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I put up for the night, very much to the astonishment of every one.

Soon after my arrival I asked to be shown to my room; but it was one o'clock in the morning before the other guests ceased their noise and allowed me to go to sleep. Next day I slept rather late, and might have slept even later, but that I was rudely shaken out of a pleasant dream by a wild howl, as of a thousand demons just let loose. Starting up quickly, and looking out on the street, I saw that it was filled with a fierce-looking crowd, out of whose many mouths had proceeded the yell that awakened me. Dragging on my clothes, I rushed down to the coffeeroom. There I learned that the people outside had just accompanied Squire O'Neil back from the polling-place, where he had been the first to vote for the sarjint.” Now that this fact had become generally known, they were clamorous that he should be sent out to them, “ to tear him limb from limb.” Presently, while their cries rose loud and long, the squire entered the room-a tall military-looking man, with a little of a horsey tone, nose like a hawk, eyes dark, yet glowing like fire.

“ They don't seem over-fond of me, I see," he said with a smile, as he bowed to those in the room, and advanced to one of the windows and coolly opened it. Waving his hand, the crowd became instantly silent.

“Now, don't be in a hurry, gentlemen," he said, in a clear voice that must have been distinctly heard by every

“ You shall have the honor of my company, so soon as my horse can be harnessed, I assure you."

“Eh, what! what does he mean?" I asked of a person next me. “Surely he will not venture out among these howling fiends?

“ That is just what he is going to do,” replied my companion. “ There is no use talking to him. He has given orders for the mare and gig to be got ready, and it's as much as any one's life is worth to try to stop him. Wolff by name, and wolf by nature; he's enraged at having to steal down here last night like a thief. Ah, there the fun begins! Look out!”

As my companion spoke he gripped me by the arm, and dragged me close against a space between two windows. Next moment a shower of stones crashed through the windows, leaving not a single inch of glass unbroken. Then,


at longer or shorter intervals, volley followed volley, till the floor of the room was completely covered with road metal and broken glass. Presently there was a lull in the storm, and the crowd became all at once as silent as the grave. In the hush I could distinctly hear the grating sound of the opening of some big door almost under us. I looked inquiringly at my companion.

“ It's the entry doors being opened to let the wolf out,” he said in reply. “Ah! there he is.”

I glanced out of the window, and saw the squire alone in his gig, a smile on his face, his whole bearing as cool and unconcerned as if there was not a single enemy within a thousand miles. Then I heard the great doors clang to, and as they did so the crowd gave vent to a howl of delighted rage.

At the first appearance of the squire in his gig the people had swayed back, and left an open space in front of the hotel. Now they seemed about to close in on him, and one man in the front stooped to lift a stone. Quick as lightning the hand of the squire went to his breast, and just as the man stood upright to throw, I heard the sharp crack of a pistol. The man uttered a wild shriek of pain, clapped his hands to his cheeks, and plunged into the crowd. The bullet had entered at one cheek and gone out at the other, after tearing away a few teeth in its passage. The man was the very person who had made the mistake in shooting at me over-night.

A near nick that for our friend," said the squire in his clear voice, while the crowd swayed back a pace or two. “ But the next will be nearer still, and I've nearly half-adozen still left. Now, will any of you oblige me by stooping to lift a stone!"

He paused and glanced round, while every man in the crowd held his breath and stood still as a statue.

No? you won't oblige me?” he said presently, with a sneer. Then fierce as if charging in some world-famous battle: “Out of my way, you scoundrels! Faugh-a-bal


At the word he jerked the reins slightly, and the mare moved forward at a trot, with head erect and bearing as proud as if she knew a conquerer sat behind her. Then, in utter silence, the crowd swayed to right and left leaving a wide alley, down which the squire drove as gayly as if the whole thing were some pleasant show. When he had disappeared the crowd closed to again, utterly crestfallen. Then for a short time the whole air was filled with their chattering one to another, like the humming of innumerable bees; and presently without a shout, and without a single stone being thrown, the great mass melted away.

Next morning, at an early hour, I left Sligo as fast as a covered conveyance could carry me. I did not care to wait for the slower means of escape by foot, fearful that next time a mistake was made with me the shooting might possibly be better than it was at first.


Weep no more about my bed;
Weep no more, be comforted.
That which pale and cold you see,
Once was mine, but is not me:
Kiss no more that thing of clay,

That as garment once I wore;
Foul, I fling it far away,

That it soil my soul no more
That no more it close me in
With its bands of grief and sin.

Weep no more about my bed;
Weep no more, be comfortèd.
That which you to earth convey,
Weeping, wailing on the way,
Is but as an empty shell,

As a cage whence bird is flown,
As a hut where one did dwell

Ever full of pain and moan,
As a mask that mocks and jeers
'Fore a face all filled with tears.

Weep no more about my bed;
Weep no more, be comfortèd.
Now at last I live in truth,
Now I feel unfading youth,

Now the world's dark ways are clear,

Now the weary wonder dies, Now your little doubts appear

Mists that fail to veil the skies ;Now your knowledge, skill, and strength, Childish toys appear at length.

Weep no more about my bed;
Weep no more, be comforted.
He you weep you may not see,
But he stands beside your knee:
He who loved you loves you still,

Loves you with a treble pow'r,
Loves you with a mightier will,

Growing, growing every hour. He you clasped in arms of clay Tends you closely day by day.

Weep no more about my bed;
Weep no more, be comforted.
Where I am ye soon will come;
This, this only is our home
I am only gone before,

Just a moment's little space;
Soon upon this painless shore

Ye shall see me face to face; Then will smile, and wonder why Ye should weep that I should die.



JOHN EDWARD REDMOND, M.P., was born in 1856. He is the son of the late W. A. Redmond, M.P. for Ballytrent. He was educated at Trinity College, Dublin. He became a barrister of Gray's Inn in 1886 and an Irish barrister in 1887. He was M.P. for New Ross from 1881 to 1885, for North Wexford from 1885 to 1891, and has sat for Waterford since 1891. He has published a volume of historical and political addresses.


From the Speech at the National Convention, Chicago, Aug. 18, 1886

The duty which devolves upon my colleagues and myself of representing the Irish nation at home, at this great gathering of the Irish nation abroad, is one in which the honor is great and the responsibility heavy. Perhaps the greatest glory of our nation is to be found in the fact that our people, driven by misfortune and misrule from the land of their fathers, and coming to this land, rude, ignorant and poor, have yet been able to bear an honorable part in building up the fortunes of America, and to give to the world undeniable proof that, in addition to the qualities of fidelity and honesty, Irishmen, under a free constitution, can be worthy sons and good citizens of their adopted country. The Irish people in this great republic, no less as American citizens than as Irish Nationalists, have arrested the attention and commanded the admiration of the world. The assembly of this day is a proof of devotion to a great cause, perhaps unparalleled in history.

The hardships, the oppressions, and the miseries which drove you or your fathers from Ireland, have wedded your hearts to Ireland's cause by ties which neither prosperity, nor distance, nor time, can destroy or weaken. No selfish interests urge you to support the old cause, devotion to which brought ruin and death upon your forefathers and exile upon yourselves. Selfishness and worldly interests all point to another course as the best; but it is the undying glory of Ireland that her exiled sons, in the midst of prosperity, and in the light of liberty, have yet found time

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