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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.