occurrence in the House of Commons. Never did England and Ireland stand so close together as on that day. But one thing was morally certain from the start, and that was that when the first flush of indignation had died down, the old pernicious sentimentality and political animus would raise their heads again. And it was so. The "revolution" was crushed. Some twelve or fifteen executions took place, either of men who had been directly convicted of deliberate murder, or of those who had set their names to the outrageous document which authorized the same. It is difficult, considering the circumstances, to see how a conscientious tribunal could have done less, for to have condoned such a blend of black treachery and plain murder would rightly have been construed as an act of weakness. But it is even more difficult—nay, impossible—to conceive any handling of the situation out of which persons interested would have refrained from making political capital. The Oppressed English were booked for trouble, both "going and coming."

Probably it would have been best to have held a series of drumhead courts-martial, followed by instantaneous executions, wherever necessary, while public opinion was not merely prepared but anxious for such. But that is not the English way. Each prisoner was accorded a full, conscientious, and lengthy trial. What was worse, the trials were held seriatim; with the result that by the time the last man had been condemned or acquitted, Irish public opinion, ever volatile, had veered round to an attitude of sympathy with the frustrated conspirators. The opportunity to denounce "English justice" was too strong. The fact that scores of innocent people had been foully murdered by the "revolutionists" was forgotten. As might have been anticipated from the start, the odium for the whole tragic occurrence, both the crime and the punishment, was laid by popular acclamation upon the shoulders of England. To-day, particularly in the United States, industrious propagandists are busily engaged in extolling the virtues of the departed criminals; and no tale seems too improbable, no accusation too fantastic, for those whose profession it is to disseminate them.

One case in particular has gained unnecessary notoriety in the United States. An unfortunate man named Skeffington, a harmless visionary, instead of following the counsels of common sense and staying at home, wandered forth into the streets of Dublin during the height of the rioting. Here he was arrested by an English officer who, with a party of troops, was engaged in clearing the streets. This officer had recently returned from the Western Front on sick leave. Utterly unstrung by the appalling sights which confronted him, he appears to have suddenly lost his mental balance. At the end of the day he visited the barracks where his prisoners were confined, selected Skeffington and two others, and ordered their execution. The sentence was carried out. In due course the matter was reported to the authorities; a searching inquiry was held; and the afflicted officer was confined in an insane asylum. Such are the facts of the wretched occurrence; the wonder is, not that it should have happened, but that, in all the turmoil and agony of that hellish night in Dublin, it should only have happened once. But it is easy to imagine the form in which the story is being presented in the United States. Poor Skeffington is now canonised as a man who died for freedom with his back against a wall; while his widow is, or was, touring the chief cities of America, where she is being exploited by astute politicians (with Teutonic axes to grind) as a victim of the tyrannical "English" Government.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

The redeeming feature of Irish politics lies in the fact that the grimmest tragedy is never far removed from the wildest farce. For example, within the last few months two by-elections have been held in Ireland for the purpose of returning new members to the House of Commons. In each case the candidates have been respectively an official Nationalist and a Sinn Feinner. That is to say, a representative of the constitutional Home Rule Party has been pitted against a member of the frankly separatist and revolutionary party. In each case the Sinn Feinner has been elected. The fact that one of these gentlemen is at present undergoing a term of penal servitude somewhat prejudices his chances of taking part for the present in the counsels of the Empire. It also adds one more little complication to the task of selecting a suitable constitution for a nation which allows its undoubted sense of humour to run away so completely with its sense of national responsibility.

As these words are written, the news comes that that resourceful statesman, David Lloyd George, has conceived the happy notion of collecting all the Irish political parties around one table, with instructions to evolve a constitution of their own—the instructions being backed by the information that the offspring of this convention, provided it conforms to the most elementary criterions of common sense, will receive official endorsement forthwith. The present titanic struggle on the Western Front pales into insignificance at the thought of what will go on around that table. What will be evolved we do not know; but two things seem certain. Firstly, practically any scheme of Home Rule upon which the combatants can agree will be accepted by the people of England and Scotland. They are genuinely fond of their brave, witty, and turbulent neighbours; they are genuinely appreciative of the splendid work that has been done in the War by the Irish troops; they are broadminded enough to bear no malice for the recent disturbance in Dublin, for they can now view that untimely abortion in the right perspective; and they are painfully conscious that their own efforts to confer peace and contentment upon Ireland have not been an unqualified success. Finally, they are sick of strife and argument; and it is probable that any scheme which does not abandon Ireland, and incidentally expose the adjoining coast of England, to the intrigues and designs of a corrupt and Teutonically inclined Separatist Party—and it is this fear which has lain at the very foot of English opposition to Irish Home Rule for generations—will go through. And may that day not be far distant!

Secondly (and from the point of view of this laboured discourse, most important of all), it can never be said again, either by doubting friend or candid critic, that Ireland is debarred from selecting her own form of government by the action of the English people.

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Ireland, as ever, has drawn us far from our text.

But I have said enough to demonstrate to unbiassed observers the present deplorable status of that unfortunate country, England. To-day her chief offices of State are occupied by Scotsmen of the most ruthless type; Wales supplies her with Prime Ministers; while Ireland appropriates all her spare cash and calls her a bloodsucker. When the War is over, and the world has leisure to devote itself to certain long-postponed domestic reforms, it is