little trick?'
He took two bottles from the table and, carrying them to the fire, put them on the hob.
Then he sat down again by the fire and took another drink from his bottle. Mr Lyons
sat on the edge of the table, pushed his hat towards the nape of his neck and began to
swing his legs.
`Which is my bottle?' he asked.
`This, lad,' said Mr Henchy.
Mr Crofton sat down on a box and looked fixedly at the other bottle on the hob. He
was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had
nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him.
He had been a canvasser for Wilkins, the Conservative, but when the Conservatives
had withdrawn their man and, choosing the lesser of two evils, given their support to
the Nationalist candidate, he had been engaged to work for Mr Tierney.
In a few minutes an apologetic `Pok!' was heard as the cork flew out of Mr Lyons'
bottle. Mr Lyons jumped off the table, went to the fire, took his bottle and carried it
back to the table.
`I was just telling them, Crofton,' said Mr Henchy, `that we got a good few votes
today.'
`Who did you get?' asked Mr Lyons.
`Well, I got Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and I got Ward of Dawson
Street. Fine old chap he is, too - regular old toff, old Conservative! "But isn't your
candidate a Nationalist?" said he. "He's a respectable man," said I. "He's in favour of
whatever will benefit this country. He's a big ratepayer," I said. "He has extensive
house property in the city and three places of business, and isn't it to his own
advantage to keep down the rates? He's a prominent and respected citizen," said I ,
"and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn't belong to any party, good, bad, or
indifferent." That's the way to talk to 'em.'
`And what about the address to the King?' said Mr Lyons, after drinking and
smacking his lips.
`Listen to me,' said Mr Henchy. `What we want in this country, as I said to old Ward,
is capital. The King's coming here will mean an influx of money into this country.
The citizens of Dublin will benefit by it. Look at all the factories down by the quays
there, idle! Look at all the money there is in the country if we only worked the old
industries, the mills, the ship-building yards and factories. It's capital we want.'
`But look here, John,' said Mr O'Connor. `Why should we welcome the King of
England? Didn't Parnell himself... '
`Parnell,' said Mr Henchy, `is dead. Now, here's the way I look at it. Here's this chap
come to the throne after his old mother keeping him out of it till the man was grey.
He's a man of the world, and he means well by us. He's a jolly fine, decent fellow, if
you ask me, and no damn nonsense about him. He just says to himself: "The old one
never went to see these wild Irish. By Christ, I'll go myself and see what they're like."
And are we going to insult the man when he comes over here on a friendly visit? Eh?
Isn't that right, Crofton?'
Mr Crofton nodded his head.
`But after all now,' said Mr Lyons argumentatively, `King Edward's life, you know, is
not the very... '
`Let bygones be bygones,' said Mr Henchy. `I admire the man personally. He's just an
ordinary knockabout like you and me. He's fond of his glass of grog and he's a bit of a
rake, perhaps, and he's a good sportsman. Damn it, can't we Irish play fair?'
`That's all very fine,' said Mr Lyons. `But look at the case of Parnell now.'
`In the name of God,' said Mr Henchy, `where's the analogy between the two cases?'
`What I mean,' said Mr Lyons, `is we have our ideals. Why, now, would we welcome
a man like that? Do you think now after what he did Parnell was a fit man to lead us?
And why, then, would we do it for Edward the Seventh?'
`This is Parnell's anniversary,' said Mr O'Connor, `and don't let us stir up any bad
blood. We all respect him now that he's dead and gone - even the Conservatives,' he
added, turning to Mr Crofton.
Pok! The tardy cork flew out of Mr Crofton's bottle: Mr Crofton got up from his box
and went to the fire. As he returned-with his capture he said in a deep voice:
`Our side of the house respects him, because he was a gentleman.'
`Right you are, Crofton!' said Mr Henchy fiercely. `He was the only man that could
keep that bag of cats in order. "Down, ye dogs! Lie down, ye curs!" That's the way he
treated them. Come in, Joe! Come in!' he called out, catching sight of Mr Hynes in the
doorway.
Mr Hynes came in slowly.
`Open another bottle of stout, Jack,' said Mr Henchy. `O, I forgot there's no
corkscrew! Here, show me one here and I'll put it at the fire.'
The old man handed him another bottle and he placed it on the hob.
`Sit down, Joe,' said Mr O'Connor, `we're just talking about the Chief.'
`Ay, ay!' said Mr Henchy.
Mr Hynes sat on the side of the table near Mr Lyons but said nothing.
`There's one of them, anyhow,' said Mr Henchy, `that didn't renege him. By God, I'll
say for you, Joe! No, by God, you stuck to him like a man!'
`O, Joe,' said Mr O'Connor suddenly. `Give us that thing you wrote - do you
remember? Have you got it on you?'
`O, ay!' said Mr Henchy. `Give us that. Did you ever hear that, Crofton? Listen to this
now: splendid thing.'
`Go on,' said Mr O'Connor. `Fire away, Joe.'
Mr Hynes did not seem to remember at once the piece to which they were alluding,
but, after reflecting a while, he said:
`O, that thing is it... Sure, that's old now.'
`Out with it, man!' said Mr O'Connor.
`'Sh, 'sh,' said Mr Henchy. `Now, Joe!'
Mr Hynes hesitated a little longer. Then amid the silence he took off his hat, laid it on
the table and stood up. He seemed to be rehearsing the piece in his mind. After a
rather long pause he announced:
THE DEATH OF PARNELL
6th October, 1891
He cleared his throat once or twice and then began to recite:
He is dead. Our Uncrowned King is dead.
O, Erin, mourn with grief and woe
For he lies dead whom the fell gang
Of modern hypocrites laid low.
He lies slain by the coward hounds
He raised to glory from the mire;
And Erin's hopes and Erin's dreams
Perish upon her monarch's pyre.
In palace, cabin or in cot
The Irish heart where'er it be
Is bowed with woe - for he is gone
Who would have wrought her destiny.
He would have had his Erin famed,
The green flag gloriously unfurled,
Her statesmen, bards, and warriors raised
Before the nations of the World.
He dreamed (alas, 'twas but a dream!)
Of Liberty: but as he strove
To clutch that idol, treachery
Sundered him from the thing he loved.
Shame on the coward, caitiff hands
That smote their Lord or with a loss
Betrayed him to the rabble-rout
Of fawning priests - no friends of his.
May everlasting shame consume
The memory of those who tried
To befoul and smear the exalted name
Of one who spurned them in his pride.
He fell as fall the mighty ones,
Nobly undaunted to the last,
And death has now united him
With Erin's heroes of the past.
No sound of strife disturb his sleep!
Calmly he rests: no human pain
Or high ambition spurs him now
The peaks of glory to attain.
They had their way: they laid him low.
But Erin, list, his spirit may
Rise, like the Phoenix from the flames,
When breaks the dawning of the day,
The day that brings us Freedom's reign.
And on that day may Erin well
Pledge in the cup she lifts to Joy
One grief - the memory of Parnell.
Mr Hynes sat down again on the table. When he had finished his recitation there was
a silence and then a burst of clapping: even Mr Lyons clapped. The applause
continued for a little time. When it had ceased all the auditors drank from their bottles
in silence.
Pok! The cork flew out of Mr Hynes' bottle, but Mr Hynes remained sitting flushed
and bareheaded on the table. He did not seem to have heard the invitation.
`Good man, Joel' said Mr O'Connor, taking out his cigarette papers and pouch the
better to hide his emotion.
`What do you think of that, Crofton?' cried Mr Henchy. `Isn't that fine? What?'
Mr Crofton said that it was a very fine piece of writing.
A Mother
Mr Holohan, assistant secretary of the Eire Abu Society, had been walking up and
down Dublin for nearly a month, with his hands and pockets full of dirty pieces of
paper, arranging about the series of concerts. He had a game leg, and for this his
friends called him Hoppy Holohan. He walked up and down constantly, stood by the
hour at street corners arguing the point, and made notes; but in the end it was Mrs
Kearney who arranged everything.
Miss Devlin had become Mrs Kearney out of spite. She had been educated in a high-
class convent, where she had learned French and music. As she was naturally pale and
unbending in manner she made few friends at school. When she came to the age of
marriage she was sent out to many houses, where her playing and ivory manners were
much admired. She sat amid the chilly circle of her accomplishments, waiting for
some suitor to brave it and offer her a brilliant life. But the young men whom she met
were ordinary and she gave them no encouragement, trying to console her romantic
desires by eating a great deal of Turkish Delight in secret. However, when she drew
near the limit and her friends began to loosen their tongues about her, she silenced
them by marrying Mr Kearney, who was a bootmaker on Ormond Quay.
He was much older than she. His conversation, which was serious, took place at
intervals in his great brown beard. After the first year of married life, Mrs Kearney
perceived that such a man would wear better than a romantic person, but she never
put her own romantic ideas away. He was sober, thrifty, and pious; he went to the
altar every first Friday, sometimes with her, oftener by himself. But she never
weakened in her religion and was a good wife to him. At some party in a strange
house when she lifted her eyebrow ever so slightly he stood up to take his leave and,
when his cough troubled him, she put the eiderdown quilt over his feet and made a
strong rum punch. For his part, he was a model father. By paying a small sum every
week into a society, he ensured for both his daughters a dowry of one hundred pounds
each when they came to the age of twenty-four. He sent the older daughter, Kathleen,
to a good convent, where she learned French and music, and afterwards paid her fees
at the Academy. Every year in the month of July Mrs Kearney found occasion to say
to some friend:
`My good man is packing us off to Skerries for a few weeks.'
If it was not Skerries it was Howth or Greystones.
When the Irish Revival began to be appreciable Mrs Kearney determined to take
advantage of her daughter's name and brought an Irish teacher to the house. Kathleen
and her sister sent Irish picture postcards to their friends and these friends sent back
other Irish picture postcards. On special Sundays, when Mr Kearney went with his
family to the pro-cathedral, a little crowd of people would assemble after mass at the
corner of Cathedral Street. They were all friends of the Kearneys - musical friends or
Nationalist friends, and, when they had played every little counter of gossip, they
shook hands with one another all together, laughing at the crossing of so many hands,
and said good-bye to one another in Irish. Soon the name of Miss Kathleen Kearney
began to be heard often on people's lips. People said that she was very clever at music
and a very nice girl and, moreover, that she was a believer in the language movement.
Mrs Kearney was well content at this. Therefore she was not surprised when one day
Mr Holohan came to her and proposed that her daughter should be the accompanist at
a series of four grand concerts which his Society was going to give in the Ancient
Concert Rooms. She brought him into the drawing-room, made him sit down and
brought out the decanter and the silver biscuit-barrel. She entered heart and soul into
the details of the enterprise, advised and dissuaded: and finally a contract was drawn
up by which Kathleen was to receive eight guineas for her services as accompanist at
the four grand concerts.
As Mr Holohan was a novice in such delicate matters as the wording of bills and the
disposing of items for a programme, Mrs Kearney helped him. She had tact. She knew
what artistes should go into capitals and what artistes should go into small type. She
knew that the first tenor would not like to come on after Mr Meade's comic turn. To
keep the audience continually diverted she slipped the doubtful items in between the
old favourites. Mr Holohan called to see her every day to have her advice on some
point. She was invariably friendly and advising - homely, in fact. She pushed the
decanter towards him, saying:
`Now, help yourself, Mr Holohan!'
And while he was helping himself she said:
`Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid of it!'
Everything went on smoothly. Mrs Kearney bought some lovely blush-pink
charmeuse in Brown Thomas's to let into the front of Kathleen's dress. It cost a pretty
penny; but there are occasions when a little expense is justifiable. She took a dozen of
two-shilling tickets for the final concert and sent them to those friends who could not
be trusted to come otherwise. She forgot nothing, and, thanks to her, everything that
was to be done was done.
The concerts were to be on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. When Mrs
Kearney arrived with her daughter at the Ancient Concert Rooms on Wednesday
night she did not like the look of things. A few young men, wearing bright blue
badges in their coats, stood idle in the vestibule; none of them wore evening dress.
