n gossips
into a rage because he declared that Dublin was called "the whispering
gallery" and "the city of dreadful whispers" because it was populated by
the descendants of informers and spies. That, he declared, was why
Dublin people were so fond of tittle-tattle and tale-bearing and
scandal-mongering. "The English hanged or transported every
decent-minded man in the town, an' left only the spies an' informers,
an' the whole of you are descended from that breed. That's why you can't
keep anything to yourselves, but have to run abut the town tellin'
everybody all the secrets you know!" And he charged them with constantly
giving each other away. He repeated this generalisation about the Dublin
people to John Marsh. "An' I tell you what'll happen to you, young
fellow, one of these days. You'll be hanged or shot or transported or
somethin', an' half the people of this place'll be runnin' like
lightnin' to swear an information against you, as sure as Fate. If ever
you think of startin' a rebellion, John Marsh, go up to Belfast an'
start it. People'll be loyal to you there, but in this place they'd sell
you for a pint of Guinness!"

He was half serious in his warning to Marsh, but ... "I should be glad
to die for Ireland," Marsh replied, and it was said so simply that there
was no priggishness in it. "I can think of no finer fate for an
Irishman."

Mr. Quinn made a gesture of impatience. "It 'ud be a damn sight better
to live for Ireland," he exclaimed angrily.

2

Henry was in the garden when John Marsh arrived, accompanied by Mr.
Quinn. Two letters had come to him that morning from England--one from
Gilbert Farlow and the other from Mary Graham, and he was reading them
again for the seventh or eighth time when the dogcart drove up to the
house.

_My dear old ass,_ Gilbert wrote, _why grizzle and grouse at the
Bally Awful! That's my name now for things which can't be helped.
I've taught it to Ninian, but he persists in calling it the Bloody
Awful, which is low. He says that doesn't matter because he is low.
Roger and I have had to clout his head rather severely lately ...
it took two of us to do it.... Roger held his arms while I clouted
him ... because he has become fearfully democratic, meaning by
that, that anybody who knows more than his alphabet is an enemy of
the poor. Roger and I are dead nuts on aristocracy at present. We
go about saying, "My God, I'm a supe