to rise within me, and I am almost overpowered by an
instinct of cruelty; I long to cry out, "Had Zimri peace who slew his
master?"

* * * * *

Is our Foundation Stone still unlaid when the more important streets are
decorated for Queen Victoria's Jubilee?

I find Maud Gonne at her hotel talking to a young working-man who looks
very melancholy. She had offered to speak at one of the regular meetings
of his socialist society about Queen Victoria, and he has summoned what
will be a great meeting in the open air. She has refused to speak, and he
says that her refusal means his ruin, as nobody will ever believe that he
had any promise at all. When he has left without complaint or anger, she
gives me very cogent reasons against the open air meeting, but I can think
of nothing but the young man and his look of melancholy. He has left his
address, and presently at my persuasion, she drives to his tenement, where
she finds him and his wife and children crowded into a very small
space--perhaps there was only one room--and, moved by the sight, promises
to speak. The young man is James Connolly who, with Padraic Pearce, is to
make the Insurrection of 1916 and to be executed.

* * * * *

The meeting is held in College Green and is very crowded, and Maud Gonne
speaks, I think, standing upon a chair. In front of her is an old woman
with a miniature of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, which she waves in her
excitement, crying out, "I was in it before she was born." Maud Gonne
tells how that morning she had gone to lay a wreath upon a martyr's tomb
at St. Michael's Church, for it is the one day in the year when such
wreaths are laid, but has been refused admission because it is the
Jubilee. Then she pauses, and after that her voice rises to a cry, "Must
the graves of our dead go undecorated because Victoria has her Jubilee?"

* * * * *

It is eight or nine at night, and she and I have come from the City Hall,
where the Convention has been sitting, that we may walk to the National
Club in Rutland Square, and we find a great crowd in the street, who
surround us and accompany us. Presently I hear a sound of breaking glass,
the crowd has begun to stone the windows of decorated houses, and when I
try to speak that I may restore order, I discover that I have lost my
voice through much speaking at the Convention. I can only whisper and
gesticulate, and