perhaps, find fault with them for looking a little too much like fashion-plates, with their well-pomatumed hair and their small forage caps stuck over the right ear, in utter defiance of the most elementary laws of equilibrium; but it is always advisable that a soldier should take pride in his appearance. Still, some of them a little exaggerate the effect. But the Scotchmen—the Highlanders—are my delight. They exhibit their ruddy calves, and the long plaids that hang from their shoulders, with such amusing pride. But one should see them in India. A few years ago I was at Singapore at the same time as a Scotch regiment. We never missed going to see them parade and drill every evening. There was the officer passing in front of his troops, stiff, formal, handsome as a god. The men stood perfectly still, but their grimacing, convulsed features indicated the revolt of the flesh against discipline; as soon as the officer had passed the flesh asserted its right; the bayonets waved like corn shaken by the wind. In defiance of breaking the line all hastily bent down and furiously rubbed their legs, which resembled zebra’s stripes from mosquito bites. It was a splendid sight.

I was staying at the Alexandra Hotel. From my windows I could see the fine trees and green lawns of Hyde Park. I occupied the same room four years ago. But then we formed quite a party, M. de Lesseps, the Duc de F——, and several others. I can never help laughing at the recollection of the disaster that awaited us. The promoters of the Channel Tunnel had invited us to come and see the works, which were being actively pressed forward, a little, I believe, in the hope of forcing the hand of the English Government, which did not seem very enthusiastic about it. At Dover they had invited us to a grand dinner at the Lord Warden Hotel; and on the following day a special train conveyed us to the entrance of the tunnel, at the foot of the long white cliffs by which the railway runs—the “white cliffs of Old England!” Everybody was in the most delightful humour, except, however, M. Hervé Mangon, since Minister of the French Republic, who would not unbend, but threatened a diplomatic representation because he had lost his portmanteau.

Small trucks drawn by workmen took us to the end of the long gallery already excavated. They had reached 1,600 metres from the shore. Colonel Beaumont’s perforating machine bit heartily into the white chalk, scarcely firmer than cheese, through which they daily advanced three or four yards. We emptied a respectable number of champagne bottles to the success of the enterprise, which to us all seemed so certain that we treated those who hinted that it could not be opened under two years as lukewarm partisans.

A magnificent luncheon, served in a tent, awaited us when we came out. We recommenced drinking the finest champagne. Every one thought of making his little speech, when suddenly we saw a gentleman arrive, who handed to the president, Sir Edward Watkin, a paper resembling an official document. He hastened to open it, and commenced reading it aloud. It was an order from the Board of Trade, I believe, commanding that the works should be stopped at once.

The particulars of this order are amusing. The collection of English laws is voluminous, for none of them are ever annulled. However, they had the greatest trouble in the world to find a law that applied to our case. They were obliged to content themselves with a statute dating from the Saxon Heptarchy, which “forbade the establishment of communications with foreign lands.” The punishment threatened by this statute was not a very agreeable prospect, but one could be sure that after the sentence was executed the condemned would not protest against it. For it was clearly explained that first his head would be cut off, then his body divided into thirteen pieces; and one piece would be sent to each of the thirteen chief cities in the country, to ornament its principal gate.

I remember that when Sir Edward, who did not appear to take all these details very seriously, reached this point he interrupted his reading, and piously raising his eyes towards heaven, he exclaimed:

“I hope that her most gracious majesty, taking into consideration the small size of her humble subject, will deign to make an exception in my favour, and allow the number of pieces to be reduced. I fear that some of the cities would be deprived of their share of me, but at least the others would haw a reasonably-sized piece!”

This reflection provoked peals of laughter from the honourable company, in which the official who had brought the order joined. He was invited to sit down, and he also began to drink champagne with marvellous good will. Sir Edward was not cut in pieces, but the Channel works were effectively stopped, and God knows whether they will ever be recommenced. I always think of this story when I see the English struggling with any difficulties. No one knows how to harmonise their principles and their interest better than they do. The real reason of their opposition to this unfortunate tunnel is that they foresee that its construction would deal a severe blow to their coasting trade. But since, after two hundred years of close protection, they have now constituted themselves the apostles of free trade, they cannot possibly own that these considerations affect them. Others might have been embarrassed by this affair. They at once discovered the famous old Saxon law. It is the same thing with American cattle. They begin to see that agriculture will become impossible in England if cattle are imported too freely. So they have discovered an admirable method of arranging matters. Instead of stopping the imports by a Custom House officer, they employ a veterinary surgeon. The cattle are allowed to disembark, but as soon as they are landed the sanitary inspector examines them, declares that they are diseased, and has them killed on the spot. I feel sure that the English will evade the Irish difficulty by some duplicity of the same nature.

After passing my day in driving about, towards six o’clock I went and sat in Hyde Park to watch the carriages and riders passing by. The latter are much less well cared for than we are in Paris. That dear Allée des Poteaux is replaced by a straight avenue, about a mile long, bounded by rails. On each side there is a footpath, and beyond that a road for the carriages.

I think that the equipages are much less brilliant than formerly. The number of imposing, fat, red-faced coachmen, with silk stockings and powdered wigs, has certainly diminished. However, one still sees a good many of those fantastic liveries in which Englishmen delight. There are some in shot-colours; I saw one of pale green, with cuffs, facings, and collar of red, braided with gold. I fancy, too, that the horses—at least the carriage horses—are strikingly inferior to the former standard.

This is all easily explained. Here, as with us, if not the largest fortunes, at all events the secondary incomes are seriously reduced. Commerce is weakened, industry is declining, and agriculture is utterly ruined. There are no English landowners who have not been obliged to grant a reduction of 15, 25, and sometimes 50 per cent. to their farmers; and it appears that in Ireland things are still worse. It is quite natural that luxury should suffer from this state of things. I hear that it must even be more affected by and by, and that if there is still so much outward appearance of wealth, it is because people are getting into debt. It is the same amongst us.

Women leave their carriages, and walk on the paths, or pause in groups, chatting with the riders as they pass. But if the horses have greatly deteriorated I think that the dresses have considerably improved. Some of them are charming. Æstheticism has disappeared, or nearly so. My friend Mr. Burnand has very effectually caricatured its eccentricities in Punch. But, since action always involves reaction, the fashion, after going to an excess of poetry, is now inclined to fall into the opposite extreme. Lady Harberton has invented what she calls a divided skirt; it practically consists of Zouaves’ trousers. Another lady proposes a Greek costume; not that of Venus, but the arrangement worn by those antique statues that are really draped. A third suggests yet another, which perhaps has more chance of being adopted by a certain class, to whom it might be useful. There is but one button to unfasten, and it falls off. It appears that all these ladies preach by example, and have already a fair number of disciples. But I only quote what I am told, for I have not been fortunate enough to have an opportunity of judging the effect produced de visu.

At seven I tore myself away from the contemplation of so much beauty, and drove to Euston Station to catch the Dublin mail, which leaves London at 8.20. Towards two in the morning we reached Holyhead, a small island separated from the mainland by a narrow channel, which is crossed by a fine bridge. The railway has been brought here because it is the nearest point to Ireland, and also because this little island contains a superb port, where vessels find excellent shelter from the heavy seas of St. George’s Channel. I have rarely seen such fine ships as the steamers which carry the royal mails. They should be taken as models when it is decided to replace the tub-like boats still used between Calais and Dover. The one that brought me over three days ago, The Maid of Kent, was two hours crossing, although we had splendid weather. The distance is twenty-one miles. This brings the speed up to ten and a half knots an hour. The Holyhead packet reached Ireland from England in three hours and a half, although it is sixty-three miles. We therefore made sixteen or seventeen knots per hour—the speed of a torpedo boat.

Whenever I chance to be on a ship, I amuse myself with noticing the changes that have taken place in maritime customs since the time—alas! already far distant—since I first embarked. I can remember when the old customs and bluff phraseology were still retained even in the imperial navy. Commissioned officers scattered a number of very picturesque expressions amongst their orders, which, although in all probability religiously handed down from squadron to squadron since the time of the Bailli of Suffren, would have made a grammarian shudder at their formation. A hundred times I have heard midshipmen or lieutenants shout to the men, “Bande de soldats, vas-tu haler sur le bras de misaine?” Or conversations of this kind: “Combien es-tu dans la grand-hunc?” “Je suis cinq,” replied a voice from above. “Eh, bien, reste deux et descends trois.” In moments of great excitement it frequently happened that a middy, and often even an officer, lent his aid in hauling in a rope, or to assist in a manœuvre, sending at the same time a backhander across the face of some Parisian novice, who pretended to haul and really did nothing.

Then came the reaction. Old officers were accused of being too free and easy. A new school replaced them who were stiff and formal in their deportment; giving their orders in measured tones so that the boatswain had to repeat them before they could be heard. At first this was called chic Anglais, and some enthusiasts went so far as to command in English. I knew at least two navy lieutenants, two brothers, who would have fancied themselves lost had they shouted “Amarrez.” They always said “Belay,” which is the English translation.

But the English school triumphed. I am ready to acknowledge its superiority even whilst I regret the picturesqueness of old times. Our captain of the Holyhead steamer is a worthy representative of the former. This morning he managed to get off without a single word, a perfect triumph of its kind.

It was only half past two, yet the dawn spread over the waters and daylight appeared. We are five degrees farther north than Paris, and this accounts for the short nights. The morning is splendid. In the distance the horizon is clear, but behind us the English coast is lost in a thick mist; its outline is only indicated by a succession of lights that still shine against the sky. On the port side one of them burns with marvellous brilliancy.

The entrance to the harbour of Kingstown is extremely picturesque. I only speak from hearsay. I had made the acquaintance of two or three pleasant fellow passengers, and we had agreed to remain on the bridge during the crossing, but at the first movement of the vessel one of them left us; the two others held up for a little time but at last they also disappeared. In ten minutes I was left alone, and preferring to avoid the contemplation of the shapeless forms writhing on deck I went to bed and enjoyed the sleep of innocence until a steward came and warned me that we had reached the quay. I went on dock and found most of the passengers already leaving the steamer. A short, extremely ragged man was threading his way between the groups of passengers, he wore long fair hair falling to his shoulders. I found that he was a well-known character. He is a vendor of nationalist papers. Nothing can be more amusing than the air of triumph with which he pushes the Freeman’s Journal or the United Ireland in an Englishman’s face shouting, “Buy the last speech of the Grand Old Man.” For over here Mr. Gladstone is the “Grand Old Man” only. The United Ireland is to Freeman’s what the Intransigeant is to the Temps, or rather since they are both very Catholic, what the Univers is to the Gazette de France. But even then the comparison is a little incorrect, for the Univers, even in M. Veuillot’s day, never approached the violent style of United Ireland. One of its writers indulged in a significant freak the other day. Mr. Parnell advised the Land League not to make itself conspicuous for a short time. For some reason they were anxious to appease England a little. The United Ireland published this advice in the following words:—

“The Close Season.”
“Art. 1st.—It is forbidden to shoot landlords.”

This was in the early days of the League, and its agents displayed the zeal of all neophytes. I remember getting an idea of the state of this country by hearing a conversation repeated that had taken place between two Irish children who had come to Paris with their parents. They had been brought to play with some children belonging to one of my friends. As they reached the garden, the little boy—aged six—said to the little girl of seven:

“Wait a minute! I’ll show you a capital game. We’ll play at landlord and tenant. You shall be landlord and I’ll kill you with my gun.”

These were the ideas which a small Irish boy had imbibed from his surroundings in the year of Grace, 1882, upon the normal relations between landlord and tenant.

It only takes half an hour to go from Kingstown to Dublin. When I reached the station I had the pleasure of making acquaintance with the jaunting car, the favourite carriage with the Irish, who often refer to it in their novels.

The jaunting car is certainly the strangest vehicle that an insane mind ever conceived. The hansom, with its seat placed like a box behind the hood, is sufficiently original, but when one has seen a jaunting car, one begins to think that the cab is a rational conveyance.

Evidently the first idea of the jaunting car suggested itself to an ingenious man who found himself the owner of an old packsaddle and the frame of a cart. To utilise these articles he put the saddle on the two wheels and Erin was dowered with a jaunting car, the only one of her institutions that the Saxon conquest has respected.

The coachman seats himself on one side of the rolling saddle. In my own case he placed my trunk next to him, I installed myself on the other seat with my feet on a thin plank, which, in case of collision, protects the wheels at the expense of the traveller’s legs, and we started at a very good pace to my great satisfaction.

I must own that I am delighted with this style of locomotion, which resembles nothing found elsewhere. The Swiss carriages with side seats, which were used a few years ago, are the only things I can compare them to, and it was in one of those vehicles that the legendary Englishman drove for three days round the Lake of Geneva, and then inquired where the lake was; he had not seen it, for he was sitting on the wrong side and his back was turned to it.

My first drive in a jaunting car also proved to me that mechanical laws are the same everywhere. The sentinel who guarded the gates of the Louvre could not free our kings from their consequences, and in spite of its power the Land League has no perceptible effect in this direction. On this occasion at every corner I was seized by an almost irresistible force, which, taking as its fulcrum the spot a little below the loins, where Dr. Liouville places the centre of gravity in the human body, threatened to throw me out upon the pavement. Thanks to the studies of my youth I recognised in this impulse the force which learned men call centrifugal, and defying its insidious attacks I clung to the car with both hands, quite ignoring the fact that I was outraging all sense of local etiquette. It appears that one must no more cling to a car in turning corners than hold on by the mane of a runaway horse.

The first thing that strikes the attention of a stranger arriving at Dublin is the tattered state of its inhabitants. When, owing to the social and economical condition of a country, the majority of its citizens are unable to afford themselves the luxury of even mending their clothes, custom really ought to allow them to dispense with garments entirely, at least in summer. It would be an act of charity and every one would profit by it. On one hand the eye would not be offended by the lamentable spectacle of an urchin who has but two hands with which to hold the tattered fragments of stuff that once formed a pair of trousers; on the other, the said urchin, freed from his absorbing occupation, might perhaps do some work, which is manifestly impossible now. I venture humbly to suggest this idea to those conscientious philanthropists who seek every means of relieving suffering humanity. But it is not only the street arabs that are clothed in this way. The art of mending seems absolutely unknown here. I am sure that I have not seen one person in ten whose garments are not torn. My driver’s sleeve only holds on to the jacket by a miracle of good nature, and his trousers are slit from the knee to the ankle.

At every corner of the street one sees groups of women, their hair falling round the face, their dresses, full of holes, only reach the knees, leaving their incredibly dirty feet and legs visible below their rags. In hot countries poverty matters little. At Cadiz, Naples, and Cairo we see numbers of people who are certainly quite as poor as these. But they do not look miserable. The sun supplies nearly all they need. If it does not feed it comforts them. A Neapolitan lazzarone may only have eaten a slice of water-melon, but he looks satisfied. Here, under the cold grey skies, in the muddy streets, these poor creatures fill one with pity. The drawn faces, the hollow, brilliant eyes, have a hungry look which makes my heart ache.

I went and dressed at Shelburne House, the best hotel in Dublin, which looks over Stephen’s Green, the Hyde Park of the Irish capital. I then took another jaunting car and drove to the office of the United Ireland. Most of the heads of the Irish movement are absent from Dublin just now through the elections, but the newspaper editors are naturally at their posts and I wish to make the acquaintance of the two most important of them—Mr. O’Brien, editor of the United Ireland, and Mr. Dwyer Gray, editor and owner of the Freeman’s Journal, to both of whom I have letters of introduction.

To-day the elections commence. I say commence, because in England things are not managed in the same way that they are at home. When an election is about to take place the Queen issues an official notice, a writ, to each electoral division by a special officer. Committees are then formed and each candidate must be nominated to the sheriff within a given time by a specified number of the electors. At the same time money for the purposes of the election must be placed in his hands—such as placards, notices, &c. &c. Of course this sum varies, with the number of voters, but it seldom exceeds more than 120l. or 160l.

If at the expiration of the fixed term only one candidate has been nominated there is no need to take a ballot. The candidate is declared elected and the business is settled. If, on the other hand, and naturally this occurs the most frequently, two or three candidates have presented themselves in time, the sheriff fixes a date for the election, which takes place by secret voting, in the same way as with us, only in a polling booth.

These formalities are all essential. The omission of a single detail would render the election void. A certificate bearing the name of a candidate who has not formerly deposited his nomination is of no legal value and, the most singular thing is, that a member, whose election was invalid, is at once replaced by his opponent. I must add that in case of appeal, the cause is heard, not by Parliament, but in the ordinary law courts.

This legislation seems to me infinitely more reasonable than our own, except in a few details. In the first place, it prevents the scandalous invalidations which we see in France, and which are sure to occur when they are pronounced by men who are both judges and partisans. The idea of declaring a candidate elected because he has no opponent also strikes me as a good one. It may not often happen in France, but it sometimes occurs, and then what is the use of disturbing a hundred or a hundred and fifty thousand voters, since the result is a foregone conclusion and cannot injure any one’s interests? For if a minority wishes to reckon its strength by rallying round a name, there is no reason it should not announce its intention by a settled date.

But these arrangements have only existed a few years. They put an end to the formidable and legendary abuses of English elections. They were also effectual in reducing the candidate’s expenses to an enormous extent. An election amongst our neighbours is now far less onerous than with us. When the last elections took place in France, the conservatives spent about one franc upon every registered voter, and in many departments the republicans far exceeded this amount, thanks to the enormous sums placed at their disposal by the Government, sums probably raised from the Tonquin grants. In England the authorised expenses amount, according to the figures which have been given to me, to fifty or sixty centimes (5d. or 6d.) per voter. Now the electors are less numerous than with us, for universal suffrage does not yet exist, and it appears that these expenses are very little exceeded.

I had the good luck to find Mr. O’Brien in his office with another member of Parliament, who had also been elected without opposition.

Mr. William O’Brien was born at Mallow, in 1852. His career has been very eventful. After leaving the small college of Cloyne, where he had completed his studies, he threw himself headlong into Fenianism, whilst his brother, with a Captain Mackay, won a great reputation in the south of Ireland by the audacity they displayed in attacking several police stations, with the object of procuring arms for the insurgents. At last they were arrested. This Mr. O’Brien died in prison of a chest complaint, his death being hastened, so they say, by the governor’s neglect. His father died on the same day—a singular co-incidence.

William O’Brien then suddenly found himself at the head of a family, but without any resources. A pamphlet that he published by Captain Mackay’s advice, won him an appointment to the Cork Daily Herald, one of the best papers in the south. In 1876 he came to Dublin, and was attached to the editor’s staff of the Freeman’s Journal. There Mr. Parnell found him in 1881, and placed him at the head of the United Ireland, which was just being started as the Land League’s official newspaper.

Since this time Mr. O’Brien has waged perpetual war against England, a war which has doubtless endeared him to his fellow-citizens, for having succeeded, in 1882, in wresting, by 161 votes against 89, the seat of Mallow from a Conservative; he has since that date always been re-elected without opposition.

No one can pass through a career like Mr. O’Brien’s without making many enemies; but he must possess very fine qualities, for even his bitterest opponents acknowledge the perfect respectability of his life. In every one’s opinion he is a sincerely pious and exceedingly charitable man. Nearly all the money he earns, and he earns a great deal, is spent in good works. Last year, at the end of a political lawsuit, his opponent was sentenced to pay him 1,000l. damages and interest. With one stroke of the pen he gave it all to charity. Physically he is rather a small, dark man, who looks older than he is, in spite of the brightness of his eyes which shine through his spectacles. He has all the appearance of an enthusiast, and I believe that he is absolutely convinced of the justice of the cause that he serves without a mental reservation and with the most absolute devotion.

I will not record our conversation here, because it differed very little from the conversations that I had with other chiefs of the Land League. I prefer to discuss them all together and then sum up the information that I have collected. If I do not make this rule I shall repeat myself. When I left the office of the United Ireland, I was driven to that of the Freeman’s Journal, where I saw Mr. Dwyer Gray. Mr. E. Dwyer Gray is the son of a man who has played an important part in the political history of contemporary Ireland, Sir John Gray was the owner of the Freeman’s, which, even in his time, brought in, so they say, 200,000 francs, 8,000l., per annum. When I remember the trouble our papers have to pay their expenses I cannot understand the financial prosperity of English and American journals. The Freeman’s, which, after all, is only a small provincial newspaper, prints forty thousand copies; its size almost equals the Times; it keeps a staff of seven shorthand writers in London, who telegraph daily by a special wire the debates in the House; it publishes very well written foreign correspondence, yet it brings in a great deal more since it has been in Mr. Dwyer Gray’s hands than formerly. He opened his political life as a member of the Dublin corporation, then he became lord mayor, and afterwards county Carlow returned him to Parliament where, as a business speaker, he has won a good reputation amongst Parnell’s colleagues. A converted Protestant, he represents a relatively moderate element in politics as well as in religion. A few incidents in his career deserve notice. In his relations with the Municipality he had an opportunity of discovering the embezzlements of the infamous Carey, afterwards so sadly notorious through first founding and then betraying the Invincible Society which assassinated Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke in Phœnix Park, by stabs with a knife. Although Carey was in the main a co-religionist, he did not hesitate to unmask him, and even pursued him so energetically that, later on, during the trial of the Invincibles, it was proved that they had once thought of ridding themselves of him (Mr. Gray) by murder in order to avenge their chief.

Unfortunately, just then the Freeman’s was engaged in a particularly violent series of articles against the Government, and on the evening that preceded the tragedy, the paper contained an unlucky phrase:—“There are rats in the Castle, which must soon be dislodged!” In ordinary times no one would have noticed this; but political passions intervened, and this phrase was at once connected with the murders that followed it so closely, and the, at all events, moral responsibility of the author was carefully pointed out. Is it necessary to add that not one serious man ever attached the least importance to these insinuations?

I had spent some time in the office of the United Ireland, but I only remained in the Freeman’s a few minutes, for Mr. Gray, who was very busy during the day, kindly invited me to spend the evening with him. I had just seen the organs of what, in the secret government that Ireland now obeys, corresponds with the legislative power; for the only laws respected by the country are concocted in these two newspaper offices. I have now to become acquainted with the executive power, i.e., the ministers of the Land League; but I should first like to say a few words about them.

CHAPTER II.

THE LAND LEAGUE—AN IRISH CONFESSOR—CAPTAIN BOYCOTT—A CONSPIRATOR’S CAVE—MR. HARRINGTON—MR. BIGGAR—THE OBSTRUCTION CAMPAIGN—MR. SULLIVAN, LORD MAYOR, POET, PATRIOT, STATESMAN, AND DIVER—A ROUGH ELECTION MEETING—MR. SHACKLETON—A CANDIDATE’S PROFESSION OF FAITH—PEMBROKE HOUSE.

We will first describe the origin of the Land League. To fully understand the subject, we must first trace back Irish history to the year 1847. At that time the population, which in 1845 numbered 8,175,124, had certainly attained, if not exceeded 9,000,000. Then as now, we may say that no manufactures existed in the country. The population lived on the direct produce of the land. The repeal of protection on corn had caused the almost entire disappearance of cereals, for which the soil, and above all the climate, were always unfavourable, and consequently, only two possible industries were left—stock raising (and this was chiefly pig raising), and the cultivation of potatoes. The sale of pigs sufficed to pay the taxes, the landlord, and the few necessaries bought by the people. The potatoes were reserved for food.

Suddenly the potato disease broke out. In a few days, of a harvest which promised abundance, absolutely nothing was left, and by one blow nine millions of people were left without anything to eat. This is the simple history of the famine in 1847. And this history must inevitably be repeated in every country that transforms its agriculture into raising stock, and which yet aspires to support the same number of inhabitants; for it is quite evident that a stock-raising country cannot feed as many people as an agricultural one.

This phenomenon had already happened in Scotland at the end of the last century. The difficulty was solved by the emigration of large numbers of the Highlanders from several counties. The same thing is now visible in France; and if we have not yet encountered the same consequences, it is because our peasants are living, and for some time can still live, on their capital. In Ireland the people had no reserve fund. The misery was therefore awful. One can hardly believe that such things can happen in our century; but it is undeniable that thousands of miserable people died of starvation in the midst of their fields, just as they might have done on a wreck in the middle of the ocean. The official statistics registered 6,058 deaths simply caused by hunger! And the famine preceded, and was followed by an epidemic of typhus, which killed thirty or forty thousand persons.

It has been widely stated that the landowners behaved badly under the circumstances; they are particularly reproached for having claimed their rents in spite of their tenants’ terrible misery. But these accusations have never been proved. The rents had been collected before the famine began and at a time when no one could have anticipated its occurrence. But here I will quote Mr. Sullivan, one of the most advanced members of the Nationalist party, who says in reference to this subject:—

“The majority of resident landlords really did all in their power. When the famine appeared many landowners found themselves on the verge of ruin. They had inherited property that was already heavily mortgaged. The money paid for rent did not remain in their hands but went to pay their creditors. The loss of a year’s rent brought them fatally near seizure and bankruptcy. They knew this and yet it must be acknowledged that a great many of them who might have escaped disaster by harshness towards their tenants, preferred their own ruin.”

The Government on its side was far from inactive. Works were opened in all directions for the construction of roads, with the idea of providing employment for the population, and so many were made that they cannot be maintained, and yet at the present time I doubt whether another country exists where roads are more numerous than in Ireland.

I believe, therefore, it would be just to own that under the sad circumstances, every one loyally tried to do his duty. It may be said that the measures taken were insufficient or not cleverly managed, but it must be remembered that the difficulties were immense, and there is no proof that any other Government would have been more successful.

However, the memory of this terrible episode has left ineffaceable hatred in many minds. Still it did not explode at the time. From 1852 to 1876, we may affirm that there was a very perceptible and continued increase in the national prosperity of the country. One point should be carefully noted, viz., that this increased prosperity coincided with an enormous diminution of the population. We have seen that in 1845 it numbered 8,175,124; it is estimated that in 1848 it would have reached nine millions; in 1851 it was only 6,552,385; and in 1881, 5,173,836; it should now be under five millions. In thirty years, emigration has reduced the number from nine millions to five, that is by four millions in round figures. This prosperity was rudely interrupted in 1877, and once more the misfortune was due to a bad potato harvest.

If Ireland had still contained nine millions of inhabitants, we should certainly have seen a renewal of the scenes of 1847; but since she had only five millions there was no famine, in the real sense of the word, although the misery was very great; the farmers lost eight hundred thousand pounds, and those who paid their rent could only do so by borrowing the money.

The harvest in 1878 was nearly as bad as the preceding one. The deficit amounted to five hundred thousand pounds; the situation became more strained. All the tenants were in debt, for in the preceding years a number of banks had been established and had given them enormous credit, and now this credit became more restricted. Many found themselves on the verge of succumbing, and each one felt that if the next harvest were not exceptionally good no one could escape ruin. Anxiety was therefore at its height. And at this critical moment, in April, 1879, the farmers in county Mayo were summoned to attend a meeting that ought to have been held in Irishtown. The order of the day only disclosed that its object was to study the situation. The notices were signed by Mr. Michael Davitt.

Mr. Michael Davitt was not quite unknown in the country: his father had been a farmer there. Being unsuccessful in business, he was forced to abandon his farm, and to go and live in England, where he only vegetated. At eleven years old his son was already working in a cotton factory; there one of his arms was cut off by some of the machinery. At seventeen he had joined the Fenian conspiracy. In 1870 he was arrested. The Fenians had blown up a prison wall to enable some of their number to escape. Young Davitt, implicated in this affair through receiving explosives, was sentenced to fifteen years’ penal servitude.

However, he only remained in prison for seven years. In 1878 he received what the English call a ticket-of-leave. The individual who receives this ticket is set at liberty, but conditionally; he is still under police supervision, and the Government has the right to imprison him again without further trial until the end of his sentence. Mr. Davitt’s case had been widely known. On the day that he returned to Dublin with one of his fellow prisoners, liberated with him, 300,000 persons waited for them at the station, and the impression produced was rendered deeper and more lasting by this man falling dead through the rupture of an aneurism as he entered the hotel where Mr. Parnell was waiting for them.

At this meeting at Irishtown the theory of the Land League was first explained. Curiously enough, Mr. Davitt first thought of the idea, but he did not make the first speech—he had missed the train, so others opened the subject instead of him. In such a centre it could not fail to receive an enthusiastic welcome. Thanks to an active method of propaganda, it spread through the country so rapidly and so successfully that a few months later Mr. Parnell summoned in Dublin a meeting of delegates from all parts of Ireland, who were charged with drawing up the statutes of the Association, which, under the name of the Irish National Land League, was established on the 21st October, 1879.

The general principles which were to guide the Association, are stated in the following declaration:—The objects of the League are—

I. To obtain a reduction of rack-rents.

II. To facilitate the acquisition of the land by those who cultivate it.

III. To attain these ends the League will undertake—

1st. To create an organisation which will bind all the tenants together.

2nd. To defend all those who may be threatened by the landlords with eviction from their farms, through refusing to pay rack-rents.

3rd.

4th. Lastly, to neglect no opportunities of forcing Government to pass laws allowing the tenant to become the owner of the soil he cultivates, by means of the payment of an annuity, and under the most favourable conditions possible.

1st. To create an organisation which will bind all the tenants together.

2nd. To defend all those who may be threatened by the landlords with eviction from their farms, through refusing to pay rack-rents.

3rd.

4th. Lastly, to neglect no opportunities of forcing Government to pass laws allowing the tenant to become the owner of the soil he cultivates, by means of the payment of an annuity, and under the most favourable conditions possible.

The document was signed by Parnell, President; Patrick Egan, Treasurer; Michael Davitt and Thomas Brennan, Secretaries.

Scarcely launched, it required very little to make the League collapse. Numerous meetings were assembled in all parts of Ireland for recruiting adherents. Several orators, who were heard there, expressed such advanced Socialistic opinions, that the clergy, who until then had watched the proceedings without interfering on either side, now took fright and protested loudly; one might have thought at one time that war would break out. If the clergy had persevered in that attitude, the League would probably have foundered; they would have conquered, but the people’s minds were already so excited by the struggle that the clergy must have compromised the preponderating influence that they always possessed. Besides, the heads of the League hastened to disown the imprudent words their representatives had uttered. But at last the name of the Bishop of Cashel appeared one day in the list of subscribers. All the prelates followed his example, and from that time the success of the League was insured.

The clergy have been much criticised for the position they then accepted. I believe that on the whole it was politic, and has been productive of good results. It may be considered extraordinary that the clerical influence should be employed in the service of an association which furthers its designs by the use of such violent measures; but we must add, that the League would probably have been a thousand times more violent had not the influence of the clergy been exercised over it.

But we must not think that the Irish clergy were constrained and forced by passing events to enter the Land League. Many of its members had little difficulty in bringing themselves to join it. Amongst us the clergy are chiefly recruited from the masses; but whilst on one hand the Government pays their stipends, on the other they derive their chief support from the upper classes. Being obliged to conciliate so many interests or frequently opposing sentiments, they are quite inclined to be extremely moderate. But in Ireland the position is very different. The clergy are also nearly entirely recruited from amongst the peasants and small farmers; but, since the upper classes are Protestant there is no connection between them; nor even between the priests and the Government, for the latter can do little either for or against them. The priests have, therefore, all the instincts of the people from whom they spring, and with whose destiny they feel their own fate closely bound up. In the conditions of existence under which they live no preponderating element can exist. Under the French system there is a very moderate, but at the same time admirably disciplined, clergy, because everything comes from those above them. But these advantages are often gained at the expense of their influence over the people, from whom they are too much separated. Under the Irish system the clergy have, on the contrary, enormous influence, and by which their incomes are affected, and they quickly realise whether there is any danger of this influence being compromised. Only it frequently happens, when the passions are greatly excited, that instead of teaching the people the priests are obliged to follow them, and discipline not having the material authority that it has with us, these eager temperaments are only restrained by the hands of canonical obedience, though at the same time these are usually sufficiently powerful.

We must not, then, be surprised if the parochial clergy, living in the midst of a population that was unquestionably suffering great hardships, and having no connection with the classes whom they consider responsible for these sufferings, have thrown themselves into the struggle with frequently exaggerated ardour, or what at all events seems so to the French, who are accustomed to much more reserved manners in our priests. Some of them allow their enthusiasm to attain extraordinary dimensions. I was dining, quite recently, with one of my relations; eight or ten persons were present, and one of them, an Irish parish priest, was telling us something about the present state of his country. Very intelligent and full of racy humour, he related a number of anecdotes illustrative of the prevalent state of feeling, each droller than the last, and above all full of local colour. He particularly impressed upon us the sympathy of the clergy for the Land League.

“The other day,” said he, “one of my colleagues was playing billiards with his vicar, when a message was brought to him that a man wanted to confess to him in the vestry. He immediately went, took his place in the confessional, and the man commenced the enumeration of his sins.

“‘My father,’ said he, ‘I confess that three months ago I shot a man and killed him.’

“‘Oh, oh!’ thought the priest, ‘this is a serious matter.’

“He still held the billiard chalk in his hand, and with it made a mark on his left sleeve.

“‘Go on, my son,’ he said aloud.

“‘That is not all,’ stammered the man. ‘Two days later I shot Paddy Ryan.... But I only wounded him.’

“The priest made a second mark on his sleeve, and repeated with a sigh:

“‘Go on, my son.’

“‘Since that I have shot at Corney O’Sullivan, and then at Tim O’Flaherty, and then again at Timothy O’Hagan.’

“The priest sprung up in his arm-chair.

“‘Good heavens, my son! but what had all these men done to you that you wished to hurry them into eternity? Who were they?’

“‘Oh, my father! they were all bailiffs or tax-collectors.’

“‘Idiot!’ growled the priest, furiously rubbing his sleeve. ‘Why didn’t you say so before, instead of letting me spoil my best cassock?’”

This story was much relished by the lay guests at dinner. It was less appreciated by the ecclesiastics present. It is, however, unnecessary to add that it was related as a good joke; but at the same time, we quite understood that the joke was intended to give the key to the present state of feeling amongst many of the Irish priests, and the narrator added that he was himself the President of the League in his district.

When the League was once founded, it was forced to assert its power. It was rendered particularly popular amongst the tenants, because it had promised them, if not the abolition, at least the reduction of a great portion of their rents. Now, the surest method of attaining this result would be the suppression of competition, so that the landowners, once convinced that if they withdrew the farms from their present tenants they would have them left on their hands, should be forced to accept all the terms their tenants liked to impose upon them. In a speech spoken at Ennis on the 19th September, 1880, Mr. Parnell undertook to point out by what means these results could be obtained. Here are his words, which have since been frequently quoted by those who wish to make him responsible for the storm they let loose.

“Now, you will ask me, what must be done to a tenant who takes a farm from which another man has been sent away?”

Several voices in the crowd—“Shoot Him.”

Mr. Parnell—“I think that some of you answer, ‘Shoot him!’ Now, I will point out to you another method, which is much more certain, and which has the advantage of being more Christian and more charitable, for it gives the sinner time to repent. When a man has taken a farm from which another has been unjustly driven out, you must, by your conduct, wherever you meet him, by the isolation in which you will force him to live, by treating him as formerly lepers were treated—you must, I repeat, by all these measures, show him the hatred and contempt you feel for his crime.”

Historians relate that one day Harlequin gave his three sons two drums, one large and one small one, and a pair of cymbals, telling them to amuse themselves with their new playthings, but to be careful not to make a noise. They add that, in spite of his instructions, his quiet was rather disturbed.

Mr. Parnell has unfortunately seen his counsel produce the same result as those given by Harlequin. He exhorted the crowd by advising them not to employ any but moral, charitable, and Christian measures. The crowd obeyed his words, but his instructions were soon left far behind. At that time, an ex-officer, Captain Boycott, after leaving the service had settled in Ireland, near Lough Mask. He made agriculture his business, and also managed estates. He had some difficulty with a tenant, who would not pay his rent, and he wished to evict him. The local committee of the Land League in his village, intimated to him that if he did, it was at his own risk and peril. Naturally he ignored this hint, and war was declared.

The whole of Ireland watched this affair, with the greatest attention, for they felt that the future of the Land League depended upon the way in which it was settled. But every precaution was carefully taken, every one of Captain Boycott’s servants left him the same day; he went to the tradesmen in the small neighbouring town who usually supplied the house, they all refused to serve him. He could not buy either bread or meat at any price, and for some days he lived on potatoes that he dug himself, whilst Mrs. Boycott milked the cows.

The Land League had won the first battle. Public excitement was intense. Threats having been uttered the Government sent a garrison to the Captain, and he no longer ventured out without the protection of four men armed to the teeth. Reporters from every Irish and English newspaper followed him perpetually. Every morning the public learnt that on the preceding evening the Captain, guarded by six constables and accompanied by twelve reporters, had dug two dozen potatoes for his breakfast. Then they were much interested in a field of beetroot which ought to be taken up. In Ulster an association was formed, which sent twenty-five Protestant labourers to his aid; the Government sent a company of infantry to guard them, not only during their sojourn on the estate, but also on their journey there and back.

The beetroots were taken in, but the situation became more strained every day. One fine morning it was found that all the cows’ tails had been cut off during the night. The following week two or three bullets whistled round the ears of the Captain and his escort Then, when they wished to sell the famous tailless cows, no butcher in the country would buy them. It was resolved to send them to the English market. But the railway and steamboat companies were informed that they too would be laid under an interdict, if they carried them, so they refused to take them. However, the cows went, but a special boat, chartered by the Belfast Association, was sent to fetch them. But it is really neither pleasant nor lucrative to cultivate a farm under these circumstances. The struggle assumed Homeric proportions. It had lasted for a month or two when the landlords committed a great error. If they had combined and subscribed eight or ten thousand pounds to enable the Captain to carry on the war, they might have gained the upper hand, and the League would never have recovered from the check; but they did not do it. The Captain, who had shown marvellous courage, and who only wished to continue his resistance, was abandoned to his own resources and was forced to yield. At the same stroke the Land League triumphed, and the English language was enriched by a new word. The verb ‘to boycott,’ which expressed the action of interdicting any one, as Captain Boycott had been interdicted, is now quite admissible. It is commonly used, not only in conversation but also in judicial and parliamentary language. For the Land League it was a party triumph. Questionable before this event, it had now asserted its power so effectually that friends and enemies were both forced to bend before it. From that day it is incontestable that the Land League has been the de facto government in Ireland; at any rate it is the only one whose orders have never been disputed.

Like all truly great things, it has a very simple organisation. Every parish has a committee elected by the unanimous suffrage of all its adherents; that is to say, of everybody in it, for, in nine-tenths of Ireland, there is not one man, above all in the country districts, who dares to refuse joining the Land League, or who neglects to pay his subscription regularly, although this is never less than one shilling per month. The parochial committee elects a president, who is often the parish priest, or even one of the vicars, if the priest is considered too lukewarm. A county committee is in constant communication, on one side with the presidents of the parish, and on the other with the central committee, which meets twice a week at the central office of the League at Dublin. No one exactly knows how much money is at the disposal of this committee; but it must amount to a considerable sum. On one hand the subscriptions are paid very regularly; on the other, there is not an American city that has not its Irish committee or who does not send subsidies. I do not know how much the subscriptions amount to, but some one, whose information is thoroughly reliable, told me that they had never received less than 4,000 dollars per week.

But all these funds are used. The League is generous, and it pays well for the services it receives. One day, three years ago, the Bishop of Cashel proposed to offer a substantial testimonial to Mr. Parnell as a token of their public appreciation of his work. A special subscription was opened, which in a few days brought in 40,000l.

The League first pays a number of agents, who constantly scour the country to keep up the agitation; it subsidises a mass of newspapers, and distributes a quantity of pamphlets. In the country, it has recourse, above all, as a means of propaganda, to allegorical coloured pictures. The United Ireland has just published one which is already seen everywhere, and which depicts Mr. Gladstone armed with an enormous sabre, on which “Home Rule” is engraved, with which he is evidently about to reduce to mincemeat a three-headed hydra, of which each head has a strong likeness to either Mr. Chamberlain, Lord Randolph Churchill, or Lord Salisbury.

We must, however, mention that these funds are never used for election expenses. The latter are covered by the production of a special subscription. The Parliamentary Fund, which has already been able, in the last few days, to send 1,000 dollars (200l.) to every candidate who includes Home Rule in his programme. I now approach a burning question. For more than six years the League has governed Ireland. Since Captain Boycott, many others have been boycotted, and these interdictions, decreed by the Land League, have led to innumerable agrarian crimes—that is to say, that a considerable number of men and women have been assassinated for having infringed the orders of the League. Sometimes it has been proved that between the murderer and his victim some private hatred existed; but more often the assassin did not even know him; the victim was pointed out, and he was paid to commit the crime. Where did the money come from, and what part has the Land League played in these sad cases?

To answer these questions, we must first observe that agrarian crimes have always been common in Ireland. It is a tradition amongst the peasants that when tenants have to complain of the landlord, or of one of his agents, they should subscribe a sum to offer to one of their number, who undertakes to deal the blow, and is sure of his escape to America. These peasant customs were honoured for a long time before the Land League existed. It would therefore be unjust to say that it created them.

It is, however, very difficult not to accuse it of a large share of responsibility for many of the crimes committed. Mr. Parnell, its President, first invented and recommended boycotting. Now, boycotting cannot exist unless it is effective, and it cannot be effective unless all those who are charged with carrying it out are placed under strict discipline. A rich man who is boycotted would evidently try to induce the butcher or the baker to furnish him with provisions. He would, if possible, offer them large sums to tempt them to yield. In order that this butcher or baker should resist their offers, they must know that their disobedience will expose them to serious danger.

Boycotting, therefore, entails absolute discipline, and since there can be no discipline without authority, it ends in intimidation. Now, from intimidation to murder there is only one step. The facts prove it. Mr. Parnell often repeats that the only day that he despaired of the future, and was on the point of renouncing the struggle, was when he received the news of the murders at Phœnix Park. This is very possible; but still, Mr. Parnell cannot deny that his system could not work two days if murders had not been committed. He blames the assassins, but profits by their deeds.

We must, however, acknowledge that the question can be looked at from another side. It is certain that the Irish people are in a state of war or of rebellion, whichever you like, against England. This is incontestable. The war is carried on by extraordinary means, but still it is war. Mr. Parnell is therefore the chief of a belligerent army. He has regular troops: namely, the official agents of the Land League; and then he has irregular troops, composed of men who all aim at the same thing, but who will not submit to any discipline, and who advance towards their end by whichever road they fancy will lead them the most directly. In Italy, the Turcos committed some atrocities; they willingly collected the ears of the Croates left dead or merely wounded on the field of battle. These atrocities served to found the legend which rendered them so formidable, and this legend in some degree assisted to win the battle of Magenta. Marshal MacMahon was absolutely incapable of cutting off an enemy’s ears whether he were dead or wounded. He never gave any Turco the order to commit these abominations; he would certainly have punished any man who did it in his presence; but who can tell the influence these ears had upon the battle of Magenta where the general found a field-marshal’s baton and a coronet?

But it is certain that side by side with the Land League there are several secret societies existing, which have usually their head-quarters in America. They are or were under the direction of the notorious O’Donovan Rossa, and it is almost proved that these societies instigate many of the crimes which are committed. But, even whilst admitting, what I believe to be true, that the Land League never directly recommends attempts at manslaughter or attacks on the person, it can be reproached because it has hitherto expressed so very little censure of such crimes after they have occurred. With the enormous and varied resources at its disposal, it would be very easy for the League to bring the guilty to justice, and by so doing it would completely silence its accusers; but this it has never yet attempted.

The office of the Land League is at 43, Upper O’Connell Street. Here I must again make an observation: this street, one of the most important in Dublin, is in reality Sackville Street. One day, on its self-created authority, I do not know for what reason, unless it was simply to assert its omnipotence, the League decided that it should bear the name of the great Irish agitator. Since that event there is not a car driver who does not pretend that he does not understand where you mean when you ask for Sackville Street. I have been told this quite seriously, but I have not been able to verify it as a fact; so that I only mention it as a statement made to me. When I enter the office I seem to be in a ministerial department. I was shown into a room where five or six people were writing; one of them took my card, and asking me to wait for his return, carried it to Mr. Harrington, the general secretary. Busy men passed to and fro, with papers they had brought for signature; an elderly white-haired man danced attendance with me. We began to talk. He was an Australian doctor, who had brought funds from a committee at Melbourne; I was at once filled with respect for an establishment, where they even kept a man waiting who brought them money.

At last I was informed that Mr. Harrington could see me. I found him in a large lofty hall ornamented with allegorical pictures; three or four secretaries were seated round a table covered with a green cloth, opening letters and coming forward every moment to ask for instructions or to bring piles of telegrams, which arrive from all quarters. I own that all this made me feel thunderstruck. Here is an Association that openly conspires against the established Government, and that everywhere declaims against its odious tyranny. And yet the offices occupy a whole house within two steps of the Viceroy’s palace; it has a badge over the door so that no one could mistake it, and a policeman walks up and down the pavement to keep the carriages in their ranks. What a difference between this imposing establishment and the dark cave where all classical conspiracies are formed! And yet some people deny that we are progressing! Unfortunately it appears to me that this fact alone suffices for the undeniable condemnation of the English Government. It asserts that these people are rebels and assassins. How then can it allow itself to be defied by them in this way? The first duty of every government is to carry out the law and to protect peaceful citizens. When it does neither of these things it must be nearly at its end, and it is even right to wish that its end may come as soon as possible, in order to make room for another administration which will better realise its duties.

Mr. Harrington was born at Bantry, in the south of Ireland; four years ago he superintended a local publication named the Kerry Sentinel, and which naturally waged perpetual war against the English Government. From time to time the Administration has spasms of severity which are disastrous, because just as this severity is likely to become efficacious it is abandoned for a return to gentler measures.

One day it thought it desirable to prosecute Mr. Harrington, who had not said one word more nor less than two or three thousand others had said. He was sentenced to two months imprisonment and confined in Mullingar gaol. Whilst working out his punishment he had an altercation with the governor and was condemned to six days in the cells. This caused some excitement. At the same time the member for Mullingar was obliged to resign his seat, though I do not know for what reason, and Mr. Harrington was thereupon elected in his place.

I have had something to do with French conspirators, though as little as possible, but still I have had some intercourse with them. They are nearly all, physically as well as morally, rough and unwashed, clinging to their principles as though they were stilts; in fact, insufferable. There are a few amiable sceptics who shave and wash themselves sometimes, but they do it with such visible affectation, that after all when one meets them one begins to regret they are not like the others.

The conspirators in this country appear to me a hundred degrees above ours. They never shave, but that I believe is a professional necessity. I have read in many classic works that the conspirators of former ages had the habit of forging swords out of their chains. Since in the present century chains are no longer used, they apparently forge them out of the steel of their razors. You therefore never see a stage conspirator without a formidable beard. All the Land Leaguers that I have yet seen wear them; but their beards are well kept, and their owners are as amiable and gracious as possible.

Mr. Harrington is far from being an exception to this rule. When I told him that I expected to visit first the south of Ireland, his own county, he hastened in the kindest way to place himself at my service, and offered to give me all the letters of introduction that I could possibly require; he particularly promised me one for the local president of the Land League, at Castle-Connell, a letter, which could, if necessary, be used as an introduction to all the others. He at once dictated what was requisite to one of the secretaries, who a few minutes later brought the letter for his signature. It was written on magnificent crested paper with quite an official appearance. At our Admiralty, the chief of the staff always conducted his business in a similar style. I certainly am in a minister’s office.

From time to time some political notoriety came in to inquire what was going on, and I was fortunate enough to be introduced to two of them—men of whom I had often heard.

The first was a small deformed man with sparkling eyes. This was Mr. Biggar, formerly a bacon factor in Belfast, who, having launched into politics, has become the fidus Achates of Mr. Parnell and his friends, and one of the creators of the well-known “sore” (I cannot find any more suitable expression) that is usually called the Obstruction campaign.

In 1881, the Government, seized with one of those paroxysms of firmness to which I have already referred, and wishing to re-establish a little order in Ireland, demanded from Parliament, not the proclamation of a state of siege, but simply powers which would enable them to act rather more rapidly than the ordinary form of procedure would allow of. This is what is meant by the Coercion Bill. Mr. Parnell and his friends, whom it was really intended to affect, were naturally anxious that this bill should not pass; but, being only a very small minority, they had no regular means of checking or preventing its progress. They therefore had recourse to tactics, which they had already used on different occasions, but in a less complete way. In the absence of any written rules, the English Parliament only obeys traditional customs. One of these customs is, that when a member is speaking he can continue as long as he likes, and an adjournment cannot be moved before all the members have spoken who have in writing given notices of their intention to move amendments.

At this time there were eighteen Nationalist members in the House. It was arranged that each of them should propose an amendment on every clause, and that each of them should not only support his own amendment, but also the motions of the other seventeen, each member speaking as long as his strength would allow. They had already tried this little game in 1877, and they had succeeded in making one sitting last twenty-four hours consecutively.

But they were determined to do better next time, and they kept their word. They commenced by protesting against the mere idea, that the state of Ireland justified the adoption of special measures; they asserted that far from getting worse, the situation was visibly improving; every one must know that in December, 1880, there were 867 agrarian crimes; but in January, 1881, there were not more than 448. And what crimes! In the first fortnight of the year, there was not a single murder. It was true that four houses had been attacked; two men had been shot at, but they were not hurt; only one person had been rather seriously beaten, but it was not even suggested that his life was in danger! It must be remembered that all this was said quite seriously. I have copied these details from a book that Mr. Gray recommended to me for its veracity, and which was written by Mr. O’Connor, one of his parliamentary colleagues, the title of the book is The Parnell Movement. The discussion thus commenced was continued in the same tone; an Irish member rose and proposed an amendment, no matter what it was, then he commenced to speak on no matter what subject. One of them recited some verses, another commenced to read an old collection of laws. In England Parliament sits in the evening; a sitting commenced on Monday evening was prolonged through the whole of Tuesday and far into Wednesday night. The two parties had organised relays; on each side of the House only twelve members were left lying on the benches, and the sole interruptions they offered to the orator, was the sounds of their snoring; one old member being rather delicate, brought a blanket for the second night.

Irish eloquence still flowed on. At a quarter to five on Wednesday morning, Mr. Sexton began to speak, and continued his speech until twenty minutes to eight o’clock. Mr. Leamy replaced Mr. Sexton; then followed Mr. Biggar, who had been home to bed and had just come back. He commenced his speech by saying, with a pleasant smile: “Perhaps I’m trespassing on the patience of the House.”

Some one, who had just awakened, replied as he stretched himself:

“No, no!”

And, encouraged by these friendly words, Mr. Biggar continued.

But at nine o’clock A.M. the Speaker entered. During the night a meeting of principal members of the Tory Opposition had been convened by the Government. They all agreed that it was high time to end the scandal, and having arranged the course to be pursued, the members were hastily summoned by the Whips, and re-entered in crowds.

Mr. Biggar still went on; but the Speaker, without apparently noticing that he was speaking, suggested that the House should adjourn.

Mr. Biggar uttered cries of “Shame,” “Order,” &c., but the Nationalists were not then present in force. Mr. Parnell himself was absent. The adjournment was moved amidst the hurrahs of the whole House, and Mr. Biggar was forced to content himself with calling upon the people to witness the abominable tyranny of which he was the victim.

The eighteen endeavoured to re-commence that evening; but at the first words pronounced by one of them, the House rose in a body and voted for their expulsion.

All this is certainly very droll; but what can be gained by these childish tricks? The Irish demand the establishment of a National Parliament at Dublin. What will they do if the Protestant members from Ulster use towards the majority the same tactics they—the minority—have so constantly employed in London? Many of them dream of the establishment of a Republic. They need only cross over to France to see how Republican assemblies treat the representatives of a minority. Under the first Republic they guillotined them purely and simply. In our days, they have invented special bye-laws for their benefit. Perhaps in a few months Mr. Biggar will preside over an Irish House of Commons. It will be curious to see how he will deal with obstructionists.

The other politician to whom I had the honour of being introduced during a visit to the offices of the Land League is Mr. Sullivan, the Lord Mayor of Dublin. Mr. Sullivan, a tall, thin, elderly man, with a proud intelligent face, is an author. It is said that he has published a volume of poetry, which was a great success. Unfortunately, I have not read it.

How different public customs are in this country from our own! A morning paper related that yesterday the Lord Mayor, accompanied by the Town Clerk and a deputation of eight members of the Corporation, went to open some public baths that the Town Council have just built in Tara Street. The inauguration was thus completed:—His Lordship having considered it was part of his duty, took a header into the bath; Mr. Beveridge, the Town Clerk, did the same; then these two gentlemen challenged each other, and the enthusiastic crowd watched a most interesting swimming race. Was the Town Clerk only a base flatterer? I cannot say. But, at all events, the Lord Mayor won by a length. The Freeman’s, which complacently reported this exploit, has unfortunately omitted some of the details we should like to have known. Did the Lord Mayor take off his curled wig? Did he wear drawers of the national colour? And was there a white harp to relieve the green foundation? Why did not the mace-bearers follow their chiefs? This would all be interesting information, which he should have given; yet the writer of the article has neglected to mention these details.

I had a long conversation with one of these diving magistrates. Unluckily I could not congratulate him upon his aquatic success, for I did not hear of it until after our interview. From him, too, I asked for an explanation about the real grievances of Ireland against the present government by England; I say present, because I quite admit the validity of old complaints. I am absolutely convinced that in the last and even in the commencement of this century, England treated Ireland abominably. The stories of confiscation do not touch me at all; they happened from four to eight hundred years ago. If it is still maintained that a title of four hundred years is not sufficient to constitute a right of ownership, it would become necessary to search for the titles of the people who were then dispossessed, and this might take us some time. Had I lived in the time of the French Republic, or even of the Empire, it would have been my pleasure and my duty to send a bullet through the head of the man who had bought my family property from the nation; but I can now look at their descendants without any rancour, because everything ends in this world.

But to return to Ireland. I ask every one what are the actual grievances, and in what way can Home Rule ameliorate the situation? Here are the exact words in which the Lord Mayor answered this question:

“For a long time Mr. Gladstone, the grand old man, has felt what we needed in Ireland. And this is why the Tories (who hate us) are so indignant with him, that if to-morrow a tiger were to escape from a menagerie and to devour him; there is not one Tory who would not exclaim ‘Thank God!’

“At last he has found courage to say aloud that which he has always really thought—we require Home Rule; and now, thank God, we shall get it!

“You say: But why should it be to England’s interest to see Ireland unprosperous? That is true. But would you like to be governed by Prussians? God never intended that one nation should submit to another! This is so true that a conquering nation, merely from the fact that it has conquered, is powerless to do good!

“But we certainly do not anticipate that Ireland will attain prosperity in one day, solely because it is governed by Irishmen. England has killed all our industries; we require time before they can be revived. We may perhaps make some mistakes. But whilst waiting for prosperity we shall bear our sufferings and our poverty more cheerfully, knowing that the amelioration of our fate only depends upon our own exertions.

“And besides this, the mere fact of the proclamation of Home Rule would have considerable influence over our material prosperity. You Frenchmen have no idea of the cavilling fiscal spirit which animates the English administration. All our towns are in a state of tutelage; our smallest expenses must be authorised; a special law is required before a loan can be raised, and the charges for the formalities that must be gone through before these laws can be obtained, are so high, that the cost is at once augmented to a disastrous extent.

“I can quote a recent instance of this. A short time ago we wished to lay water on to the town. The estimate was for 21,000l. Before we could obtain the necessary Act we had to spend 9,000l. in London.

“Even whilst admitting that quite as much might have had to be paid in any other country, at least the money would have remained in the country, whilst now, this 9,000l. only enriched the London barristers and lawyers, and was quite lost to Ireland.”

I trust that Mr. Sullivan will forgive me for saying that his first sentences reminded me of Victor Hugo’s style. The others contain an objection that may be well grounded up to a certain point.

Yet I am struck with two things. In the first place, I never heard the English administration blamed for excessive centralisation before to-day. I always thought that, on the contrary, its chief failures were due to excessive decentralisation. But in return I quite believe it to be, if not venal, at all events very expensive. In England everything is made an excuse for a fee, a word which means emolument, but which also slightly conveys the sense of “tip.” Amongst us, officials are absolutely prohibited from accepting anything whatever from the public. In England it is quite understood that, besides their salaries—which are very handsome—it is even legal that officials should claim remuneration for services, which, according to our notions, should be quite gratuitous.

This remark even applies to officers! Some years ago I saw the captain of an English merchant vessel come on board a French man-of-war, and ask permission to compare their chronometers with ours. The officer in charge of the watch hastened to render him this small service, and was quite astonished when, after the examination was over, the Englishman gravely handed him a sovereign, whilst the Englishman appeared still more surprised when the Frenchman refused the money rather hastily. It seems that English officers consider gratuities are perfectly legitimate.

Another instance happened at Shanghai. The Taïping army menaced the city. The bankers fearing a night attack asked the French and English captains to take charge of their cash on board in order that it might be safe; a favour that was at once granted. Only, when after some days all danger was past and the bankers sent for their money, those who had confided it to the English men-of-war were quite surprised to receive with it a rather heavy bill.

There is neither robbery nor even indelicacy in all this, for it is quite openly done. Still a French officer who acted in this way would be boycotted by his comrades and brought before a court-martial by his minister. I only quote these incidents to show how much the English views upon many points differ from our own, and to explain how with such a well-established system of fees the smallest step may become onerous.

However, to return to the Lord Mayor’s business; it seems to me preposterous that 9,000l. should have to be expended before permission to spend another 21,000l. can be obtained. With us, this permission would be only too easily granted gratuitously, particularly if it referred to the formation of an Academic group. It is certain, that if the Irish must give 9,000l. to barristers, it would be better, for the welfare of their country, that this substantial windfall should fill Irish pockets instead of benefiting English counsel as it now does; and the Irish expect to attain this result by having a Parliament of their own at Dublin. But why should it be necessary to spend 9,000l.? It seems to me, that by changing the method of procedure, by making it resemble ours, for instance, economy could be easily secured. The Lord Mayor’s argument proves that there are reforms to be made, and this no one denies; but they do not prove that in order to make these reforms it is indispensable to go as far as separation.

“Ce n’était pas la peine,

Non, pas la peine assurément,

De changer de gouvernement,”

says worthy Madame Angot, who was certainly no fool.

Whilst making these reflections in petto, I took leave of his lordship, who is more perfect than good King Henry himself, for, according to the old song, he had only three accomplishments, whilst the Freeman’s Journal unhesitatingly attributes four to Mr. Sullivan, since in the article I alluded to just now his position as a “diver” is established, and he is also called the “poet,” “patriot,” and “statesman” several times. He looks a thoroughly honest man, and yet the information that he gave has not explained Home Rule to me.

The remainder of my day was spent in several other calls, which I will mention in their proper place. They gave me an opportunity of exploring the city, which seems immense. In reality it has 249,000 inhabitants. The streets are superb and relatively clean; there are several fine monuments, and one or two charming parks; but the city is spoilt by the miserable expression worn by every one I meet. When I ended my conversations with the chiefs of the Land League, I felt almost converted to English doctrines; but the sight of these miserable faces drew me back to the Land League. It is really impossible to leave things as they are. When, during the day, I saw people who had evidently neither breakfasted that morning nor dined the day before, and who had absolutely no reason for supposing that they would be more fortunate to-morrow, it seemed incredible, and I could not help remembering the contemptuous air which Englishmen assume when they allude to what passes in view on the Continent.

Mr. Gladstone’s first political action was a letter in which he denounced King Ferdinand of Naples to all Europe. This document said that he deserved to lose his crown because he did not know how to govern his people. I do not see that Mr. Gladstone has succeeded much better. It is not enough to blame others; one must do better oneself. I have seen all the worst parts of Naples; I have seen the ghetto at Rome; both are, or rather were, charming localities if we compare them to a part of Dublin that I passed through to-day, called the “Liberties.” The only liberty that seems left to the inhabitants is the liberty of remaining unwashed and of dying by starvation. This district was peopled by a colony of French Huguenots, who introduced the poplin industry, which has now almost disappeared, but which at one time employed four thousand workmen. If these unfortunate people whom I saw this morning are really the descendants of our fellow-countrymen, I can only advise them to try a second emigration. I quite understand that the results of the first may not encourage them to attempt a second, but they have nothing to lose by a change now.

Here we see the great misfortune of this country. No industry that has been established here has been able to last: there is neither coal nor iron. How can they compete with England under these circumstances?

When I say that all industries have collapsed I am mistaken. One of them is a great success. It belongs to Mr. Guinness, a brewer, whose establishment now occupies nearly one district in the west of the city, on the banks of the river, with which it communicates by means of a tunnel made under the quay, which serves for the delivery of the barrels of beer on to the barges anchored in the muddy bed of the Liffey.

What an illusion the Liffey is! From the treacherous words of the Irish poets I had expected to find a superb river. I only saw a filthy ditch.

Mr. Guinness’s industry only prospers because everything that these unfortunate people earn is spent in drink. The Catholic priests, in spite of all their influence, cannot eradicate the vice of drunkenness, which is so deeply rooted in all northern populations. To-day, whilst passing through a fairly important street, I noticed a house with Temperance Hall painted in large letters above the door. In the window were hanging publications and pictures antagonistic to insobriety. But on the steps lay an old woman who had fallen there quite tipsy. Her grey hair fell over her stupefied face. One could see her skeleton legs through the holes in her dress. A younger woman, probably her daughter, a little more sober, but still scarcely able to stand, tried to persuade her to continue on her way. The old woman would not listen, but rolled helplessly on the pavement. At last the woman staggered off. What an eloquent commentary upon the sermons placed in the shop-window!

Two election meetings are announced for to-day. Mr. Gray is to speak at the first, which will be held in the city: but as I had told him that I should be delighted to see an election where a little noise was made, he advised me not to attend his, but to go instead to the one that would be held in the Town Hall at Rathmines, a large borough in the outskirts of Dublin, where they expect rather a tumult. Yesterday there was a very stormy meeting at the University, which returns two members. The Nationalist candidate, who, it is admitted, has not the shadow of a chance, was very badly treated by the students. They threw at him a dead cat, seventeen rotten eggs, one of which broke in the face of a courageous lady who had accompanied him on to the platform, and such a number of cabbage stalks that the most conscientious reporters were forced to give up the attempt to count them. At last he was forced to beat a retreat.

Now, it appears that the students, proud of their success yesterday, intend trying to disperse the meeting at Rathmines, or, at least, to make a disturbance there. Everything, therefore, points to an evening full of incident. It will be rendered doubly interesting because it is organised by the “Protestant Home Rule Association,” that is to say, by the few Protestants in the country who have joined Mr. Parnell—by the way, he is a Protestant himself—and who have now entered on the campaign in favour of Home Rule. They declare that, far from being alarmed, as the English often assert that they are, at the idea of being abandoned to the Catholics without some protection, some of the Irish Protestants are so convinced of the sentiments of justice and benevolence, or at least of tolerance, which animate the majority of their fellow countrymen, that they are among the most eager to demand separation.

A jaunting-car conveyed me in less than half an hour to the door of a very simple building, which is the Town Hall of Rathmines. If England’s tutelage, complained of by the Lord Mayor, has only the effect of recalling to the minds of the municipal architects the simplicity of style they so frequently lose sight of at home, this tutelage can scarcely be considered absolutely injurious. The street is already blocked by the crowd. Apparently the police are under the impression that there will be some work for them, for a hundred policemen are grouped in one corner, ready to interfere when necessary, but content to look on for the present. Some strong young men wearing a green badge, act as stewards and guard the doors. Every one desiring to enter must show a personal invitation. These cards have been sent out during the day. I have only an envelope signed by Mr. Gray. At first, therefore, I encountered some difficulties, because the signature was almost illegible; but as soon as it was recognised, one of the stewards gave me a formidable slap on the shoulder, exclaiming: “Bedad, sorr, with that name there isn’t any door in Ireland that wouldn’t be open to you!”

I explained to him that for the moment my sole ambition was to find a place where I could see well, and above all hear well. My friend at once told me to follow him; pushing through the crowd like a boar, hustling every one that stood in his way, and in five minutes I find myself on the platform, two steps from the president, and quite close to a window; a very advantageous position, because, first of all, I could get a little air, and secondly, if the tumult became too serious, a small jump of seven or eight feet would enable me to gain a small side lane; and this I determined to do, if necessary, without the least hesitation, for it would be too stupid to allow myself to be knocked down by a Nationalist, wounded by a student, or simply led off to the station by a policeman, all for the honour of “Ould Ireland,” although my martyrdom could not help her in any way.

When I had once formed my plan of campaign, I began to look about me. There was evidently electricity in the air. The hall could hold about three or four hundred people; a hundred-and-fifty or two hundred were crowded in a small gallery above the door, yet formidable pressure still took place from time to time, and on each occasion a fresh stream of people penetrated into the hall, and the new arrivals pushed forward against those who had entered before them. It was intensely hot, and already a good many present had taken off their coats. In order to pass the time they yelled out a patriotic song, commencing with God Save Ireland, which was accompanied from the street by an orchestra composed of five or six fifes and as many drums.

A few minutes later, a grey-haired gentleman rose quite near to me and advanced to the front of the platform, where he was joined by a short, deformed man with long hair. I don’t know where he came from. Instantly there was a great silence, and the former bowed to the assembly.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “seconded by my friend, Mr. Shackleton,”—Mr. Shackleton—that was the little hunchback—bowed, in his turn, so low that his hump appeared higher than his head. The applause was enthusiastic. Evidently this is an important personage. He is the second hunchback I have seen in the Land League. Mr. Biggar, like Æsop, had only one hump; this man has two, like Punch. The tall speaker is called Mr. Alfred Webb. He continued:

“Seconded by my friend Abraham Shackleton, and in the name of the Protestant Home Rule Association I wish to ask your support for our candidate, Sir Thomas Esmonde, Baronet, who already represents the electoral division of South Dublin.”

This declaration was received with a tremendous noise. Every one stood up, hats flew into the air, or were waved at the end of enormous blackthorn sticks that are here called shillalahs, mouths opened like ovens, and gave vent to hurrahs that made the hall shake. The voters in the gallery thumped with all their force on the wooden balustrade, making it resound like a drum. My eyes were fixed on a short man, standing in front of me; he shouted and gesticulated so violently that I expected he would be seized with an epileptic fit. After a moment he evidently broke something in his throat, for with a despairing gesture he indicated that his voice would not come again, and, red as a tomato, he sank upon a bench to recover his strength.

The same accident probably happened to several others, for comparative silence ensued. Unfortunately, some one took advantage of it to cry: “Boys! Three cheers for the Grand Old Man!”

The “Grand Old Man” is Mr. Gladstone. Some years ago they called him “the old scoundrel.” Now he is called the “Grand Old Man” but the usual pronunciation is not sufficiently emphatic. It must be pronounced very slowly: g-r-r-r-r-and, with four or five r’s, ôld with three circumflex accents on the ô, and two on mân. Any other pronunciation lacks respect.

The quite novel idea of cheering “the Grand Old Man” made every one recover his strength. One gentleman in the gallery gave the signal by attempting to demolish the balustrade with his shillalah and the nine hurrahs broke out like a peal of thunder. Their enthusiasm was so great that when it ended one voice cried, “Once more,” and they recommenced.

But human strength has its limits, and I saw with pleasure that they were nearly exhausted. The second volley of hurrahs is not so hearty as the first. At last their throats could only utter inarticulate sounds; in spite of the efforts betrayed by their distorted features aphony was rapidly approaching.

The orators grouped near to me on the platform evidently awaited this result. One of them rose and began to speak. He first alluded to the meddling of the Court with the elections. He had scarcely launched into his subject before a young man suddenly rose at the back of the hall. “Long live the Queen! Down with the rebels!” he cried in a clear voice. Two or three other voices responded. It was the students who had just entered, but their arrangements were badly planned. Their adversaries had taken every precaution, and very few students had succeeded in slipping into the room.

The tempest was unchained, a forest of cudgels waved overhead. The students made an heroic defence, but in less than a minute they were overpowered, picked up and thrust out amidst growls resembling those of wild beasts.

However, the affair was not yet over. In the streets their friends attempted a diversion. The music which had recommenced ended in a despairing scream. A heavy blow had broken one musician’s instrument in his face and the others took to flight. Some curious fights took place under my window; the combatants, so far as I could judge, seemed to display very serious and profound knowledge of the principles of the noble art of boxing, for in the twinkling of an eye I saw two or three noses broken. “A very illigant foight! Is it not, sorr?” said one of my neighbours, addressing me; he evidently considered it would be a personal favour if I declared myself anti-nationalist so that he might have the opportunity of commencing an equally “illigant foight” with me. I took care not to give him this satisfaction; on the contrary, I declared that I thought the fight most “illigant.” I begin to understand Irish very well, and even to speak it a little; it suffices to change most of the e’s into i’s and all the i’s into oi’s—for instance one must never say Ireland but “Oirrlande.” With these precautions progress is very rapid.

The students are decidedly not in force. In less than five minutes the incident is over, every one returns to his place, and the orators peacefully continue their speeches.

Most of them say very little; they are only the supernumeraries, the important topics are reserved for a little later on. The appearance of the hall is the interesting and instructive spectacle. The meeting is evidently composed of men belonging to the lower middle class; they are shopkeepers or clerks. There are a few torn jackets, but very few; in such an assembly one ought to find comparative moderation, but on the contrary, all these men seem really and unquestionably exasperated. When, just now, the students shouted “Long live the Queen,” and when since that an orator has pronounced her name, hisses and groans were heard on all sides. I consider this is one of the most serious aspects of the situation. Mr. Gladstone, once a constitutional minister, has assumed a revolutionary attitude; he has stripped the throne of its “divinity,” the name of the Queen is now treated with more contempt than the names of her ministers. The speakers, to do them justice, make no effort to excite this feeling; they constantly refer to Home Rule, but when they allude to the idea of absolute separation, or to a republic, they do so in terms which indicate that they will not even honour the question by discussing it. Do orders, resulting from political calculation, produce this state of things, or does it proceed from real conviction? I cannot tell, I can only state the fact; but I must also own that their contemptuous words were not echoed by the crowd. At last the candidate rose. Sir Thomas Esmonde is quite a young man, it appears that he is twenty-three, but he does not look more than eighteen or twenty. It is said that his fortune is very much reduced, and his family, which is far from adopting the same political views, and which now refuses to meet him, explains that it is with the hope of recovering his position that he has thrown himself into the arms of the League with so much enthusiasm.

This is another sign of the times. Formerly in England political opinions had no influence over social relations. It is said that a few years ago when Mr. Labouchere, widely known as the editor of Truth, was presented to the Prince of Wales, he, with an amiable smile said, “No doubt your Royal Highness is aware that I am a red republican.” This is quite possible in a country where the theories of social distinction not only have never been practised, but even seem never to have any chance of being applied. In an English drawing-room one may come into pleasant intercourse with a gentleman who explains that the landowners should be deprived of their property and that their throats should be cut on the altar of the country; because in England this has never happened, and until lately no one saw that there was any possibility of it happening. In France for a long time these encounters have been most disagreeable, and in Ireland I am led to believe that the people begin to avoid them. I am told that Sir Thomas Esmonde is “cut” by the society that he frequented before he entered political life.

However, they have not yet reached the odious personalities which too often dishonour our election struggles; and, I notice with pleasure, that the candidate’s first phrases are devoted to saying in a few words that he considers his opponent, Mr. Todhunter Pym, a perfectly honest man, and that he delights in recalling the services rendered by his father. I always acted in this way in our election meetings, and I can recollect the stupefied expressions of our adversaries’ partisans and the alarmed faces of our own when they heard me break through old traditions in such a fashion.

Otherwise I am bound to say that the shadow of the illustrious Grattan does not seem to inspire his descendant. If the truth must be owned, the honourable candidate stutters a little and consults some papers, which contain his improvisation, a little unreasonably. This is perhaps excusable because his speech bristles with figures. Beyond this it contained nothing very new.

Ireland has always been oppressed. All its industries have been successively sacrificed to the Machiavellian calculations of the English; first the silk manufactures, then the cotton have disappeared. Only agriculture remains. Now agriculture itself is threatened; it is dying of anæmia. Every year it pays nearly seventeen million pounds in rent, of which six millions are spent abroad by landowners who never visit Ireland. The country is therefore impoverished every year to the extent of six million pounds. How can it resist such a drainage!