u believe them? Some few may be
inspired with the idea that the thing is impracticable, but they will
all preach separation when the right time comes. 'Pay no taxes to
England,' they'll cry. The people can follow that. Tell them that any
course of action means non-payment of anything, and they're on it like
a shot. Why, the Paying of Tribute to England is already discussed in
every whiskey shop in Galway, and every man is prepared to line the
ditches with guns and pikes rather than pay one copper. When you can't
give Strachan the farm for which he paid last February, when you can't
keep a small farmer who won't pay rent from occupying his farm and
getting his crops as usual, for he _will_ do so, how are you going to
raise the famous Tribute Money?"

Near the Town Hall was a great crowd of people listening to a couple
of minstrels who chanted alternate lines of a modernised version of
the _Shan van vocht_. "Let me make the songs of a people, and I care
not who makes its laws." Mr. Gladstone is appreciated now. The heart
of the Connaughtman throbs responsive to his pet appellation. This is
part of the song--

Oi'm goin' across the say, says the Grand Old Man,
Oi'll be back some other day, says the Grand Old Man;
When Oireland gets fair play
We'll make Balfour rue the day,--
Remimber what I say, says the Grand Old Man.
Whin will ye come back? says the Grand Old Man,
Whin will ye come back? says the Grand Old Man,
Whin Balfour gets the sack
Wid Salisbury on his back,
Or unto hell does pack, says the Grand Old Man.
Will ye deny the Lague? says the Grand Old Man,
No, we'll continue to the Lague, says the Grand Old Man.
John Dillon says at every station,
'Twill be his conversation
Till Oireland is a nation, says the Grand Old Man.

There are three more verses of this immortal strain. The _Shan van
vocht_ was the great song of the '98 rebellion, and possibly the
G.O.M.'s happy adaptability to the music may put the finishing touch
to his world-wide renown. Other songs referred to the arrest of Father
Keller, of Youghal. "They gathered in their thousands their grief for
to revale, An' mourn for their holy praste all in Kilmainham Jail."
These ballads are anonymous, but the talented author of "Dirty little
England" stands revealed by internal evidence. The voices which
chanted these melodies were discordan