from England and the British Empire.

The official Nationalist Party is divided into many groups, but at its best it represents the true soul of Ireland—the soul of a high-spirited, imaginative, and intensely quick-witted people—fiercely impatient of the stolid, matter-of-fact, self-complacent race across the Irish Sea. In this respect Ireland resembles a "temperamental" wife married to an intensely respectable but unexciting husband. She wants to "live her own life." The Irish character again, ever prone to dream and brood, prevents Ireland from forgetting her ancient wrongs. Heaven knows they were grievous enough; but they were probably no worse than those of Scotland; and if they had been regarded as hers were by Scotland, they need have left no permanent mark. Edward the First, "The Hammer of the Scots," wrought no less havoc in the days of Wallace than Essex and Sir John Perrot in the time of Elizabeth. Ireland has her Ormonde, and that grim forerunner of Democracy, Oliver Cromwell. Scotland can point, with an equal degree of unhappy satisfaction, to Claverhouse and the Butcher Cumberland. But the phlegmatic Scot has avenged these outrages in subtle fashion. He does not brood; he simply migrates to England in the capacity of a peaceful trader, and proceeds to spoil the Egyptians at his leisure. Ireland, differently constituted, refuses to forget. And it is those two overwhelming forces—undying resentment, and impatience of the control of an intellectually inferior though mentally more stable race—that lie at the root of the Irish Home Rule agitation of to-day. "Leave us to ourselves!" cry the Nationalists. "We don't want to be brought up-to-date! We don't want to be made business-like and efficient! We don't want scientific farming, or state-aided incubators, or sanitary milk cans. We are not interested in the glorious British Empire. We only ask to be left alone with our own beloved, witty, unmethodical country, to manage or mismanage as we please!" And it is that sentiment which has underlain the steady, consistent resistance of the official Nationalist Party to all attempts on the part of England—some of them very admirable attempts—to improve the condition of Ireland. Their attitude is perfectly logical. Such legislation, if successful, would prevent the coming of Home Rule. And most of the bitterness and sorrow of the last thirty years has arisen from the inability—perhaps natural—of the average matter-of-fact Englishman to appreciate that attitude of mind.

"We offer you," he says, "a fair and equal share—the same as our own—in the running of the greatest Empire that the world has ever seen. For goodness sake what more do you want?" And back, without fail, comes the unvarying cry—so heartfelt, so tragic, yet in many ways so unsubstantial:—

"Ireland a Nation! Ireland Free!"

And if only Ireland could have formulated her appeal in a spirit more in accordance with that genuine cri du cœur, and less in the spirit of the extremely materialistic Home Rule Bill of 1914, there is little doubt that she would have had her wish long ago.

Then Ulster. The men of Ulster differ entirely from the other elements of Irish political society in knowing exactly what they want.

"We belong," they announce, "to the Union; we are proud of the Union; and we shall resist, to the death if need be, any attempts to force us out of it."

That is all there is to be said about Ulster. But the brevity of Ulster's contribution to the controversy does not simplify the solution in any way.

Here is a curious footnote to the Ulster problem. Americans will remember that in the early summer of 1914 certain British Regiments (unconscious of the very different task which awaited them in August) were instructed to hold themselves in readiness to enforce the Home Rule Act on Ulster. A number of the officers of those regiments resigned their commissions rather than fight against their own kin. They were much criticised at the time. But in 1776, when the British Army was mobilized against the American Colonies, a number of British officers resigned their commissions, too (and incidentally sacrificed their careers), rather than fight against their own flesh and blood across the sea. Thus does History repeat herself.

Then the Unionists of the West and South. Their sentiments are the sentiments of Ulster, but their position is very different. Though numerically quite strong, they are scattered over a wide area. They cannot, like centralized Ulster, act on "interior lines"; and it is probable that when a definite form of Home Rule crystallizes out of the present turmoil, it will be found that their interests have been sacrificed by the mutual consent of the stronger factions.

Lastly, that curious medley of brooding visionaries—ever the prey of the agitator—political place-hunters, subsidised pro-Germans, and ordinary cut-throats, which calls itself Sinn Feinn. This interesting organization is actuated by a variety of sentiments, varying from a passionate remembrance of woes long past down to a sound business instinct for the loaves and fishes of salaried office. The tie which binds together all its incongruous elements is a fierce hatred of England, derived possibly from the remembrance that rather more than two centuries ago Oliver Cromwell sacked the fair city of Drogheda, or in certain individual cases from a lively personal recollection of having been committed to gaol for three months by a tyrannical magistrate for the trifling indiscretion of burglary or theft.

Whatever its motives or ideals, this party has only one panacea for all ills, and that is complete separation from "England." They aspire to none of the status of Canada or the other Dominions; they are out for secession, pure and simple—secession accompanied, if possible, by a mortal blow at the hated pride of England. In order to put their amiable intention into effect, the Sinn Feinners proceeded, on Easter Monday of 1916, to deal the British peoples, including some three hundred thousand of their own compatriots serving on the Western Front, a stab in the back in the shape of that grim medley of tragedy and farce, the Dublin "revolution." The farce was supplied by Germany, which deposited upon the western shores of Ireland, from a submarine, a degenerate criminal lunatic named Casement, who had already failed egregiously in a monstrous effort to seduce the Irish prisoners in the German prison camps from allegiance to their cause. Casement was promptly arrested by the local village policeman, and his share in the matter ended. But in Dublin there was no lack of tragedy. The forces of the "revolution" struck the first blow for Freedom by an indiscriminate massacre of such British soldiers as happened to be strolling about the streets, unarmed, in their "walking out" dress. The killing was then extended to a large number of innocent civilians, not all of the male sex; and the apostles of Freedom then settled down, with the able assistance of the slum population, to the unrestrained looting of the shops and houses of Dublin.

Naturally the whole of Ireland stood aghast at the crime. Denunciations of the murderers poured in from every side, irrespective of political creed. The leader of the Nationalist Party publicly repudiated and condemned the