ses are loved. Ireland alone
has been loved religiously, as men are taught to love God or the
saints. Her lovers have called themselves Catholic or Protestant: such
distinctions have not mattered to these men. They have scarcely ever
been able to form themselves into a party, never into a strong or a wise
party. They have been violent, desperate, frequently ridiculous, but
always sincere and unselfish. Their great weakness has lain in the fact
that they have had no consistent aim. Some of their leaders have looked
for a return to Ireland's Constitution, and built upon the watchword of
the volunteers, 'The King, the Lords, and the Commons of Ireland.' Some
have dreamed of a complete independence, of an Irish republic shaping
its own world policy. Some have wholly distrusted politics, and given
their strength to the intellectual, spiritual, or material regeneration
of the people. Among these men have been found the sanest practical
reformers and the wildest revolutionary dreamers. On the outskirts of
their company have hung all sorts of people. Parliamentary politicians
have leaned towards them, and been driven straightway out of public
life. Criminals have claimed fellowship with them, and brought
discredit upon honourable men. Poets and men of letters have drawn
their inspiration from their strivings, and in return have decked their
patriotism with imperishable splendour. In the future, no doubt,
the struggle will lie between this party and the hitherto victorious
hierarchy, with England for ally, and the fight seems a wholly unequal
one. It was into an advanced and vehement group of patriots that Mary
O'Dwyer introduced Hyacinth. He became a regular reader of the _Croppy_,
and made the acquaintance of most of the contributors to its pages. He
found them clever, enthusiastic, and agreeable men and women, but, as
he was forced to admit to himself, occasionally reckless. One evening a
discussion took place in Mary O'Dwyer's room which startled and shocked
him. Excitement ran high over the events of the war. The sympathies
of the 'Independent Irelanders,' as they called themselves, fiercely
assertive even in their name, were of course entirely with the Boers,
and they received every report of an English reverse with unmixed
satisfaction.

When Hyacinth entered the room he found four people there. Mary
O'Dwyer herself was making tea at a little table near the fire. Augusta
Goold--the famous Finola--was stretched in a deep c