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How James Connolly was Butchered
Forward Eleanor
Oct. 18, 1916
Moving Story by his Daughter
The manner in which James Connolly was foully done to death by the British Government after the Dublin Rebellion in May, 1916, was told in a very moving speech by his daughter, Miss Norah Connolly, at a concert held in the St. Andrew's Hall on Tuesday, 7th October, for the purpose of raising funds for the establishment of a James Connolly Memorial Labour College in Dublin. Captain J. R. White presided over a fairly large audience, and was accompanied on the platform by Mrs. Connolly. Captain White said at one time he had not always agreed with James Connolly, but at that time his knowledge of the implacable class war was not complete. He now realised, however, that Connolly's insistence on economic determination was the strongest part of his faith. (Applause.) The problem they had to face was neither political nor economic, but a foul moral cancer whose only cure was the knife. (Applause.) The safest way of bringing about the change in a peaceful way, and in order to avert bloodshed, was to prepare for it now. (Loud applause.)
Miss Norah Connolly, who received an enthusiastic ovation, spoke under the stress of great emotion. She said it was in Glasgow and Edinburgh that her father had spent the early struggles of his youth. It was here he learned what Capitalism meant to the workers, but it was also here he realised what Socialism meant to the workers. (Applause.) It was in Scotland that he had given his first work for the Labour movement, and had helped to lay the foundation of the great Labour movement that was in the country to-day. It was appropriate, therefore, that she should ask the workers here to do what they could to help in the establishment of the Connolly Memorial Labour College. She asked them to help, not only because James Connolly had lived and worked in Glasgow, but also because he had lived and died for the workers. (Loud applause.) After the Rebellion in 1916, when her father was lying a prisoner, the first organ to cry out for his blood was that of William Martin Murphy. (Hisses and cries of Shame!") Her father lay in bed unable to move, for one of his legs had been shattered in two places and he had been shot through the arm, and it was while he was in this condition that an informal Court-martial was held around his bed, he himself having to be propped up with pillows. (Hoots and hisses.) She saw him after the Court-martial, when he told her that he felt quite weak but that he was not suffering much. The militarists were determined, however, on getting him out of the way, and at two o'clock in the morning they came with an ambulance and took him to Kilmainham Jail, where they strapped him to a chair so that they might shoot him. (Loud groans and hisses.) They had not done that because he was James Connolly, but because Capitalism was not safe while a man of his type was alive—(applause)—and because they were foolish enough to believe that with Connolly dead his principles and teachings would die along with him. (Applause.) They now realised to-day, when it was too late, that the blood of James Connolly had sanct

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CONNACHT'S
RALLY! 1. 1. 30/3/22
MONSTER PUBLIC
MEETING
CASTLEBAR,
SUNDAY NEXT, APRIL 2ND,
AT 2 P.M.
SPEAKERS:
MR. MICHAEL COLLINS, T.D.;
COMMANDANT-GENERAL SEAN MCKEON, T.D.;
VERY REV. DEAN MACKEN, P.P.; MESSRS. J.
MACBRIDE, T.D.; W. SEARS, T.D.; A. MCCABE,
T.D.; T. O'DONNELL, T.D., and others.
Special Trains will run from Ballina, Ballinrobe,
Westport, Tuam, and Athlone.

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Save Derrynane
Appeal
LAST week we featured the announcement that Derrynane, home of Daniel O'Connell, was to be put up for sale and we said that Kerrymen should set a lead to the country in saving this historic spot for the nation. The following is one of many letters from prominent Kerrymen which have been received by us.
Sir,—I have heard with whole-hearted dismay the announcement in this week's issue of your paper of the approaching sale of Derrynane Abbey. I have been aware for a long time of the tragic condition of the building, but I lived in hopes that some official action might be possible to save the Abbey as an historical monument.
Ninety-three years, almost to a day, have passed since "the Liberator" breathed his last in Gemoa on his way to Rome. Next year the centenary of his death will fall upon Ascension Day, May 15. It is, surely, a sad comment upon our times that he who finally won us freedom to practise our Faith should now be so forgotten that we seem content to see the house he loved so well pass to the house-breaker or, more sad than all, to the possession of a stranger.
As a member of the family and as a great grand-nephew of the Liberator himself, I feel diffident of making the first move in such a matter, but action is required now. I enclose, therefore, a small contribution towards any fund which it may be possible to initiate for the purpose of rescuing the Abbey and saving it for posterity.
DONAL B. O'CONNELL,
Captain R.N. (rtd)
May 17, 1946.
★
Kerryman
25-V. 46
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO
DO ABOUT IT?

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THE GAELIC INVASION OF BELGIUM.
We are indebted to Mr Thomas Long, N.T., for the above interesting views. The illustrations depict groups around the Monument (Celtic Cross) to the Irish Brigade at Fontenoy; Armagh Pipers playing outside the Cardinal's Palace at Mechlin; the arrival of hurlers at Fontenoy; and Cardinal Mercier chatting to Irish harper and pipers.
(Engraved and printed at Examiner Office).

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"Ulster" and the Peace
An Open Letter to
Mr. Churchill
SIR,—In many parts of "Ulster," including the industrial city of Belfast, the new era of peace in Europe was inaugurated by the thunder of orange drums. It was an ominous beginning. In presence again, and that, as a consequence, the old system of industrial gerrymandering will soon be back in full working order.
The coming of "peace" to "Ulster" means, therefore, that in addition to the open and shameless system of political gerrymandering by means of which "Unionism" is maintained in power, we shall also be mandering as well. I mention this fact, and this possible, and indeed likely, consequence of a fact to Randolph Churchill, first coined your father. Lord Orange Churchill, understand your phrase: "The Orange frankness care might prefer to crystallising, a phase and method of British rule in Ireland. You, sir, as the still more distinguished son of a disequalling his own, that you are not interested in the 'Ulster Order,' or even in the personalities of the concerned your chief memory, of them as you are works is that they, or persons ostensibly acting as their agents, tried to overturn your motor-car in the streets of Belfast in the year 1912, with the intention of 'liquidating' you, or at least doing you serious bodily injury; that somewhere about the same time the same persons, or persons acting as their agents, connived at sending the plans of Belfast harbour to Germany and invited the Kaiser to come over and help them; and that all that has concerned you throughout these last indeed years, in relation to Northern Ireland and terrible years, in a whole, has been the military security, first, of Great Britain, and, second, of Ireland and Great Britain as two islands so geographically situated as to render their military security as indivisible as that of France and Britain.
If that was the kernel of the Anglo-Irish problem as you saw it during the war years (and with German armies hardly have been anything else), then obviously there is common ground for Irishmen and Englishmen—the common defence of these islands against aggression from Europe. Up to the moment of your broadcast on May 13th there had been reason to believe from your more recent speeches that you, sir, occupying the lofty position that you do, had seen a little deeper into the problem than the makeshift Anglo-Irish defence policy under which we all, British and Irish staggered through the war years would seem to indicate. There were moments when, under the stress and danger to the security of both islands which Partition involved, you seemed to be acclaiming Partition as the sheet anchor of that security—which is very much as if a man were to acclaim a cancer as the foundation of his bodily health. Possession of the port of Belfast and Derry may have been of fundamental importance to Britain; it was, however, an advantage that involved what might have proved, if Hitler's vaunted intuition had not failed him, a still more fundamental disadvantage in so far as it contributed towards the political disunity of Ireland and the splitting of Irish national sentiment in time of total war.
BRITAIN'S possession of a strip of Irish coast had, in fact along with the Irish political deformity of Partition, the effect of splitting still further the political foundation upon which an Irish defensive alliance with Great Britain might have and almost certainly would have been achieved in the nightmare period preceding the European War. The opportunity of harnessing the national sentiment of all Ireland to the defence of all Ireland (and, incidentally, to the defence of Britain!) was not so much lost as deliberately thrown away, and in its place was substituted the fantastic theory that the presence of foreign armies on a portion of Irish military security. On the same principle, we might suppose, sir, that you, as an eminent statesman and student of military strategy, would claim that the defence of Sevastopol and Stalingrad, which earned the admiration of the world, would have been better conducted if the Russians had been standing by as spectators, and British and American troops, present on the soil of Russia as the agents of foreign Powers, had been allowed to do the defending foreign them.
Such a first principle of military defence has, therever, only to be stated to be measured as sure, and there were signs that, in exact labelled abuse, the immediate danger to Britain was averted, you became
increasingly aware of the catastrophic possibilities inherent in a divided Ireland in face of a changing Europe—especially in an era of flying bombs and troop-carrying aeroplanes. When you stated not long ago that a great opportunity had been lost in Ireland, we could only assume—in face of the kind of Europe that now faces both you and us—that you had in mind the risks which all of us, British and Irish alike, have been running under a system of military defence that common-sense, contrary to both human experience and to assume, that the right way to defend a country is to divide it. Providence spared us both military frontiers, Maginos lines, and even narrow seas bristling with warships are increasingly invalidated by troop-carrying planes and rockets with television eyes?
WHAT I would suggest to you, sir, is that a clear political philosophy and an absence of conflicting motive may be as important in the defence of a country as the weight of its armaments; not, perhaps, a startingly original idea in view of the fall of France, but nevertheless an idea worth applying in a strategically-valuable island lying only a few minutes' flying time from Britain.
At the same time I would suggest that you, if I am wrong in supposing them to exist, that you use your eminence and your well-earned fame to ensure that they are cleared from the minds of others. During the war years it was often suggested by those with whom misrepresentation of the first Irish was either a profession or a hobby that the new Irish and Irish Army would do when confronted by European aggressors would be to embrace them as brothers. It was about as sensible, and was, in fact, the modern equivalent to the idea that all Irish citizens streamline with pigs under their beds. In other words, to translate a convenient English and Anglo-Irish myth into terms of hard common-sense, it was suggested by these eminent English and Anglo-Irish authorities on Ireland that a nation that struggled for seven hundred years to be free, a nation that, only a bare quarter of a century ago, grappled with a great Empire not unknown to yourself, an Empire recently victorious in World War for the "rights" of democracies and of small nations, and forced it, at any rate, to come to terms—it was now suggested that that same nation was now tamely to hand away the degree of freedom it had bought with the blood and tears of generations to the representatives of the first European Imperialism that chose to knock on the door with a rifle belt.
ALL we can say about that is, of course, that for people who like to believe that kind of nonsense, that is the kind of nonsense they like to believe. For sensible men there is, on the other hand, a clue in the long and determined resistance of the Irish nation to aggression. It is that the Irish are only more British than the British themselves in defence of their individual and national liberties. We, too, not only would fight but have fought before now, on the beaches, in the streets, and on the mountains—particularly on the mountains, as you, sir, as an English statesman, must well remember. Why not then, harness this power of Irish resistance to outside aggression within the framework of a severeign, undivided Irish nation? Within those terms Ireland becomes, not only the source and origin of her own defensive power, but an outer bastion for Britain as well. Outside those terms Ireland remains what she has been throughout this war—a psy

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PHONE 3769.
00
Özlağ na h-Éireann.
PUBLICITY DEPARTMENT,
GENERAL HEADQUARTERS,
DUBLIN.
26th July 1922.
To:-
Bernard McCabe, Esq.
Secretary,
Fr. Matthew Hall,
Church St.
Dublin.
The following publication may be
circulated until further notice
"The Father Matthew Record"
Mise,
Riaras Béaslar
Commandant Genl.
ARMY PUBLICITY DIRECTOR.

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119, θόἐας Μόραμπος,
Θοίησε θησς,
Αἐ Θεισὲ.
Μάητα α 9, 1946.
Nakdinaca
Doanan 7 Joaros
α ἐαρα,
Σο καιθ μίλε μαιὲ αξατ ακ σοη αη τεαἐταικ-
εαἐτ ἐηεάλτα α ϝυακασ υαιτ αξ τκαοσλύ ὀομ
ξυκ αιημηιξεαὸ ιμ θαλ το ἐεαηατο ἐικεαηη μέ.
1s μόκ αξαμ το ὀειξ-μέιη αξυσ το συιμ
ιοηηαμ, αξυσ τάιμ θυιὸεαἐ ὁ ἐκοιὸε ὀίοτ.
Μισε το ἐαρα,
An Doabic
1s μόκ αξαμ το τειηη θυρ
ηοσιζηιέιη τομ.

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Greetings from Captain Monteith
We are very pleased to be able to print the following letter from Captain Robert Monteith, colleague of the late Roger Casement. He was the first man to drill a squad of the National Volunteers in 1913. On instructions of the executive of the Irish Volunteers he joined Roger Casement in Germany, and on the eve of the 1916 Uprising landed in the submarine U.19 at Fennit, County Kerry. He succeeded in evading the police in their search for him after Casement's capture, later getting away to America where he has lived since.
Dear Sir: To-night, in the last hours of 1945, I am in an old farm house in the backwoods of Michigan, waiting to hear the bells, over the radio, ring in the New Year. Outside the snow is falling silently, the cold is intense. My dog is stretched in front of a blazing fire. Everything is in order for a first rate nostalgic nightmare.
But it happens that I feel neither far off nor alone; nor do I wish for some wanderer to drop in on me. The reason: my nephew in Dublin was good enough to send me some late copies of the REVIEW; these arrived on this morning's mail. The magazines brought me all the company I need. I was indeed glad to see Mrs. Hanna Sheehy Skeffington still in the fight. She is a very valiant lady. The other writers I do not know, but I must say I like them. There is not a dull line in any one of the issues. Please give "Observer" a special pat on the back for me.
The stories carried me back to 1911, 1912 and 1913 when Labour in Ireland had some real growing pains. To the Antient Concert Rooms where I listened to Jim Larkin thundering out his plans for the Irish Worker and his statement that he, and he alone, would formulate and dictate its policy. To James Connolly at Liberty Hall, speaking through a megaphone, telling a huge cheering audience that "the Port of Dublin was tied up as tight as a drum." Yea, verily, my friend, those memories are crowding hard and fast. Memories are splendid companions when they are not clothed in bitterness.
Well, I must finish. The bells are now chiming while a group of wonderful violins play Auld Lang Syne, a greeting it seems to me from the old home town. A happy New Year to you.—ROBERT MONTEITH, Michigan, U.S.A. (31-12'45).

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Ruyal Visit to Ireland Phoenix Park Races

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When Sligo Honoured A Patriot
The death of Mr. Dudley M. Hanley, Sligo (reported in Saturday's "Irish Independent") lends interest to this photograph, taken in 1917, when Mr. Hanley, as Mayor of Sligo, presided at a great public reception for the Countess Markievicz, who received the Freedom of the Borough. From left: Messrs. H. Depew, T.C.; John Shea, Town Clerk; Laurence Ginnell, M.P.; C. Connolly, Count Plunkett, Messrs. Darrell Figgis, Eamon de Valera, D. M. Hanley (Mayor), Countess Markievicz, and the Mayoress.—Photo Kilgannon.

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FUNERAL PROCESSION
OF THE
FREEMAN'S JOURNAL
THE NATIONALISTS OF DUBLIN
Are Invited to assist at the Interment of the Late Lamented
Freeman's Journal
Which Departed this Political Life on Monday last, from an acute attack of Clerical Intimidation, Softening of the Backbone, and other painful disorders.
The Melancholy Cortege will start from the
CRAY STATUE
ON SUNDAY NEXT,
At 3.30 o'clock, sharp, for the Family Burial Vault of the
SHAM SQUIRE,
Kilbarrack Churchyard,
Where Funeral Orations will be cheerfully delivered by well-known Dublin Speakers.
BABY GRAY AND NURSE ENNIS
Will be Invited to assist as Pall-Bearers.
The Remains will be suitably Cremated and committed—
"To the vile dust whence they sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung."
BANDS will attend. All are welcome.

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To the Parents of the Catholic Poor
OF DUBLIN.THE OATH OUTRAGE.
Have those Catholics who have been invited or persuaded to join in festivities over the Coronation of King Edward VII. of England, have they really thought on what they are asked to do? This man has levelled at the dearest beliefs and the most cherished feelings of every Catholic the most atrocious insult which imagination could frame or language utter. He HAS sworn :—
“ I, Edward, do solemnly and sincerely, in the presence of God, profess, testify, and declare that I do believe that in the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper there is not any transubstantiation of the elements of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ at or after the consecration thereof by any person whatsoever, and that the invocation or adoration of the Virgin Mary, or any other saint, and the sacrifice of the Mass as they are now used in the Church of Rome, are SUPERSTITIOUS AND IDOLATROUS, and I do solemnly, in the presence of God, profess, testify, and declare that I do make this declaration, and every part thereof, in the plain and ordinary sense of the words read unto me as they are commonly understood by English Protestants, without any evasion, equivocation, or mental reservation whatsoever, and without any dispensation already granted me for this purpose by the Pope, or any other authority or person whatsoever, or without any hope of any such dispensation from any person or authority whatsoever, or without thinking that I am or can be acquitted, before God or man, or absolved of this declaration or any part thereof, although the Pope or any other person or persons or power whatsoever should dispense with or annul the same or declare that it was null and void from the beginning.”
Think of it, think what you are asked to do? To parade your children in the train of an alien Monarch, who sets out on his career by swearing the most abominable falsehoods which malice could conceive, and levelling them in deadly insult against your faith and YOU. For you, if you are a Catholic, are the object of the violation of this obese blasphemer. How can we school ourselves to patience in face of such atrocious and gratuitous affront?
Keep your child at home. Don’t parade him or her in the train of the Royal Blasphemer. Give them the honour of acting thus early as the defenders of Our Lord’s dignity, and that of His Blessed Mother. The remembrance will be their proudest boast through life and their dearest consolation. The honour of your children is your own. Don’t make Soupers of them.
GOD SAVE IRELAND.

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ROGER CASEMENT.
They gave him a mock trial with the form of British law,
They stripped him of his knighthood, his titles they recalled,
As a base-born traitor branded, they sentenced him to
hanging,
And their staring glances scanned him with derision for
his fall.
On a morn in early August they raised and swung him
high,
They put a noose around him and strangled out his life,
While eight bells were ringing clearly, while their mongrel
crowds were cheering,
And his friends outside prayed, kneeling, for his passing
soul who died.
But know this, you dogs of England, who deem that in his
tomb
Lies buried all his story, some day upon your brood
God's thunder will alight yet, His Angel's sword will strike
you
As surely as the tide swings with changes of the moon.
He will ride the clouds above you, with Pearse's shade and
Tone's,
When you reach your hour of vengeance, a pale and smiling
ghost,
On your day of Armageddon, when the Germans' shell shall
rend you,
And the fiends shall wait in Hell for the harvest of your
souls.
For you hanged Sir Roger Casement upon the rood of
shame,
And you buried him in quicklime like any murdering knave,
For you hate all that is noble, never spared a fallen foeman.
And like greedy vuitures gloat o'er the corpse that you have
slain.
Through the world with spies they tracked him and bought
his blood for gold,
They have built a mart in London for men who sell their
souls,
In the towns of Norway sleuth-hounds by day and night
pursued him,
And they set the watch of Judas on Kerry's rugged shore.
In the grey Good Friday morning they waited for the sign,
From the lonely coast they saw him come sailing on the
tide;
To the ruin they came to find him, and bound his hands
with irons,
And he yielded with no striving, but sadly on them smiled.
Then across the fields and roadways they hurried to Tralee,
In a train they placed him guarded and bore him off with
speed,
At Killarney folk came crowding and told sad news of
drowning,
And his listening head was bowed while he wept most
bitter tears.
They brought him straight to London and penned him in
a jail,
With the jealous eyes of Argos they watched him night
and day,
While they wrought deeds of dishonour in the bloody weeks
that followed,
While they broke his heart with sorrow for his friends that
they had slain.

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FRENCH
KING GEORGE OF ENGLAND
HEALY
GREENWOOD
MACREADY
O'HIGGINS
MULCAHY
Executed the following Soldiers of the Irish Republic
KEVIN BARRY, at Mountjoy, November 1, 1920.
CORNELIUS MURPHY, at Cork, February 1, 1921.
THOMAS O'BRIEN at Cork, February 28, 1921.
DANIEL O'CALLAGHAN, at Cork, February 28, 1921.
JOHN LYONS, at Cork, February 28, 1921.
TIM McCARTHY, at Cork, February 28, 1921.
PATRICK O'MAHONEY, at Cork, February 28, 1921.
JOHN ALLEN, at Cork, February 28, 1921.
THOMAS WHELAN, at Mountjoy, March 14, 1921.
PATRICK MORAN, at Mountjoy, March 14, 1921.
PATRICK DOVLE, at Mountjoy, March 14, 1921.
FRANCIS FLOOD, at Mountjoy, March 14, 1921.
BRENDAN RYAN, at Mountjoy, March 14, 1921.
THOMAS BRYAN, at Mountjoy, March 14, 1921.
THOMAS TRAYNOR, at Mountjoy, April, 1921.
PATRICK SULLIVAN, at Cork, April 29, 1921.
PATRICK RONAYNE, at Cork, April 29, 1921.
THOMAS MULCAHY, at Cork, April 29, 1921.
MAURICE MOORE, at Cork, April 29, 1921.
PATRICK CASEY, at Cork, May 2, 1921.
DANIEL O'BRIEN, at Cork, May 18, 1921.
THOMAS KEANE, at Cork, June 4, 1921.
EDMUND FOLEY, at Mountjoy, June 7, 1921.
PATRICK MAHER, at Mountjoy, June 7, 1921.
JAMES FISHER, at Kilmainham, November 17, 1922.
PETER CASSIDY, at Kilmainham, November 17, 1922.
RICHARD TWOHIG, at Kilmainham, November 17, 1922.
JOSEPH SPOONER, at Dublin, November 30, 1922.
PATRICK FARRELLY, at Dublin, November 30, 1922.
JOHN MURPHY, at Dublin, November 30, 1922.
RORY O'CONNOR, at Mountjoy, December 8, 1922.
LIAM MELLOWES, at Mountjoy, December 8, 1922.
JOS. M'KELVEY, at Mountjoy, December 8, 1922.
RD. BARKELT, at Mountjoy, December 8, 1922.
STEPHEN WHITE, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
JOSEPH JOHNSTON, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
PATRICK MANGAN, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
PATRICK NOLAN, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
BRIAN MOORE, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
JAMES O'CONNOR, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
PATRICK BAGNEL, at Dublin, December 19, 1922.
JOHN PHELAN, at Kilkenny, December 19, 1922.
JOHN MURPHY, at Kilkenny, December 19, 1922.
LEO. DOWLING, at Portobello, January 8, 1923.
SYLVESTER HEANEY, at Portobello, January 8, 1923.
LAURENCE SHEEHY, at Portobello, January 8, 1923.
ANTHONY O'REILLY, at Portobello, January 8, 1923.
THEOS. M'KEOWN, at Portobello, January 8, 1923.
JOHN M'NULTY, at Dundalk, January 13, 1923.
THOS. MURRAY at Dundalk, January 13, 1923.
FREDERICK BURKE, at Roscrea, January 15, 1923.
PATRICK RUSSELL, at Roscrea, January 15, 1923.
MARTIN O'NEAMA, at Roscrea, January 15, 1923.
JAMES LILLIS, at Carlow, January 15, 1923.
JAMES DALY, at Tralee, January 20, 1923.
JOHN CLIFFORD, at Tralee, January 20, 1923.
MICHAEL BROSNAN, at Tralee, January 20, 1923.
CORNELIUS HANLON, at Tralee, January 20, 1923.
PATRICK HENNESSY, at Limerick, January 20, 1923.
THOMAS HUGHES, at Athlone, January 20, 1923.
MICHAEL WALSH, at Athlone, January 20, 1923.
HERBERT COLLINS, at Athlone, January 20, 1923.
STEPHEN JOYCE, at Athlone, January 20, 1923.
MARTIN BOURKE, at Athlone, January 20, 1923.
JAMES MELIA, at Dundalk, January 22, 1923.
THOMAS LENNON, at Dundalk, January 22, 1923.
JOS. FERGUSON, at Dundalk, January 22, 1923.
MICHAEL FITZGERALD, at Waterford, January 25, 1923.
PATRICK O'REILLY, at Waterford, January 25, 1923.
WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, at Birr, Offally, January 26, 1923.
COLUM KELLY, at Birr, Offally, January 26, 1923.
PATRICK GERAGHTY at Portlaoighise, January 27, 1923.
JOSEPH BYRNE, at Portlaoighise, January 27, 1923.
THOMAS GIBSON, at Maryboro, February 26, 1923.
JAMES O'ROURKE, at Dublin, March 18, 1923.
WILLIAM HEALY, at Cork, March 18, 1923.
PATRICK HOGAN, at Wexford, March 18, 1923.
JOHN CREANE, at Wexford, March 18, 1923.
MICHAEL GREERY, at Mullingar, March 18, 1923.
LUKE BURKE, at Mullingar, March 18, 1923.
JOHN LARKIN, at Drumboe, Co. Donegal, March 14, 1923.
DANIEL O'SULLIVAN, at Drumboe, Co. Donegal, March 14, 1923.
CHARLES DALY, at Drumboe, Co. Donegal, March 14, 1923.
JAMES O'MALLEY, at Tuam, April 11, 1923.
FRANCIS CUNNANE, at Tuam, April 11, 1923.
MICHAEL MONAGHAN, at Tuam, April 11, 1923.
JOHN NEWELL, at Tuam, April 11, 1923.
MARTIN MCGUILL, at Tuam, April 11, 1923.
RICHARD HATHEWAY, at Tralee, April 25, 1923.
JAMES McENERY, at Tralee, April 25, 1923.
JAMES GREANEY, at Tralee, April 25, 1923.
PATRICK MAHONEY, at Eanis, April 26, 1923.
CHRISTOPHER QUINN, at Eanis, May 2, 1923.
WILLIAM SHAUGHNESSY, at Eanis, May 2, 1923.

--- Page 15 ---
Photo by]
[CHANCELLOR
IRISH LANGUAGE PROCESSION, September 19, 1909.
The Crowds on O'Connell Bridge.

--- Page 16 ---
“NEW YORK AMERICAN”
TUESDAY, 16th, MAY, 1916.
“Thank God for Freedom’s Martyrs in every Land and Age.”
Among Irishmen in America there were, up to a few days ago many who, if not loyal to England were, at least loyal to the cause of the Empire and wished it to be victorious in its war.
To-day we think that the Irishmen in America who are not burning with resentment against the British Empire, and praying for its defeat and humiliation are very, very, few. It was evident to any man of sense the moment the British Government began its bloody work of reprisals upon the Irish Prisoners of war, that it was making a blunder as stupid as it was cruel. We hoped then that the outburst of horror in America as well as among humane Englishmen would open the eyes of the British Government and cause the shooting of Irish Prisoners to cease. But the hope was disappointed.
The British Government has kept its military murderers steadily at work, and each day’s cables has brought fresh word of fresh executions, of killings that would shame savages, of wounded and shot-shattered prisoners being propped up on their broken limbs long enough for the executioners to riddle with bullets the poor mangled bodies
No wonder that every Irish heart thirsts for vengeance. No wonder that British propagandists who have prostituted American journalism and free speech to the unpatriotic object of dragging their own country into this war to do England’s fighting, have been shamed into temporary silence.
We should think that even one of these boot-lickers to say nothing of decent Englishmen would blush to pronounce the name of Belgium again, would never open his mouth to talk of “Atrocities” or “Humanities” again. With the blackened walls and tumbled ruins of Dublin echoing the volleys of firing squads, shooting down surrendered prisoners, whose crime was to love their native land and yearn for its independence and liberty.
We hope for decency sake we shall hear no more snivelling in America over broken stained-glass or shattered statues at Rheims and Louvain.
With the blood of Irish Prisoners reddening poor Ireland’s soil in streams, we hope also for decency sake that there will be an end to the cant about England’s passionate and heroic sympathy for the rights and liberties of “Little Peoples.”
With the spectacle of sorely wounded men propped upon their shattered and broken limbs to be shot to death we hope again for decency sake that we shall hear no more about Britain’s waging warfare for “Humanities” sake.
We hope that from Mr. Wilson down to the Providence Journal on all embracing decent, from the zenith of disembled un-neutrality to the nadir of indecent alien propaganda there will be an end of the snivel and cant and humbug which have been so effectively belied by the Government and Military reprisals, cruelties and murders in unhappy Ireland.
We hope the American people will never again be deluded to the point of willingness to waste American wealth, and shed American blood in the contemptible roll of catspaw to pull England’s chestnuts out of the fire and ashes of a selfish and unsuccessful war fought under the presence of the protection of the “Independence of Little Peoples,” and of the rights of neutrals and the “Humanities.”

--- Page 17 ---
The English Murderer at Work.
26/ 7/1917.—WM. PARTRIDGE, T.C.—Slow-murdered in Lewes Jail.
25/ 9/1917.—THOMAS ASHE—Brutally murdered in Mountjoy Jail.
29/11/1917.—JOE NORTON—Slow-murdered in Lewes Jail.
29/ 5/1918.—FRANK CULLEN—Slow-murdered in Lewes Jail.
9/12/1918.—RICHARD COLEMAN—Slow-murdered in Usk Jail.
6/ 3/1919.—PIERCE MCCANN—Slow-murdered in Gloucester Jail.
21/ 1/1919.—SEAN ETCHINGHAM, T.D. } Dropped in shattered health from the Murderer's grip.
12/ 2/1919.—MRS. THOMAS CLARKE }
Within the past few months also COUNT PLUNKETT and many others have been released for "health reasons" after a slow, deliberate reduction of their vitality.
To-day there are still in the hands of the Murderer hundreds of men and women.
IN BELFAST JAIL the prisoners have been in handcuffs DAY AND NIGHT from 21st January, 1919, to the middle of February, and they are still in solitary confinement there. Since 21st January, 1919, they have not been permitted to attend Mass.
IN MOUNTJOY JAIL the prisoners have been in handcuffs from 13th January, 1919, up to the middle of February, except on Sundays, and some are still in solitary confinement.
IN CORK the prisoners are in handcuffs since the 17th January, 1919.
IN MARYBORO', LIMERICK, DERRY the Murderer is at work, too.
FROM ENGLAND comes, to tell us what our loved ones have been suffering there,
THE
DEAD BODY
OF
PIERCE MCCANN.
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

--- Page 18 ---
YOU CAN
Buy
Dail
Eireann
Bonds
To-day
Hand your Subscription to
your Local Member of the
Dail, or his Representative
in your Parish.
RECOVER IRELAND FOR
THE IRISH.
RE-PEOPLE THE LAND.
HARNESS THE RIVERS.
PUT HER FLAG ON
EVERY SEA.
PLANT THE HILLSIDES
AND THE WASTES.
SET THE LOOMS SPIN-
NING.
ABOLISH THE SLUMS.
SEND HER SHIPS TO
EVERY PORT.
SET THE HAMMER RING-
ING ON THE ANVIL.
GARNER THE HARVEST
OF THE SEAS.
DRAIN THE BOGS.
SAVE THE BOYS AND
GIRLS FOR IRELAND.
YOU CAN RESTORE IRELAND'S HEALTH, HER
STRENGTH, HER BEAUTY, AND HER WEALTH.

--- Page 19 ---
Sensational Discovery!
CONSPIRACY
TO DISMEMBER IRELAND
Mr. MICHAEL COLLINS has agreed to the permanent partition of Ireland.
The Catholics of the North have been sold.
He lied about the Boycott.
He got no authority from the representative Catholics of Belfast to raise it.

--- Page 20 ---
OPEN LETTER
TO AN IRISH POLICEMAN
Dear Policeman,
Here are a few things it would be well for you to think over. Your name is not Price or Maxwell or French; it is only Kelly or Burke or Shea. You were reared in an Irish household and heard your mother sing Irish songs and tell of Ireland's history—and when you were playing with your sisters and brothers you were very fond of them. Perhaps you have lost that fondness now, but there was a time when if a stranger came into your house—a big brutal stranger who had no right there—to take your brother away and sell him into slavery, you'd have defended himself or helped to tie him up or handed him would not have taken the stick with which he was defending himself or helped to tie him up or handed him over to the stranger—even if you were paid to do it.
Now, you, maybe, have brothers at home, or nephews, or cousins, and the stranger who has the power of life and death is preparing to take them away. "Oh, but," I hear you saying, "I am not going to enforce conscription on Irishmen." No, you'll only take away their guns and arrest the men whom the stranger wants out of the way before he starts conscripting the others.
Look here, Shea. I know you are not taking your brother's gun. You can't take it, since you are stationed in Wexford while he lives in Cork—and you won't be asked to do it, because your friend, Sergeant Kelly, who is stationed in Cork, can be depended on to do that and Constable Burke down in Tipperary will do the same kind office for Sergeant Ryan's brother, while the Sergeant is busy looking up the guns in Galway, where Burke comes from. And the Maxwells and the Frenchs' and the Prices are grinning in their Freemason sleeves. You are doing very valuable work for the stranger, and if he paid you thirty pieces of gold instead of thirty pieces of silver it would not pay you for delivering up the blood of your brother and the broken hearts of his women folk and children. What money is there that would pay for the blood and tears of a man's kindred?
Now, constable, or sergeant, have a look round at the household of your race. Private Hodgins, of Yorkshire, or Berkshire, or Pigshire, is an important man here. He can carry a gun and ammunition, and his vile language, into that household which you once loved, while your kinsman, Kelly, or Burke, or Shea, who is a clean-living fellow, anyway, is disarmed and muzzled because his faith and his blood are the same as your own. You can carry a gun, too; but why? Because Major Price, the Freemason, Hodgins on you to turn it against your own household. You don't think much of this foul-mouthed Hodgins from Hogshire, but you think he would turn his gun on his own people if the German stranger was in his own country? You know that Hodgins is allowed, if not encouraged, to parade his lechery naked and unashamed in the cities and on the hillsides of this old land of ours, while Kelly and Burke and Shea, who are blood of your blood, and bone of your bone, are run into jail for singing the songs you learnt at your mother's knee. Is she dead? Or have you forgotten all about her? If Kelly used the language Hodgins uses and sang his dirty songs he would be alright all about her? If Kelly used the Burkes and Shea's that donned the khaki? How is it they are not here? Do you think that the Prices and the Frenchs' were afraid to leave them here with arms in their hands because they were Catholic Irishmen? How is it they are not afraid to leave you here? Do they think that Kelly in khaki is a whiter man than Kelly in blue? Do you think that Kelly in khaki would do the work you are doing? Besides Kelly in khaki has his own work to do. He is out in France or Mesopotamia fighting for the freedom of small nations. His thoughts are on the green hills of Ireland and on the Irish home where he was once a child—the home that Hodgins from Hogshire is now going to lay desolate.
Private Hodgins would have his work cut out for him here but for you. You are the eyes and the ears for him. Do you think that your own people are likely to forget the fact?
What do you think Private Hodgins would do if the German stranger was in England and gave him a gun?

--- Page 21 ---
LATEST HIT.
If you're Irish, We're
goin' to suppress you!
Air— "If you're Irish, come into the parlour."
In old Dublin town they say,
Once there lived a chap called Johnny French
Sez he I'll make this country pay,
And Irish nationhood I'll surely quench.
With his trusty pal Mac-Pher-son,
These words unto him did say—
We must jump upon
Each Irish Rebel son.
And this Proclamation we'll send out to-day.
CHORUS—
If you're Irish—we're goin' to suppress you,
And your Irish Markets too ;
We've a gun and do not care a damn,
In spite of the way you showed us up
before old Uncle Sam.
We'll round up every Sinn Feiner,
And all their Rebel crew,
And send yez to prison without much fuss,
And drive yez there in a big black buss,
If you're Irish—this is the place for you.
' Way out in Amerikay way,
De Valera calmly heard the news,
Little of it did we hear him say,
For large crowds waited for him there in cues.
There the Irish Message—Freedom, rings,
From a dense throng of people, straight and
true,
And fond hope to Erin brings,
Borne ou the breezes wings.
"Sit Fast and Tight" when tyrants say to you—
CHORUS.
Copyright.

--- Page 22 ---
In Memoriam
TERENCE MCSWINEY,
LORD MAYOR OF CORK
DIED IN BRIXTON PRISON, OCTOBER 25TH, 1920
AIR: "OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT."
Terence McSwiney, thou
In sorrow here has left us,
Our tears hold a gladness now,
Though death's again bereft us.
Against a powerful tyrant's strength,
On bed of pain reposing,
Till God for thee has sent,
To join thee with His chosen.
Ireland is sad to-day,
Thy brave heart's still'd for ever,
Thus while we kneel and pray,
Thy spirit near us hovers.
That spirit binds us faster now,
Unto the cause that claimed thee,
Sweet peace now lines thy brow,
The world a hero names thee.
Thine was the victory then,
O'er force of pain and number,
Never can we again,
Sink back to slaveling slumber.
Once more we'll man the Bearna Baoghail,
Thy soul shall march before us,
Till Freedom's Flag shall sail
Unfettered, floating o'er us.
[COPYRIGHT, 1921.

--- Page 23 ---
REDMOND'S LAMENT.
I'll sing you a ditty of Longford so pretty
That lately has caused me such grief and such woe,
In high and low places with jubilant faces
Are Sinn Բémeր and soreheads, Alive, alive O !
CHORUS—Alive, alive O ! etc.
O ! Pity my sorrow, I'll weep till to-morrow,
For all my supporters now make a poor show ;
The latest disaster has made me weep faster—
“Sinn Բémeր and soreheads, Alive, alive O ! ”
CHORUS—Alive, alive O ! etc.
I've tried all exertions to stave off desertions
From all my vast army, but found it no go ;
The Four Hundred Pounders and Nugent's big bounders
Have fled from Sinn Բémeր, Alive, alive O !
CHORUS—Alive, alive O ! etc.
MacGuinness has risen from out of his prison
And dealt the poor Party a terrible blow ;
My Khaki connection has lost the Election
To Sinn Բémeր and soreheads, Alive, alive O !
CHORUS—Alive, alive O ! etc.
The Longford paraders and Belfast invaders
And Union Jackasses from here to Mayo,
Have left the Division exposed to derision
From Sinn Բémeր and soreheads, Alive, alive O !
CHORUS—Alive, alive O ! etc.
I'll finish my song now, for I fear before long now
To beautiful England for ever I go,
And leave this old nation to joyous elation
Of Sinn Բémeր and soreheads, Alive, alive O !
CHORUS—Alive, alive O ! etc.
—G. A. L.

--- Page 24 ---
A Recruiting Come-All-Ye.
Air—“ Ireland, Boys, Hurrah ! ”
Come all ye true-hearted Irish youths
And listen to my lay ;
I've enlisted for same as a warrior bold
At ten bright pence per day ;
And I've sworn by every virtuous king
That England ever knew,
To defend her cause and uphold her laws
From Tara to Timbuctoo.
Chorus—
From Tara to Timbuctoo,
From Tara to Timbuctoo,
To defend her cause and uphold her laws
From Tara to Timbuctoo.
My drill and my training are all complete,
I can curse like a Colonel now ;
I can show you the way to retreat in time
When anyone starts a row.
I can sport a fag, I can boast and brag,
I can drink till I'm bold and brave ;
I can swagger and swear, I can whistle the air
Of “ Britannia Rules the Wave. ”
Chorus—Britannia rules the waves, etc.
I'm loyal and true to the English King,
And I cheer for the English Crown,
And dressed in a cast-off khaki coat,
I dazzle the bloomin' town.
I'm one of the Empire's warrior sons,
But I hope ther'll never be war,
For my liver gets white when I think of a fight,
And my legs wouldn't carry me far.
Chorus—And my legs wouldn't carry me far, etc.
Come all ye true-hearted Irish youths
And throng to the Empire's aid ;
Who cares a rap about Ireland's wrongs
When he's clothed and grubbed and paid ?
You're sure of a share in the orphans' prayer
While Britannia rules the wave,
An Imperial kick when your day is done
And an Irish pauper's grave.
Chorus—And an Irish pauper's grave, etc.

--- Page 25 ---
The Bishop of Limerick speaks :
How the Irish Prisoners are treated.
Sir,—The letter, signed Niam ni Pluingcead and Maire ni Riain, on the treatment of Irish prisoners in Lewes Jail, is very painful reading, and will unquestionably excite bitter and angry feelings in everyone who is not dead to all humanity.
As I read it, the first thought that came to my mind was one of regret that these poor victims of British rule had not been shot out of hand like their brethren in the rebellion. Surely Maxwell's summary method of dealing with Irish rebels was less cruel than the slow torture and degradation of Penal Servitude!
Then it occurred to me to consider whether the people of the United States will be allowed to know the facts of this case, and collate them with the suggestions, sincere or hollow, as the case may be, that are being offered for the political emancipation of Ireland. Is it all humbug? Is there any intention to give us Home Rule in any shape or form, or are all the discussions that are being carried on about it merely the latest shape which British perfidy assumes for its own purposes?
I rather think they are. But whether they are or not we are a mean nation if we take the benefit of the sacrifices of our fellow-countrymen, and allow themselves to linger and rot in English jails without at least a protest which the world will hear.
What has brought Home Rule to the front and given it the chance which it has at present of becoming law? Is it the droning of the English "friendlies" that they call the Irish Party? They are the "patriots" that allowed the wretched measure which has been passed by Parliament to be hung up during the war, and having suspended the liberties of their country turned to recruiting in Ireland for the British Government. They were "the one bright spot," and, whether it was stupidity or knavery, the distinction of it will attach to them for ever.
These are not the seed of the men by whom salvation is wrought in Israel. They are British Parliamentarians; and when they lost touch with their own country, and were absorbed in their dealings with the Liberal Whips, a new Ireland was growing up, reviving the language of their fathers, reading the history of their country, and breathing a spirit of manhood and independence. If we had a leader, who was an Irishman, they would have followed him to the death, but they never would be content with the servility to England and English parties that has been called Nationality. That is the explanation of the rebellion of 1916. It was a reaction against weakness and stupidity and corruption.
But, hopeless as it was, it has not been fruitless. It has galvanised the dead bones in Ireland, and breathed into them the spirit with which England has now to reckon. That is the trouble in the United States, and the treatment of our brave young countrymen in Lewes Jail will not do much to lessen it.
And if the Government of England thinks that such methods will subdue us in Ireland, or can be hidden from the civilised world, it will probably find out its mistake. But whatever be the purpose of this savagery, one would think that astute politicians, as the English unquestionably are, would see the transparent inconsistency of promising us a measure of self-government, and, at the same time, of imprisoning and deporting the very men who have convinced them of the righteousness, and the necessity of it.
I am, sir, etc.,
EDWARD THOMAS,
Limerick, 30th April, 1917.
Bishop of Limerick.
Electors of Longford Vote for the Man in Jail for Ireland.
VOTE for McGUINNESS.

--- Page 26 ---
REMEMBER ASHE!
By PHIL O'NEILL.
— • — • —
I.
Remember Ashe ! is the cry to-day
That awakens a nation's soul,
That fans the fire of your heart's desire
That urges us on to the goal !
That rings through the land whose passion is fanned
By a cruel and cowardly gash,
That swells on the gale thro' green Innisfail—
The cry "Remember Ashe !
II.
Through the fertile plains of Erin's land,
Through the heath-covered Wicklow peaks,
From the broad plains fair of rich Kildare
To the rugged Kerry reeks;
Through each field and fen, through each Irish glen,
Where the mountain torrents dash,
Loud and clear on the autumn air—
Rings the cry "Remember Ashe !
III.
From the city's streets, from the mansion grand
From each lonely cottage home,
From the exile throng with voices strong
Over Atlantic's surging foam;
From every part where an Irish heart
Lives free from the tyrant's lash.
Echoes the roar on the Irish shre—
Revenge ! Remember Ashe !
IV.
And when Eire calls for the serried ranks
And the hearts of fire once more
To the beating drum will they loyally come
As true as in days of yore;
When our flag will fly to the Irish sky
And the rifles again shall flash,
Thro' the battle's air the foe shall hear
Revenge ! Remember Ashe !
Phil O'Neill

--- Page 27 ---
[COPYRIGHT].
“WAR NEWS.”
By “THE RAJAH OF FRONGOCH.”
[This is a rhymed version of the “Official War News” since the European War started in August, 1914. My advice to the man in the street is never to purchase the morning, evening or weekly papers—go home and read the wall-paper, the information is just the same and it works out far cheaper.—“THE RAJAH.”]
Ten million Germans are now dead,
Killed—by the “Daily Mail.”
The “Freeman” shouts because of this
“Our” next push will not fail.
Three years of war, “The Sketch” cries out,
Have shown these Hunnish-knaves
That British bands they yet can play
“Britannia Rules the Waves”.
“We’ll win this war,” says Devonport,
If you all eat less bread.
Half of the people in “Hunland”
With hunger are now dead.
Keep up the fight, you Britons brave,
Yourselves with food don’t gorge.
One hope remains—that is the plough,
I know it—says Lloyd George.
Conscript the Irish slacker,
Exclaims the “Morning Post.”
No Home Rule for my loyal band
Is Carson’s latest boast.
The Russian army is intact,
With valour they’re afire.
“Official” reads this stunning fact
In Martin Murphy’s Liar.
The fake Convention meets again
Within Mahaffy’s Hall.
The Sinn Fein crowd they are not missed,
The “Telegraph” does bawl.
Joe Devlin writes to Colonel Moore
That Ireland wants no guns.
Dear England must not be disturbed
While trying to smash the Huns.
T. P., the movie man, came back
Across the raging foam;
New Ireland didn’t want him there,
So told him to clear home.
“Stop Press”! the cry is loudly heard,
About the war in France.
I buy it—Heavens! what a scare—
The Allies still advance.
What’s happened this while back out East?
The “Globe” asks, rather sad.
Why don’t you tell us what is up
With the troops around Bagdad?
We have’nt very long to wait
To see how things do work.
Next morning come the old, old yarn—
Complete rout of the Turk.
And on and on the Paper Clique
The same old game does play,
And fights the battle with their Press
On all the fronts each day.
But at last their armies in the field
White men they’ve got to face,
Not coloured tribes in far Soudan,
Or harmless savage race,
But men trained in the art of war,
And men whose hearts are brave,
With scorn they meet the Saxon Band,
Their Fatherland to save.
And, blind with fury, East and West
The British lion does grope,
And a loyal packed Convention
Is now Ireland’s only hope.
But the cry went from Roscommon,
And it rang through Longford Town,
And brave East Clare swore by that flag
That never shall fall down.
God bless you, old Kilkenny,
You have joined the onward tide
That rushes on to Freedom
With Cosgrave by your side.
And England now to us she pleads,
But her pleading is in vain;
We swear to be her slaves no more—
We’ll have our own again!

--- Page 28 ---
The Rocky Road to Berlin.
In nineteen-and-fourteen says Asquith to me
I'm going away Kaiser Wilhelm to see,
He's not the nice monarch I took him to be,
For he's after committing a sin !
The crime of invasion is hard to believe,
Yet he waltzed into Belgium without any leave,
And he's laughing at all of us up in his sleeve,
So I'll talk to him down in Berlin.
CHORUS :
'Twas a rough road
A tough road
A terrible journey we had to begin,
But only for Huns
And their dirty old guns
We'd be dining this day in Berlin.
The road it was lovely, the scenery was grand,
With trenches and pill-boxes over the land,
But the worst of it was, they were all of them manned
By some gentlemen down from Berlin.
They caused us a great deal of trouble and woe,
Nothing we said would persuade them to go,
So it wasn't our fault if we found the road slow,
To the beautiful town of Berlin.
CHORUS—'Twas a rough road, &c.
In nineteen-and-sixteen we got some hard blows,
The dirty Sinn Feiners in Dublin they rose,
And they shot the poor soldiers like you would shoot crows,
Oh it made my old blood boil within !
But we got forty-thousand tried soldiers and true,
Soon made the rotten old "shinners" look blue,
(They're a hard lot of roots though, between me and you,
And they spoiled half the trip to Berlin.)
CHORUS—'Twas a rough road, &c.
Though the journey is tedious, we're sticking it still,
Sir Douglas is feeling decidedly ill,
He won't try a pill box in search of a pill,
He's afraid it might damage his skin.
Our case it is dreadful, alas and alack !
We sometimes go forward, but more often back ;
Sincerely I hope we won't all get the sack,
But I know we can't get to Berlin.
CHORUS—'Twas a rough road, &c.
Catal Mac Dubçaill.

--- Page 29 ---
THOMAS ASHE.
I.
THE Children of Eireann are listening again
To Death's sullen, sad, sombre beat of the drum;
Oppression has seized on a man amongst men,
And an eloquent life's stricken senseless and dumb,
While we, left behind, wait the life from your death that shall come!
II.
In your fight to unfetter Humanity's soul,
Your body was blazoned with scars,
To oppression you fearlessly tendered the toll,
Removing for progress the Bolts and the Bars,
With your hand to the Plough and your eyes on the stars.
III.
On the cold seat of death now your body's enthroned,
And your warm heart is silent and still,
For our life that is Death, your great life has atoned,
And we feel in our hearts a swift answering thrill,
To take up your work, all hard fallow nature to till.
IV.
Here hope and Endeavour with energy braid
Leaves of honour to garland the Dead,
Here Liberty rests with calm Courage arrayed,
By the side of the Kingly but now passive head,
Anointed with blood that this Hero has shed.
V.
Huge Labour looks down on your battle-scarred face,
Ignoble and noble with sweat on his brow,
Unable to fathom this soul of his race,
Half conscious that soon, when he springs from the Slough,
He shall understand then, if he can't do it now!
VI.
To your soul, for awhile, we all murmur, Farewell!
And we take the Dear Gift that you gave,
For your great Life stamped out in the cold prison cell
Shall be potent our own slavish nature to save,
Tho' your body we leave in the drear hidden gloom of the grave.
SEAN O CATHASAIGH.
FERGUS O'CONNOR, DUBLIN.

--- Page 30 ---
TO SOME YOUNG WOMEN IN DUBLIN
Soldiers of two armies are in your city.
Those armies represent two countries—one unjustly attacking the other.
Those countries have faced each other for 700 years.
Foreign soldiers in Dublin have meant the same thing to our people from the first moment of the English invasion.
As an army they represent an alien power trying to crush the spirit of this nation with material force—an impossible task in which we do not fear their effort. Their trade is to kill. Their nation is trying to kill our nation. Their forefathers have killed thousands of ours—nen have fallen for Ireland in every street of this city. They have been hanged and fortured in these streets as well as in the jails and in the Castle. You have seen and heard the sounds of slaughter yourselves. If you have an Irish name—if you are Irish born—if you are living on this country you can have only one way of looking at and behaving towards that army. We do not fear the English army—but we must ignore it.
Men from that army frequent our streets—soldiers—Black-and-Tans—spys. They carry the wages of their trade in their pockets. They seek to enjoy themselves in our midst. They ask you to help them in spending their money—in making their time pass pleasantly. They care nothing for you or what may happen to you so long as they satisfy their need for company and intercourse and enjoyment. And all the while they are leading you to talk with them, they are listening for information. There are girls in Dublin who all unknowing have sent men to be hanged by their thoughtless words. Would you put yourselves in the way of being such as these?
Great men of Ireland have walked those streets in poverty and danger and suffering. Lives offered up for Ireland have been accepted by God in these streets. Men and women are in them to-day whose lives have also been offered and may be accepted. Every inch of Irish soil is holy ground, Will you who are Irish do this for your country and for your own safety? Avoid all intercourse with English soldiers, whether in uniform or not. We know that all are not depraved—what in many cases we ask for a genuine sacrifice but we do so because no good man can wear that uniform and fail to be responsible for the crime with which it is associated in our country. If your friend is a good man he will prefer to be shot if that is the cost of throwing it off rather than continue to degrade himself and his nation.
For Ireland's sake work for your own army that it may continue to be worthy of the grandest little nation in the world.

--- Page 31 ---
NOEL LEMASS
with an unsurpassable record of
IRISH VALOUR
has been brutally murdered by agents of the "Free" State.
The mangled body of this Republican Patriot has been found on the lonely hillside in such a shocking condition as goes to prove that the victim was, before death, subjected to diabolical torture.
Why was Noel Lemass murdered? Because he refused to violate his oath of allegiance to the Irish Republic. Because he refused to "be faithful to King George of England." Because he refused his support to the "Free" State Government, and thus helped to prevent Ireland from becoming a mockery in the eyes of the other nations. That is why Noel Lemass has been tortured to death.
Electors of South Dublin show your disapproval of all such hellish acts by recording your
VOTE FOR
MICHAEL O'MULLANE
the SINN FEIN CANDIDATE, who stands for the principles of TONE, EMMET, PEARSE, MACSWINEY, BRUGHA, MELLOWS and NOEL LEMASS.
Published and issued by JOSEPH CLARKE, T.C., Agent for MICHAEL O'MULLANE.
Committee Rooms, 25 Aungier Street.

--- Page 32 ---
25 MILLIONS
IRISH AMERICANS
HEADED BY
CARDINAL O'CONNELL
DEMAND FULL FREEDOM FOR IRELAND
Voters of St. Michan's shall you do less?
YOUR DUTY IS PLAIN TO-DAY.
NUGENT stands for :—
(1) NUGENT !(2) NUGENT ! !(3) NUGENT ! ! !
And the RETURN-TO-YOUR-VOMIT POLICY.
VOTE FOR STAINES !
Who stands for the Policy which is sweeping
Ireland and will sweep England out of it.
Issued by W. J. Norman, 57 Dame Street, Election Agent for the
Candidate, Michael Staines.

--- Page 33 ---
In Memoriam.
Tomas MacCurtain,
Brutally murdered at the instigation of the British Government, March, 1920.
Air— " Erin the Tear. "
Tomas MacCurtain, thy soul is at rest,
Joined with the Martyrs in home of the blest;
Slain by a coward band,
By hired assassins hand,
Evil in darkness planned,
Death came to thee.
As mid your helpless babes calm was your rest,
Murdered by ruffian knaves, bloodshed their quest;
In life you did not fail,
To man the Bearna Bagail,
In death your spirit hail!
Still with us lives.
Powerful the verdict Cork City brought in,
Damned by its edict the agents of sin;
Murders guilt driven home,
Flashed far across the foam,
Writ large on history's tome,
While history lives.
Tomas MacCurtain thy soul is at peace,
Pray that the wrongs of thy country may cease;
While we keep on the fight,
To end the long dark night,
Till we bring Freedom's light,
Erin, to thee.

--- Page 34 ---
Teach us how to Die,
by TERENCE J. MACSWINEY,
Lord Mayor of Cork.
1
God, we enter our last fight ;
Thou dost see our cause is right ;
Make us march now in Thy sight
On to victory. -
Let us not Thy wrath deserve
In the sacred cause we serve ;
Let us not from danger swerve ;
Teach us how to die.
Death for some is in reserve
Before our flag can fly.
3
See, we open our own hearts,
Every wrong that in them smarts ;
Every secret pain that starts,
We, too, offer Thee ;
Every dearest hope's decease,
Every fear that rocks our peace,
Every cross with pain's increase,
Burthened tho' we be ;
Sacrifice that shall not cease
Till our land be free.
2
All the agony of years,
All the horrors, all the fears,
Martyrs' blood, survivors' tears,
Now we offer Thee.
As an endless holocaust
For the freedom that we've lost,
God restore it tho' the cost
Greater still must be ;
Let Thy Grace attend our host,
Give us victory.
4
Thou holdst freedom in Thy hand,
Thou canst liberate our land !
Hear us : yield our one command—
Ireland's liberty.
We ask not her chains to rive
And the sacred deed survive,
That we may rejoice alive
In her victory ;
We but ask that she shall thrive,
And rest our fate with Thee.
5
We know not what must befall,
Marching at our country's call ;
Make us strong who must yield all
That she may not die.
Those who will survive the fight,
Still attend them with Thy light,
Thou our hope in darkest night,
Then our guardian be,
And hold our dear land in Thy sight,
Erect, Firm and Free.

--- Page 35 ---
The Old Kings Inns,
JUNE 1st, 1920
·Air— “ The Old Plaid Shawl. ”
Not far from Broadstone Station, in good old Dublin town,
The British troops on sentry stood and nursed their rifles
brown,
When this command, Hands up, now stand! if you
would save your skins,
For we're here to seize the rifles in the old King's Inns.
The Tommies soon put up their hands and perhaps they
did'nt stare,
While the boys removed the rifles to the motors waiting
there,
And never yet such lads I met so nimble on their pins,
So simply they departed from the old Kings Inns.
The Lewis guns and Maxims soon vanished out of sight,
As like the moon o'er clouded in the middle of the night,
And when the people heard the news their faces wore
broad grins,
And they cheered the flying motors from the old Kings
Inns.
I've seen the heroes on the screen whom danger ne'er
dismayed,
But the “hold up” in the Temple here quite puts them
in the shade.
So here's to every valiant heart whose courage victory
wins,
Like the boys who seized the rifles from the old Kings
Inns.

--- Page 36 ---
[COPYRIGHT]:
I DON'T MIND IF I DO.
By "THE RAJAH OF FRONGOCH."
King George met young Devlin a short time ago,
And he said "Good morning," how do you do, Joe ?
Will you drop into breakfast, and see Mary, too ?
Oh, begorra, said Joe, I don't mind if I do.
To the Palace they rambled—T. P. he was there,
John Redmond he sat on a plush-covered chair.
Will you all, said Queen Mary, have some Irish stew ?
And they roared in one voice, "We don't mind if we do."
Sinn Feiners, said Georgie, are spoiling my plan,
De Valera, their leader, he seems a strong man,
Will you tell him his flag should be red, white and blue,
It's no use, said T. P., he won't mind if we do.
Five counties in Ireland, said Georgie, have gone
Away from that Party that I dote upon.
Will you think out a plan to stop this rebel crew ?
Oh, begorra, said John, I don't mind if I do.
Behind prison walls they should all be, said Joe.
When you had them all in sure you let them all go,
To spread their sedition each county around,
And to knock out the men with the four hundred pound.
That's right, said T. P., I agree with you there,
The rod on the rebels, oh Georgie, don't spare,
The whole world over sure they've knocked me flat,
I'm back from the States with a big empty hat.
The Flag of Sinn Fein everywhere it does fly,
And "Down with the Party" is now Ireland's cry.
The Green, White and Orange, alas and alack,
Has taken the place of the old Union Jack.
Recruiting, said Mary, is now very low,
To the trenches in Flanders the Irish won't go.
Why not try conscription—oh John, what say you ?
Oh begorra, said John, there'll be Hell if you do.
Then the anti-air guns through the sky they did roar,
And the Zepps overhead sure they gave an encore.
To the cellar, said Georgie, for one hour or two,
And they rushed, shouting out "We don't mind if we do."

--- Page 37 ---
BOULD JOHN KEOGH,
The Flunkey P.L.G. Candidate for Arran Quay Ward.
(NEW VERSION) By JOHN C. O'NEILL.
" Oh, here I am again,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" Arrah here I am again,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" Oh, here I am again,
With my gallant Flunkey men,
To make me P.L.G., and then "—
Says the bould John Keogh.
" To the poor I'll be a friend."
Says the bould John Keogh.
" And before the King I'll bend."
Says the bould John Keogh.
" The Rates I will reduce.
If with me ye make a truce.
Put me in and let me loose,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" Did you leave your den at last ?"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Faith we'll hold ye tight and fast,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Oh, my gallant Flunkey John,
All your hopes are dead and gone ;
And to trust you there's not one,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" You're in love with Arran Quay,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht ;
" Though they kicked you right away,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" When betrayed before the Queen—
And betrayed the Flag of Green—
You're a Flunkey, false and mean,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" When the Boers were fighting hard,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht ;
" When the Boers were fighting hard,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht ;
" For freedom. Down you went,
And before the Queen you bent.
In sackcloth you should repent,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Put me in and I'll be good,"
Says the bould John Keogh ;
" And I'll go through fire and flood,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" Just make me P.L.G.,
And a 'Baronet' I may be.
Put me in—oh, pity me,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" Faith, bould John, we'll keep you out,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Oh, you needn't bawl or shout,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" For Arran Quay is true :
And shall beat you black and blue ;
And we'll rout the Flunkey crew,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Answer me without delay,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Did you close on Patrick's Day ?"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Oh, you didn't mind His Grace,
The Gaelic League, the Irish Race ;
But at the 'Beer Tub' took your place,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" But you want to guard the poor,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" A Loyal Guardian, I am sure,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" The bould 'Sir John' would make.
Why, he'd die for Erin's sake.
But Arran Quay is wide awake,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" You were T.C. when you fell "—
Says the Shan Van Vocht—
" On your knees. You did it well."
Says the Shan Van Vocht ;
" But now, my bould John Keogh,
To oblivion you must go.
For Arran Quay has answered 'No,'"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" Oh, for pity, put me in,"
Says the bould John Keogh ;
" And never more I'll sin,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" Give me another chance
At King Neddy's feet to dance,
And 'Sir John' shall couch his lance,"
Says the bould John Keogh.
" The chance you'll never get,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" For your sun in darkness set,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" The cause you did betray ;
And the men of Arran Quay
Shall sweep you right away,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.
" So the men of Arran Quay,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht,
" Upon the battle day,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht,
" Elect the true and tried ;
Cast bould John Keogh aside,
And raise the Green with pride,"
Says the Shan Van Vocht.

--- Page 38 ---
THE J.P.'S OF MACROOM
Air—“ Wearing of the Green.”
Oh then Paddy dear and did you hear the news that's going around
Speak Irish to a peeler now, and you'll be fined five pound.
Oh ! the light of English learning soon our country will illume,
For fining Irish Speakers are the J.P.'S of Macroom.
Chorus :
Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom, Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom,
“We will have no Irish Speakers” says the J.P.'S of Macroom.
I met with Sergeant Applebee and took him by the hand,
And asked if Ballingeary folk the olden tongue had banned ;
And, Oh ! said he 'they speak it still and fill my heart with gloom'
For alas one hundred miles away are the J.P.'S of Macroom.
Chorus :
Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom, Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom,
“Speak no Irish to our Bobbies” says the J.P.'S of Macroom.
But Sergeant sure they're αμάταιην said I with some alarm,
Asquith swears Small Nations' Rights must be preserved from harm
So what is just for Belgium must be just for Ireland, I assume,
Then traitors to the Allies are the J.P.'S of Macroom.
Chorus :
Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom, Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom,
Only eighteen months behind the times are the J.P.'S of Macroom.
Now Applebees and grand J.P.S who dwell in this dear land,
Must put aside their up-start pride, and Irish understand.
We mean to strive and keep alive our tongue till crack of doom,
So to Flanders all both great and small of the J.P.'S of Macroom.
Chorus :
Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom, Oh ! the J.P.'S of Macroom,
Let us bid adieu to that craven crew – the J.P.'S of Macroom.
Copyright

--- Page 39 ---
Ulster Betrayed
The
Startling Admissions of
Eoin MacNeill
By
FATHER ISIDORE B. MOONEY.
[NOTE.—The clearest proof that the indiscreet admissions made by Prof. MacNeill to Father Mooney were founded on fact, is that the Free State Government moved to set up the Boundary Commission only when they announced a General Election.
If they had not already legged themselves to abandon the North-Eastern Counties, then could long ago have enforced Clause 12 of the Treaty, if it can be enforced. If Ulster is to be saved from permanent marition, the people of Ireland must turn out the men who were been parties to this betrayal.]
No. 9.

--- Page 40 ---
Strictly Copyright]
Commandant
McKeown,
Air: " Rory O'More."
There is joy in the heart of old Ireland to-day,
Because of a man who has well won his way,
For courage and daring, oh, he is the boy,
A son of old Ireland her pride and her joy.
When surrounded by foes sure he fought to the last,
And never a thought on his own life he cast,
But vastly outnumbered and captured was he,
And brought into Dublin, courtmartialled to be.
You stand charged with murder, the Judge sternly said,
"No! I fought for my country, for her sake I bled,
" For Erin's fair honour your charge I disown,
" And I'll die for her sake," said Commandant McKeown.
" When your troops I captured, I treated them right,
" As prisoners of war who had lost in the fight,
" For myself all I ask as a soldier to die,
" And with my dear comrades my body may lie."
Then away to the prison, the hero was borne,
P'rhaps to die on the scaffold some bright summer morn,
But the fates in their courses had taken a hand.
For a Truce was proclaimed all over the land.
Says England, we'll let all your prisoners free.
That all of you meet and make terms with me,
But one we will hold, and one man alone.
And that is one known as Commandant McKeown.
The the men of Dail Eireann said this will not do,
If you hold our Commandant your words are not true,
If a Truce is to hold, and if Peace is to be,
We demand that at once you McKeown must set free.
For a while England hedged as often of yore,
But then showed she'd more sense than ever before,
The Gaol gates are open, McKeown is set free,
When the Conference meets with his comrades he'll be
Then long may he reign to help the old Cause,
Till Erin has all her own freedom and laws,
For a little bird told me we'll soon have our own,
So long life and good luck to Commandant McKeown.

--- Page 41 ---
[COPYRIGHT].
Come Along and Join the British Army.
By "THE RAJAH OF FRONGOCH."
Last week I met Joe Devlin,
And he took me by the hand.
Said he, your King and country need you,
Against the foe you ought to make a stand.
But, said I, do not mind the Kaiser,
For that, said Joe, I'll make it very hot,
Because, according to law, that is high treason.
So at dawn to-morrow morn I'll have you shot.
Just then a big crowd passed us by,
Through a megaphone John Redmond did cry :
CHORUS :
Come along and join the British Army,
Show that you're not afraid,
Put your name upon the roll of honour
In the Dublin Pals' Brigade.
We send you out to die in France or Belgium,
'Twill prove that you are true blue.
When the war is o'er, if we want you any more,
We'll find you in the S. D. U.
Said I to Joe, You're very young and healthy,
So o'er to Grafton Street you run,
I've nothing for to fear from an invasion,
It's men like you should chase the Hun.
Then Josie started singing "Rule Britannia,"
From his eye there fell a tear.
We have to find the mugs to do the fighting,
For it we get 400 quid a year.
John Dillon then he roared out loud,
King George of the Irish now is proud.
Chorus : So come along, etc.
When the scrap broke out on Easter Monday,
And loudly rang the old Howth gun,
When the khaki sons of Mother England
Were trying to get the rebels on the run,
The Irish Party held a special meeting,
Because they knew their little game was o'er,
And visions of their past fame—they were
fleeting—
'Twas their heads this time (not ours) were
feeling sore,
Stephen Gwynn, in a voice so sad, did sigh :
The rebels win the game, so no more we can cry:
Chorus—Come alone, etc.

--- Page 42 ---
THE
“G” Man’s Lament,
on the establishment of Irish Republic.
Air— “I’m sitting on the Stile. Mary.”
I’m sitting on the Courthouse steps where often I did bide,
In charge of Rebel prisoners for treason to be tried,
By perjured oath and mental note promotion I did seek,
But now before a British court I never more will speak.
My occupation is all gone I’ll have to starve—or work !
A thought that makes my blood run cold, (it only suits a turk) ;
No shoneen Judge or Castle hack the money now can pay,
O, I’m feeling sad and lonely here since Sinn Fein gained the day.
The place is little changed since when I kidnapped Muryhy’s boy,
A youngster of but thirteen years, I sent him to Mountjoy ;
I got him six long months in jail to make him understand That it was treason when he sang the “Felons of our Land.”
I’m going off to England now (or perhaps to timbucktoo),
For since Erin a Republic framed I don’t know what to do ;
I must make tracks or join the Wac’s to try and make a show,
But I’ll keep my ears well cocked, bedad, no matter where I go.

--- Page 43 ---
THE HOME COMING
(Lewes to Dublin, June 18th, 1917).
They have come, and after the prison walls
Freedom is sweet;
And after the warder's churlish word
Oh, how some boyish hearts are stirred
By the cheers in the street :
After bread that was broken in solitude
The feast that is shared this day is good
When with friends is their seat.
Thousandse on thousands since early day
Have waited and thronged,
Wives who have suffered and wept are there,
Girls who have lifted their hearts in prayer,
Who have hoped, who have longed.
And boys come by with uplifted head
Saying, see we live though the best are dead ;
We shall muster and march and stand instead
For our country wronged.
A shout goes up at the station gate
Where the guard is set.
A shout goes up from the crowd in the street
They are here—they are met
A shout goes up at College Green,
A shout where the Easter flag was seen,
Shout louder yet.
Shout loudly, loud was the cannonade
Which our noble city in ruins laid,
Yes loudly show we are not dismayed
And shall not forget.
And not in Dublin streets alone,
Though Dublin is great,
Oh, not in Dublin streets alone,
But all over Ireland be it known
Does the welcome wait.
And some are here who must haste away
To Wexford hills or to Galway Bay,
To Belfast, though late ;
And some must travel from Liffey to Lee,
To Shannon shore and to true Tralee :
For not in Dublin streets alone
Should the shots have rung, when the flag was flown
On the day of fate.
So not in Dublin streets alone
Does the welcome wait.
Oh, hush the laughter and cease the song,
Cheer not so loud :
There are some, remember you who sing,
Who can have no share in this triumphing ;
They are here in the crowd.
Their tears must start and their hearts must ache,
No ! their dear ones died for Ireland's sake,
They are brave, they are proud.
With you they mourned and with you rejoice,
Lift up the flag, then lift up each voice,
And shout aloud.
ALICE MILLIGAN.

--- Page 44 ---
Home Rule===Moryah,
Air— “I Dont Mind if I do.”
Lord French and MacPherson, old Long and old Short,
One day called a meeting and each of them brought
A nice gang of twisters from near and afar,
To bring in a scheme of Home Rule—Moryah.
Sez Short unto Mac ‘it makes me feel mad,
That America thinks our intentions are bad ;
But at ‘plots’ and such like I am really a star,
So we’ll offer the Irish Home Rule—Moryah.’
The last big elections quite gave me a pain.
The Irish then showed what they wanted quite plain.
But to progress and freedom their way we must bar.
For they’re sure to accept our Home Rule—Moryah.
Sez Mac, I dont know, it is best wait and see,
We can then tell the world that they could not agree,
And I’ll send a short note to the toffs of Rathgar.*
Asking them what they think of Home Rule—Moryah.
The Police we’ll supply with a new hand grenade.
To carry about when they’re feeling afraid,
And the “spots” will all drive in a nice Armoured Car,
While we’re getting along with Home Rule—Moryah.
But all they will talk caused Sinn Rein no dismay,
For the Irish Republic has come here to stay.
With all their old bills they can light their cigar,
So God bless Lord French and Home Rule—Moryah,
* A shoneen township in South Dublin.

--- Page 45 ---
BRAVE THOMAS ASHE.
Another hero's knell to toll,
Another prayer for a patriot's soul,
Another name on the patriot's roll—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
Back with our tears! 'twas a soldier fell,
Who laughed as he stood in his prison cell
At the thought of the troops he trounced so well—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
He held his life as light as dross;
He wrote that few would mourn his loss,
And for Ireland's sake he asked the Cross—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
And the Lord received His servant's prayer,
And chose for him the rest to spare,
But gave him the heavy Cross to bear—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
He carried the Cross till death came by,
And little dreamed when he came to die
How he like a king in state should lie—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
While the flag of Dublin hung half mast,
And tens of thousands of people passed
In mourning files to look their last
On brave Thomas Ashe.
Few to mourn! Half Ireland's here
To honour the fallen Volunteer,
And, marching, follow his soldier's bier.
Brave Thomas Ashe!
And the men in jail, whom he died to save,
Hear the measured tramp of his comrades brave,
As they bear his cor'se to a hero's grave—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
They lay him low in his narrow bed;
They plant the Cross at the martyr's head;
They fire their volleys over the dead—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
God welcome you on the other side;
God comfort us who in Ireland bide;
God bless the cause for which you died—
Brave Thomas Ashe!
Fergus O'Connor, Publisher, Dublin.

--- Page 46 ---
Che Flag on the G.P.O.
EASTER 1917.
By J. J. Walsh.
I.
Why gather the crowd in O'Connell Street?
Why throng all the people there?
What eminent personage do they greet?
With the shouts that fill the air
Who comes this morning or what's to be seen
That they hurry and push them so?
'Tis the rebel standard—white, orange and green
That floats from the G.P.O.
II.
With a message of hope, it defiantly flies
From the sullen and smoke-stained walls,
And moist are most of the watchers eyes'
For a sacrifice brave it recalls;
But that scul-stirring cheer that rings out on the air
Is a shout of war on the foe
That tells him men are still ready to dare
For the flag on the G.P.O.
III.
It brings back thoughts of another year
When comrades marched side by side
And stood in that breach without falter or fear
And gallantly fought and died,
And the flag seems to say "Persevere to the end"
Till the harvest again you mow
When the manhood of Ireland again will defend
The flag on the G.P.O.
J. J. Walsh.

--- Page 47 ---
The Bould
' Black & Tan. '
AIR: "MASTER McGRATH."
Sed Lloyd George to McPherson I give you the sack
To uphold Law and order you havn't the knack
I'll send over Greenwood a much stronger man
And fill up the Green Isle with the bould Black an' Tan
He sent them all over to pillage and loot,
And burn down the houses, the inmates to shoot
To reconquer Ireland, sez he is my plan
With Macready & Co. and the bould Black an' Tan
The town of Balbriggan they've burned to the ground
While bullets like hailstones were whissing around
And women left homeless by this evil clan
They've waged war on children the bould Black an' Tan
From Dublin to Cork and from Thurles to Mayo
Lies a trail of destruction wherever they go
While England to help and fierce passions to fan
She must feel very proud of her bould Black an' Tan
Ah then not by terrors of England's foul horde
For ne'er could a nation be ruled by the sword
For our country we'll have yet in spite of her plan
Or ten times the number of bould Black an' Tan
We defeated Conscription in spite of her threats
And we're goin' to defeat ou'd Lloyd George an his pets
For Ireland and Freedom we're here to a man
And we'll lower the pride of the bould Black an' Tan

--- Page 48 ---
Kevin,
A RECITATION,
Written in Mountjoy Jail by CONSTANCE DE MARKIEVICZ.
We knelt at Mass with sobbing hearts
Cold, in the dawn of day,
The dawn for us, for him the night,
Who was so young and gay.
Then from the altar spoke the priest
—His voice rang thin with pain—
Bidding us pray. a boy must die
At England's hands again.
And as he raised the Host on high
And reverently we bowed,
In silent adoration there
The passing bell tolled loud.
Tolled loud, each cruel, strident stroke,
Fell blows of England's spite,
Telling the Hangman's work was done,
That might had conquered right.
The cruel English tortured him,
He never shrank or cried;
Sublime his faith, the gallows tree
He faced that day with pride.
Proudly he gave his life for her
To whom his love was given,
His dying eyes knew Freedom near,
Saw Death the Gate of Heaven.
Bright flaming dawn of a young life,
Simple and pure and brave,
One childlike prayerful sacrifice,
His end—a felon's grave.
His end! no end to lives like his!
With us he lives alway,
Bright through our night, a shining star
He lights for us the way.
And Christ Who died for love of us,
Tortured and bruised and shamed
Gives courage to such hero souls,
Unbending and untamed.

--- Page 49 ---
A Toast to De Valera
Air—“Ireland Boys, Hurrah.”
Fill up your glass and drink a toast
To comrades true and brave ;
Who for the Cause have suffered most
To help our land to save.
But e're we part each Irish heart,
Will echo this refrain—
Up De Valera, Ireland's hero !
Drink his health again.
Enthroned to-day by Erin's voice,
Our President to be,
A man of men, the nation's choice
To guide her destiny.
So drain you glass, this toast to pass,
Let not one drop remain,
To De Valera, Ireland's hero !
Here's his health again.
The Nation's heart was filled with gloom
When he was borne away,
Unto an English living tomb,
But there he could not stay.
Once more he's free, our wish will be
Long with us he'll remain ;
Brave De Valera, Ireland's hero !
Here's his health again !

--- Page 50 ---
“ SEZ THE P.M.G.”
Post Office Strike—Sept. 1922.
Air—THE SHAN VAN VOCHT.
The Post Office is on strike,
Sez the P.M.G.
An’ I’m plagued out of my life,
Sez the P.M.G.
Sure it put’s me in a rage
That they want a living wage,
It is all their camouplage,
Sez the P.M.G.
They don’t want wages dropped,
Sez the P.M.G.
So out on strike they’ve popped,
Sez the P.M.G.
Oh ! strikes they are a curse,
But trade unions are much worse
For making all this fuss,
Sez the P.M.G.
While my job is safe at home,
Sez the P.M.G.
There’s strike breakers o’er the foam, Sez the P.M.G.
Oh ! strikes don’t frighten me,
Sure I’m out for L. S. D.
As sure as I’m T.D.,
Sez the P.M.G.
I was once a Postal Clerk,
Sez the P.M.G.
(But I hope you’ll keep it dark,
Sez the P.M.G.)
But now you’ll see some fun
For I’m going to get me gun
An’ make these pickets run,
Sez the P.M.G.
COPYRIGHT,
L. M., DUBLIN.

--- Page 51 ---
In Memoriam.
HARRY BOLAND, T.D.,
Shot at Skerries, July 31st, 1922.
Air: "She is far from the Land."
Harry Boland has died for the Cause that he loved,
And our hearts with deep sorrow flows o'er,
In the service of Ireland his life blood has flowed,
But his memory shall live evermore.
The Irish Republic, his ideal, his pride,
With dishonour he never could stain,
And the Flag that he lived for, and fought for, and died
For Ireland has not been in vain.
Once again England's mandate, the cause of all strife,
And brother 'gainst brother are set,
But true to your pledges that others held slight,
And sealed your devotion in Death.
Farewell! Harry Boland, brave comrade and true,
May the sod lightly rest where you lie.
And the fond hopes you cherished shall live ever new,
For that Freedom that never can die.
Strictly Copyright.
A. J. B., Dublin.

--- Page 52 ---
PRESS TICKET.
UNITED IRISH LEAGUE.
Irish National Convention,
ROUND ROOM, MANSION HOUSE, Dublin,
TUESDAY, 23rd APRIL, 1912.
Please Admit
Mr.
Representing
" Icho " Linnich
Isaac Warlin
General Beatrice

--- Page 53 ---
The Red Flag,
Composed by JEM CONNELL.
The people's Flag is deepest red,
It shroteded oft our martyred dead,
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their life blood dyed its every fold.
CHORUS—
Then raise the Scarlet Standard high,
Within its shade we'll live and die,
Tho' cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the Red Flag flying here.
Look round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise,
In Moscow's vaults its hymns are sung,
Chicago swells the surging throng,
It waved above our infant might,
When all ahead seemed dark as night,
It witnessed many a deed, and vow—
We must not change its colour now.
It well recalls the triumphs past,
It gives the hopes of peace at last,
The banner bright, the symbol plain,
Of human right and human gain.
It suits to-day the weak and base,
Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place,
To cringe before the rich man's frown,
And haul the scarlet emblem down.
With heads uncovered swear we all,
To bear it onward till we fall,
Come dungeons dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our Parting Hymn.

--- Page 54 ---
Lament for Thomas Ashe.
By SEAN O'CATHASAIGH.
The breasts of the mountains with anger are heaving,
Swift rivers of tears down their rugged cheeks flow;
Their mantle of heather the wild wind is reaving,
And their proud heads are capp'd with a storm cloud of woe
Why gathers the gloom in a manner appalling—
What causes the sunshine in terror to flee?
The mountains of Eirinn are plaintively calling—
Thomas Ashe, Thomas Ashe, we are mourning for thee.
The wild mountain glens are now silent and lonely,
And Grief on their bosom has laid Her poor Head,
Here thoughts of new life have no place, for now only
The green woods are wrapped in dear thoughts of the dead!
The leaves from the trees, sadly sighing, are falling
And form a bronze pall for the once flower'd lea,
The winds rustling thro' them, are plaintively calling—
Thomas Ashe, Thomas Ashe, we are mourning for thee.
In the ears of the coast Erin's grey waves are beating
A curse on the Power that his life would not spare,
And mingle a prayer in their gloomy retreating,
With a caoine for the soul that had courage to dare!
The grey restless waves are all rising and falling—
Oh! a sorrowful breast is the Breast of the Sea—
And her waters, uneasy, are plaintively calling
Thomas Ashe, Thomas Ashe, we are mourning for thee.
Shall we then to Nature's sad, heart-broken grieving
Our own Gaelic Nature in apathy close?
Ah! No! To our hearts this dear sorrow receiving
We'll send in a shout to our circle of foes!
Your thoughts, Thomas Ashe, now, shall shortly be ours—
As you fought the good fight so we'll fight to be free,
'Gainst all the vain pomp of their princes and powers,
Made strong by the thought of dear vengeance for thee.

--- Page 55 ---
Wolfe Tone Memorial Committee
EMMET ANNIVERSARY
CELEBRATION
(UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF Messrs. J. T. JAMESON & SON),
IN
ROUND ROOM, ROTUNDA
ON
Thursday, 4th March, 1915,
AT 8 O'CLOCK.
Concert, Drama, Pictures
The Commemoration Address
(ILLUSTRATED)
WILL BE DELIVERED BY
MR. ARTHUR GRIFFITH.
The Production of "The Stranger"
(By SEAMUS O'KELLY)
IS IN THE CAPABLE HANDS OF
Miss Maire Nic Shiubhlaigh.
OTHER ARTISTES INCLUDE
MISS JOAN BURKE.
MISS MOLLY O'BYRNE.
MR. CERARD CROFTS.
MR. WM. SHEEHAN.
MR. SEAMUS O'HAODHA.
MR. SEAN CONNOLLY.
THE WHEATLEY TRIO, &c.
Prices 6d., 1s., 1s. 6d., 2s.
P. MAHON, Printer, 3 Yarnhall Street, Dublin.

--- Page 56 ---
LAST VICEROY OF
IRELAND DEAD
Viscount FitzAlan of Derwent, the last Viceroy of Ireland (1921-'22), who has died at his home, Cumberland Lodge, Windsor, at the age of 91. He was uncle and heir presumptive of the Duke of Norfolk.
He was educated at the Oratory School, Edgbaston, which was founded by Cardinal Newman, going there in 1865 when the school had been only six years in existence and when he was aged 10.
Recalling his experiences in the school in an article in the "Tablet" a few years ago, he stressed Cardinal Newman's objection to non-Catholic schools, saying that the Cardinal saw "the dangers to faith in an anti-Catholic educational atmosphere."
He was an M.P. from 1894 to 1921, and held the posts of Lord of the Treasury, Joint Parliamentary Secretary to the Treasury, and Chief Unionist Whip.
He was a Lieut.-Colonel of the 11th Hussars, and fought with distinction in the South African war, being mentioned in dispatches and awarded the D.S.O.
In 1879 he married Lady Mary Caroline, daughter of the 7th Earl of Abingdon. She died in 1938. His heir is his son, Capt. the Hon. Henry Edmund FitzAlan-Howard, who is 63.

--- Page 57 ---
TO THE IRISH PEOPLE
Your country stands in the shadow of a great disaster. Lord French, the hero of Ypres, the British General who in August, 1914, set out to march to Berlin, and succeeded after three years and nine months in getting as far as Dublin, is slowly and surely perfecting his military organisation for the purpose of imposing the English Conscription Act in Ireland. He has reported to the English War Cabinet that conscription can be enforced at the cost of the lives of a thousand English soldiers and possibly those of a few thousand Irishmen and that then the way will be easy. It is the intention of the English War Cabinet to enforce Conscription on Ireland despite all speeches and statements to the contrary. They only await that the attention of the people should be directed to one food question only—that of retaining in Ireland sufficient food for the Irish people. The increase in the amount of food grown this year carries with it the danger that the people will be less careful, at present may very well be in a worse plight next spring if the larger cities who are suffering cruelly at present may very well be in a worse plight next spring if the lure of high prices for exportation is not combated in the autumn. Now is the time for making arrangements for the securing of stocks so that the poor may be able to buy next winter at reasonable prices. All the energy of your Food Committee will be needed to make a success of any scheme that may be devised, and we shall be very happy to put up with our short commons if we feel that it will result in more food for, say, some of the little children in Dublin. Remember, there is no knowing how long it may suit the cause of the political mountebanks to keep us here, nor to what extent they may consider it desirable to increase our present campaign. Conscription is not quite dead yet. England wants the Irish harvests to the end of the winter campaign might suit the Irish Expeditionary Force. Cumann na mBan will have its hands full.”
De Valler is the man who does not speak lightly. When in April last he said conscription would not be enforced till after the harvest people were inclined to smile. In the four months that have elapsed since what have our military governors done to justify the opinion that the conscription menace has passed. They have flooded our country with machine-guns, armoured cars, tanks of poison gas. They have disposed their military so as to effectively ring round the districts where the drive is to be first carried out. They have with their vile press propaganda poisoned the minds of their own people, of their Allies, and, to a large extent, of America against our country, and they have taken steps to prevent our cries being heard when England presses her iron heel upon us. England realises the importance of the fact that in view of the whole world Ireland has defied her mandate. She knows that the world is looking on while this fine old nation that has never been conquered tells the proud mistress of the seas that her Ireland breaks England's will in this country, English domination ceases and Ireland's claim to freedom is established without further argument. And England cannot lightly let this go. The British Lion has been badly mauled in this war, but he reckons that if he cannot smash the German Eagle he can at least destroy the Irish wolf-dog and so well has he succeeded in inflaming the prejudices of the British democracy (whose love of fair play is proverbial) that a British victory in Ireland would be hailed in England with rejoicing. Therefore do ye get ready.
If you are being lulled into security by Mr. Shortt's antics you are very short-sighted. Shortt is the decoy who is to occupy our attention and divert it until the English War Lords are ready to strike, and that will be when the harvest has gone to England. French is preparing to strike, and the minds of his soldiers are filled with the blood-lust of the holocaust they are going to have in Ireland. They may be too sanguine as to the result,
This is not written for you men who have arms. You have your orders and you know what to do. But you men without arms. What are you thinking of? Indulging in an idle surmise that they won't do it? The fighting men will not allow themselves to be hampered by mobs of unarmed men. Therefore get your weapon. A pitch-fork is not as good as a machine-gun, but it's better than an idle surmise when you want to defend yourself or capture a rifle. When you have got your weapon go to the men you know in your district and you'll get captured a rifle.
This will be a holy war—a fight for the existence of your race, for your religion, for Ireland and, if it starts, it will be a fight to a finish. Your comrades are everywhere on Irish soil, in the Glens of Antrime, the Hills of Connemara, on the Banks of the Slaney, in the Streets of Dublin. When England strikes they will fight for you and you for them. See to it that if England tries to trample us out of existence—and that is what she means to do if she can—she knows as well as you do that Irish conscripts will never fight against England's foes—see to it that she knows as well as you do that Irish conscripts dead, be-assured of this, that you have helped to hand on the future generations the legacy that has been handed on to you—the unsullied honour of the grandest race the world has known—the race that spurned their blood-built Empire and faced their millions and their might with a courage worthy of Ireland. Be assured of this, too, that if we go down we bring them down with us, for the war will not be confined to Ireland . . . . and they will know the flame of Irish vengeance.
Therefore get ye ready! Your country stands in the shadow of a great trial and the holy martyrs of Ireland whose names will never die are looking on. The future is dark and uncertain, but the pillars of Empire are not what they were. We have helped to shake them. To us may be given the glory of bringing them tumbling down. God grant it!
A DIA SAOR EIRE

--- Page 58 ---
George Noble Plunkett,
WAS BORN IN DUBLIN ON DECEMBER 3rd, 1851.
IN 1884 HE RECEIVED THE TITLE OF
Count of the Holy Roman Empire.
FROM
His Holiness Pope Leo XIII.
HE BELONGS TO A FAMILY FAMOUS IN OUR COUNTRY'S HISTORY
FOR THE NUMBER OF MARTYRS IT HAS GIVEN TO THE NATIONAL
CAUSE—THE LATEST BEING HIS SON,
Joseph Mary Plunkett,
WHO WAS EXECUTED IN KILMAINHAM LAST MAY.
HE STANDS FOR THE CAUSE FOR WHICH OWEN ROE O'NEILL DIED,
FOR WHICH EMMETT DIED, FOR WHICH JOSEPH MARY PLUNKETT
DIED, AND IN OFFERING HIMSELF FOR THE REPRESENTATION OF
NORTH ROSCOMMON CLAIMS YOUR VOTE IN THE NAME OF THE
ILLUSTRIOUS DEAD.
A VOTE FOR PLUNKETT IS A VOTE FOR IRELAND'S FREEDOM,
A VOTE WITHELD OR CAST AGAINST HIM IS A VOTE FOR THE CON-
TINUED SUBJECTION OF OUR COUNTRY.
God Save Ireland.

--- Page 59 ---
REMEMBER
THE ANNUAL CONCERT
In commemoration of the birth of the Patriot Martyr
Robert Emmet
WILL BE HELD IN THE
MANSION HOUSE,
MONDAY, MARCH 4th, 1918.
ORATION BY
COUNT PLUNKETT
At the Emmett Commemoration, 1917, Count Plunkett defined the future programme of the Irish Nation.
If you wish to keep in touch with our national progress
COME !
An excellent and unique Programme with the best Irish-Ireland Talent has been arranged.
Recitations, Songs, Dances & Music.
Tickets can be had at all Irish-Ireland shops or on door on night of Concert.
Doors open at 7.15.
Commences at 8.
O'Brien Bros. Printers, 7 College St., Dublin.

--- Page 60 ---
Remember Ashe
He's dead ! Aye dead ! Our Ashe is dead,
The bitter maddening news has sped
Through all Fingall ;
And sorrow bowed to-night is many a head
From Dublin town to Naul ;
And further yet throughout the land
That claims us as her sons
There's bursting bitter grief
For him who bravely took his stand
As Fingall's Chief.
He came from out the generous South
To teach and lead the children of Fingall.
He taught us well in honour and in truth,
And in his teaching he has given all.
Sons of Fingall ! take all his teachings to your hearts
Let Ashe ne'er be torgotten on the Plain.
While we have people, homes and hearts
His memory must remain.
And sometime yet because we won't forget
The man that Kerry sent to teach and lead
Fingall.
We'll meet and march with purpose stern and set,
Against the knaves who hold our land in thrall,
And o'er the roar of guns and thro' the fire and smoke
Above the bursting of the bombs and with
the bright steel's flash ;
Such words will break upon them as upon
Balchasser broke—
REMEMBER ASHE !
Copyright
"CORDUFF"

--- Page 61 ---
LINES DEDICATED TO MOST REV.
DR. MANNIX,
Archbishop of Melbourne.
August, 1920.
Air— “ The Bells of Shandon.”
A noble preacher, a splendid teacher,
A fearless champion of liberty,
A heart of gold, of the purest mould,
Burning with zeal to see Ireland free.
In hall and pulpit, denounced each culprit,
Who seeks to crush out our Nation's claim,
Their threats unheeding, to us you're speeding,
A grand upholder of old Ireland's fame.
Brave Bishop Mannix. they may form their phalanx,
By force and lies may thy way assail,
A tyrant banding to prevent thee landing,
But force will die and the truth prevail.
In the blessed name of Ireland's freedom,
Dear Prelate! all our heart goes out to thee,
While Ireland's sons with brave men to lead them,
Send a Cead Mile Failte across the sea.
Long be thy years then, to live and labour,
Thy brilliant shafts pierce oppression's night,
“ Do unto me as thou would thy neighbour,”
And wrong shall fail before the cause of right.
And when the sun shines o'er hill and valley,
Of our dear land, Independent, Free!
Our sons shall muster a mighty rally,
And blessed for ever thy name shall be.

--- Page 62 ---
RESCUE.
Once more the gates of England's jails
To snatch our best are opened wide
And nought of all our talk avails
To keep our leaders at our side—
Like sheep we watch and see them go
To torture—death—we do not know.
To death—ah, that were well indeed
But England, cat-like, tortures first
She'll pay them back a bitter meed—
Remembering how these men dispersed
Her puling troops, short months before
And evened up the age-long score.
To-day she holds them at her will,
And we alas! stand listless by,
Are none then left amongst us still
With heart to dare—to fight—to die ;
Some talk of recklessness—what then,
Were Pearse and Plunkett reckless men ?
The prisons gape—our men stream in,
And some again we may not see ;
A little daring—and we win
No price too great for Victory!
Rescue—or soon t'will be too late
To save our comrades from their fate.
MAEVE CAVANAGH.

--- Page 63 ---
WHEN THE CLOCKS
WERE STRIKING NOON
Hurry up their Easter Monday
I, Ned Darly's message bear
Bring your bandalier and rifle
With two days provision fare
Hasten to our own head quarters
At Blackhall St, Sinn Fein room
I have dreams of glorious action
When the clocks are striking noon
Repeat
From Blackhall Gaelic club room
Marched out valant men that day
And each party by direction
Went upon a seperate way
Nor among them not a traitor
To bring their cause to ruin
Ne'r on earth beat proud hearts
stancher
when the clocks were striking noon
While the flags they bore before
them
Of the orange white and green
Spoke of unity and concord
In an Island without spleen
To strike a blow for freedom
Was a grand long prayed for boom
And full many a shot was firing
When the clocks were striking noon
Thus they calmly faced the
cannons
And the maxims fiercest ball
Not one spoke of surrender
Though their number was but
small
And through the land of Erin
Beat hearts in my heart plume
For pride in the Sinn Feiners
When the clocks were striking noon
All Rights Reserved
PRICE 20d.

--- Page 64 ---
Marching Song of the Irish Volunteers.
BY THOMAS MACDONAGH.
Greater than word in any age
The care of God for Ireland still:
Under His guidance we engage
For Ireland now to work His will.
We have no hate for Irishman;
Our land we love from sea to sea;
And heed no mark of creed or clan—
But Ireland claim and Ireland free.
When in the morn of time the Gael
Saw Ireland rising o'er the foam,
He left his labouring oars to hail
This lovely land, his destined home:
He loved this island's ancient grace,
And here in glory long he throve:
His children's Gaelic pride of race
Hallows the island of their love.
A thousand years ago the Dane
With raven banner swept the seas,
To win this land he sought in vain,
Then left the ways here for peace:
Tired of wayfaring here he found
The welcome due to valiant foe:
The Viking stock on Irish ground
Has grown and strongly still shall grow.
The Norman came in evil hour,
When Ireland's passion had begun
And matched against an Empire's power
The clans were broken one by one;
But yielded not and to this day
Unconquered stand and wait the word:
The Norman took the Danish way
And Ireland's is the Norman sword.
CHORUS:—
For Ireland, for Ireland, for Ireland all,
Our ranks we band in might,
From her four seas, we at Ireland's call,
In Ireland's cause unite
And march to the hosting of Gael and Gall,
To claim our freedom's right.
The clans were broken but to weld
Into one mighty Irish strength;
The Dane and Norman force were held
To build the Irish race at length.
We Gael, we Dane, we Norman now
Have heard the word we waited long:
In arms we come and take this vow
To make our country free and strong.
The Irish race, united, new,
The youngest nation of the earth,
Shall to the elder race be true,
And guard the glory of our birth:
Never for gain of praise or gold
Our race has sold the sacred gift,
Unsullied still our right we hold
And freedom's flag unstained we lift.
Our fathers who foresaw the noon
Unfurled this flag before the dawn:
Its fringes caught the light but soon
Back to the darkness it was drawn:
The dawn is come, the night is o'er,
With joy we face the future years;
And now in freedom's cause once more
Arise the Irish Volunteers.
Oh! sacred light of Liberty,
Oh! Nation hallowed by thy cause,
We hail the glorious destiny
That comes with right of native laws.
Oh! God, our comfort in the night,
Be still our guardian in the day
And lead Thy people in Thy sight
To follow still Thine ancient way.

--- Page 65 ---
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE SMITH OF BALLINALEE
By "SEAN," East Limerick.
He dropped his pond'rous hammer, his anvil silenced too,
The horses of the neighbourhood country must be free.
Why hesitate, he cried aloud, Our Country must be free,
And first to join his Country's ranks was—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
II
The Smithy locked in silence now, the anvil idle lay,
The hammer strong and bellyed laud, no longer will you see,
There honest lad and bright-eyed lass, no longer will you see,
For a Soldier now is Sean McKeon—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
III.
To the hillsides and the valleys, in the rain and in the snow,
At the dead of night, in silence, his men and he used go
To drill and train for action, when Ireland did decree,
The first to join the Colours was—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
IV.
A cloud hung o'er our Country, terror raged everywhere,
The foe, unmatched for recklessness, was laying our poor land bare,
The bravest on the hillsides, for their lives they had to flee,
A felon band—and foremost was—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
V.
But the hoped for signal given, no longer would they stay
In hiding on the hillsides fearing the light of day.
Into columns, they were formed, now for death or victory!
Longford choose her Commandant—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
VI.
Ah, Brave McKeon! your valour was put surely to the test,
In how many fierce encounters were you matched with England's best?
Less in men, with poor equipment, yet, with you was victory.
A Bonaparte for leadership, was—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
VII.
The general of generals had made his last bold stand,
And ten to one he fought the foe in a great fight hand-to-hand.
Wounded fell he, fighting, surrender—ne'er would he;
On the field would die a soldier—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
VIII.
A prisoner of the English, in a bare cell in Mountjoy,
In solitary confinement, on a plank-bed he must lie;
No friends allowed to see him, a royal guest of the riogh,
Awaiting sentence patiently, is—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
IX.
On the dock in prison garb he stood, not a muscle moved in fear,
His voice rang through the crowded hall, sharp, musical and clear—
A soldier craves a soldier's death for his land, to die proudly
Before the firing squad I'll stand, said—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
X.
Not mercy craves an Officer of the glorious I.R.A.,
To death you mayn't condemn me, I was taken in the fray,
If justice you'll not recognise, one boon I seek of thee—
My body give to Longford cried—The Smith of Ballin'lee.
XI.
But God was with our Country and our Hero still lives on
In spite of England's worst he lived and will still she's gone.
For the gallows chosen by Sean Buidé, by Longford as T. D.,
And by Ireland freed was Sean McKeon—The Smith of Ballin'lee.

--- Page 66 ---
THE NATIONAL PRESS
Air Rory O'Moore
The National Press, the national press
The Times, independent, the Freeman Express
They're not much to choose from that number I guess
They're called by a gamble the national press
The national press The national press
When the British Empire did our nation oppress
The brane I.R.A. were assassins no less
They were called murder gangs, by the national press
The national press the national press
Are all for the Treaty signed under duress
It's more than they wanted they'd much prefer less
The Republis be dammed says the national press
The national press, the national press
Shouts the voice of the people, when the Dail's in recess
Tweedledum Tweedledee there s a difference I guess
They're honest "Moryah," are the national press
The national press the national press
The Governer General they'd call his highness
They want the Free State and his ear to possess
And "Jobs" for the staffs of the national press
The national press the national press
With the country they'll find that their game is fruitless
A Republic we want and we will not take less
In spite of that humbug the national press
Copyright)

--- Page 67 ---
A SONG FOR THE TIMES
(Air—“ The Wearing of the Green.”)
I.
Oh ! come tell me Willie Cosgrave, where the new Dail is to be,
Is it in the pub at James's Street, well-known to you and me?
Or perhaps, my gallant Dew-drop, the place that would suit best,
Is the ould spot in Kilmainham, known to all as “ Carey's nest.”
II.
When we get there, darling Willie, the old veterans we'll lay low,
In spite of old-time valour, Ernest Blythe will make them go.
We'll tear their medals from them, and loudly we will sing :
Here's a health to Georgie Windsor, and to Uncle Tim, our King.
III.
Then we'll wear the old men's medals, Willie, you will be our boss,
And we'll have the Royal Standard, and, of course, the Cosgrave
Cross,
The cross of frozen porter, with a head of crested foam,
To remind you, Dew-drop Willie of the dear old pub at home.i
IV.
Tailteann Walsh will have his wireless, and O'Malley listening in,
With Darrell Figgis hanging round to see who gets the tin.
Tommy Johnson will be “ larking,” and making out his plan,
To slyly “ dock ” the wages of the Dublin working-man.
V.
Well, we've fought for dear old England, and right pleasant is our
fate,
I laugh to think what fools they were—the men of '98.
Sure, you've beat the devil, Willie, old comrades all you slew,
To give jobs to ould Glenavy, and his dirty Orange crew.
VI.
Dew-drop Willie, you're our darling, Bate the Devil is our pride,
Lash O'Higgins is a marvel, known to all the country-side.
Ernest Blythe, the pension butcher, is a genius and a screw,
Mulcahy is Napoleon—who will meet his Waterloo.

--- Page 68 ---
GENERAL LUCAS
Air Where the Blarney Roses grow
T'was over in Rathcormac, near the town of old Fermoy,
They captured General Lucas and away with him did fly.
They said, "you'll have to come with us, or else sure down
you go,
For that's the way we treat you, where the Blarney Roses
grow.
Can anybody tell me where did General Lucas go?
He may be down in Mitcelstown or over in Mallow,
He's somewhere in the county Cork, but this I want to know
Can anybody tell me where did General Lucas go?
Twas on a summer's morning as out fishing he did go.
And when he had his fishing done he was caught by whom
you know,
They said "you are our prisoner, and this you've got to know
You cant do Greenwood's dirty work where the Blarney
Roses grow"
There are good men down in Galway and the same in county
Clare,
But the likes of those young Corkmen I cant find anywhere
They treated me most kindly but if they only let me go
I promise to stop reprisals where the Blarney Roses grow
Now to conduct or finish sure I hope it wont be long
Until We see old Ireland free and the murder gang all gone
Why dont they set our prisoners free and tell them they
may go,
Like we did to old Lucas where the Blarney Roses grow

--- Page 69 ---
A Black an' Tan's
Letter
TO HIS SWEETHEART IN ENGLAND.
Air— " Annie Dear."
I'm just writing you this letter—Jenny dear.
For the time for my departure's drawing near.
My heart with grief is reeling,
As o'er it comes the feeling
That I'm done for good with stealing
Over here.
When I think of all the good things—Jenny dear,
Of the looting and the eating and the beer,
Oh, small wonder I grow crazy,
For the time's so soft, my daisy,
And besides you know I'm lazy,
Jenny Dear.
When they took me out of prison, Jenny dear,
To uphold their law and order over here,
Then heaven to earth descended,
And crime with crime I blended,
Ah! is it—is it ended, Jenny dear ?
Yes. we won the approbation. Jenny dear,
Of those—who'd curse this nation, Jenny dear.
But there's no use in denying,
Tis a land there's no defying,
And we're beaten—don't start crying,
Jenny dear.
Well, bursted is the bubble, Jenny dear,
I'm back to want and trouble, Jenny dear.
Back to swell the ranks of loafers,
Of swindlers, thieves and topers,
Back to end life with the rope or—
Jenny dear.
Strictly Copyright, IRISH SUPPLY CO., DUBLIN

--- Page 70 ---
Irishmen and Women !
REMEMBER
that though our Prisoners are free, the remains
of their sixteen
MARTYRED LEADERS
are still in the possession of the
:: :: British Government. :: ::
A PUBLIC MEETING
WILL BE HELD IN
The Mansion House, Dublin,
.. ON ..
MONDAY, 16TH JULY, 1917
AT 8 P.M.,
To Demand those Bodies for Christian Burial
Remember that fourteen, of them still lie uncoffined in
Arbour Hill Barrack Yard.
THE SAOIRE ÉIRE.

--- Page 71 ---
GOD SAVE IRELAND FROM THE STATERS.
Helped by Churchill's Empire view, Dick Mulcahy and his crew
Started out to form another Cromwell band;
And they rob and loot and kill, and let loose their hellish will,
But their acts will not deter our native land.
God Save Ireland from the Staters;
And save the people from their Murder Gangs.
By the sufferings of our dead and the blood our martyrs shed
We'll yet defeat Churchill's Green and Tans.
For the sake of paltry gold and to shame the land they sold,
These new champions of the Churchill-Lloyd George cause;
With the help of English guns, shot down our gallant sons
Who snatched Ireland from the British Lion's paws.
God Save Ireland from the Staters;
And save the people from their Murder Gangs.
By the sufferings of our dead and the blood our martyrs shed,
We'll yet defeat Churchill's Green and Tans.
They may prosper in a way, but their cause is changed to-day,
And their cruel deeds are not so easy done;
With her heroes blood bedewed, Ireland's spirit is renewed,
And her Volunteers will keep them on the run.
God Save Ireland from the Staters;
And save the people from their Murder Gangs.
By the sufferings of our dead and the blood our martyrs shed,
We'll yet defeat Churchill's Green and Tans.
March we now erect and brave, knowing that Eire dear we'll save
From her traitor sons who failed to keep the faith;
At last the people see that the country is not free,
But a poor, unsightly, slavish British State.
God Save Ireland from the Staters;
And save the people from their Murder Gangs.
By the sufferings of our dead and the blood our martyrs shed,
We swear to conquer Churchill's Green and Tans.
(Copyright.)

--- Page 72 ---
Irish Race Convention, 1932
HOTEL ASTOR • NEW YORK
TO DELEGATES AND FRIENDS
To the Delegates to the Irish Race Convention of 1932, assembled in New York from all the States of the Union, it is a privilege to extend welcome to the sons and daughters of the Gaelic Race scattered all over this great Republic.
Enjoying here, as we do, a freedom which we owe to the patriots who gladly gave all they had to wrest this nation from a foreign tyranny, we cannot but recall that Irish courage and Irish love of liberty contributed in no small degree to our independence.
The Irish Race Convention, the Call for which was issued by the Irish World in April of this year, is assembled here to devise ways and means of repaying America's debt to Ireland, to the extent of aiding her to win a similar measure of freedom to that which Irishmen fought and died to win for America.
On behalf of the Executive Committee I extend to one and all a warm and hearty
CEAD MILE FAILTE
THOMAS J. FORD,
August 13, 1932.
Chairman.

--- Page 73 ---
MAY, 1946.
Late Mrs. Hanna
Sheehy - Skeffington
I is with feelings of profound regret that we record the death at her home in Dublin, on April 20th, after a short illness, of Mrs. Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington.
As a young woman she entered public life alongside her husband, Francis Sheehy-Skeffington, and was soon a foremost figure in the campaign of thirty odd years ago for Women's Suffrage. With sincerity, courage and tenacity, that were to be characteristic of her support of every cause throughout her life, she braved the bitter opposition of the ruling classes and the deliberately-fostered prejudices of large sections of the people against the recognition of women's rights. The women of Ireland and Britain, to-day enjoy the right to vote, to be elected to parliament and public bodies and to qualify for most public positions, thanks to the tenacious struggle of women like Mrs. Skeffington, and the active support of the Socialist leaders of the time and the more intelligent Labour leaders. James Connolly was always a forcible advocate of women's rights.
Mrs. Skeffington, who was an able public speaker and a prolific writer never tired in both her speeches and writings to express her admiration for James Connolly and not only for his progressive views on women's rights but for his Socialist teachings. James Connolly, along with Michael Davitt were two men she held in especial esteem and just before illness overtook her she was endeavouring to interest publishers to reprint her husband's fortright biography of Michael Davitt.
During the 1913 Dublin workers' strike Mrs. Skeffington and her husband were ardent champions of the workers' cause.
In the week of the Easter Uprising, 1916, her husband, who held pronounced pacifist views and was a vigorous supporter of republican and socialist principles, embarked on the formation of a citizen's committee to prevent looting and wanton destruction of property by elements entirely unconnected with the Uprising. He was seized, taken to Portobello barracks, put against a wall and shot. In a face-saving attempt the British Government put forward the plea that the officer responsible for the murder of Francis Skeffington, was insane. Mrs. Skeffington contemptously refused an offer of compensation; she was refused permission to travel to America because she would not give an undertaking that she would not inform the American public of the facts of her husband's death and about Irish affairs generally; she succeeded, however, in beating the British Government's ban, reached America and there, to the great annoyance of the British rulers, addressed hundreds of meetings and wrote articles for many papers. The widespread support that was accorded by the Irish population in the U.S. and Americans generally for the War of Independence (1916-21) was in no small measure due to the energies of Mrs. Skeffington during her speaking tour in that country.
Back in Ireland in 1918, she was arrested and lodged in Holloway Prison. This was not her first prison experience, as she served a sentence in Mountjoy in 1912 in connection with the fight for women's suffrage. She opposed the Treaty settlement of 1921 and was a prominent figure at most meetings held in protest against the wholesale arrests and executions under the Cosgrave Government.
She visited the Soviet Union in 1929 and was very much impressed with the social
An early photograph of the late Mrs. H. S. Skeffington.
developments in that country. She related her impressions of the Soviet Union at meetings held under the auspices of the Irish Friends of the Soviet Union and other auspices.
In 1933 she defied the Six-County Government's ban on her entry into that territory, spoke at a meeting in Newry and was arrested. Refusing to give an undertaking, she served a month's imprisonment in Armagh jail.
We especially remember Mrs. Skeffington's outspoken defence of the Communists in Dublin, when they were being attacked by clerical and fascist-blueshirt inspired mobs. When their offices (Connolly House) were being attacked, she was, along with another grand old fighter, Mrs. Connery, assailed by a section of the mob. The police on that occasion did not busy themselves to prevent the scandalous scene of an angry mob attacking two women.
In 1936 when the fascist-supported generals of Spain launched war on the Spanish Republic, Mrs. Skeffington immediately revealed on which side she stood. By correspondence to the papers, at public meetings and as President of the Irish Friends of the Spanish Republic, she put the case for Republican Spain and along with Father O'Flanagan and many others she was an untiring worker in the organisation of support for Republican Spain and the International Brigade. Anti-fascists in Ireland and throughout the world will mourn the passing of this truly great woman.
From the beginning she was a keen supporter of our journal and in the October, 1945, number she contributed an article entitled "Women M.Ps. in Britain."
In her, the cause of Irish freedom had no better champion, though every cause that sought to uplift people, no matter where, received her full support. She intensely hated imperialism because she realised that so long as that system holds sway there can never be national and social freedom for the people.

--- Page 74 ---
WHERE THE RIVER
LAGAN FLOWS
A Visitors Impression on a recent visit to BELFAST
AIR-WHERE THE RIVER SHANNON FLOWS
There's a little town in Ireland
No they tell me it is my land?
Where the Belfast mob and Orangemen
The k'nuts and rivets throw
If you stir across your threshold
You'll meet an Ulster "Special"
And you're lucky if you are not shot
Where the River Lagan Flows
CHORUS
I've left it clean and clever
Such sights I've witnessed—Never
The Ulster mob like Bantam cocks
Just for a while may crow
But their antics we're not fearin'
We're pledged to DAIL EIREINN
And we'll tighten up the boycott
Where the River Lagan Flows
They had bombs and guns arriving
An' the Government "conniving"
An' Sir James Craigs "wee" Parliment
It could'nt make a show
To keep peace within its border
Tho' they talk of law an' order
In that town of riot and murder
Where the River Lagan Flows
The Orange guns were whizzing
But the I, R, A got busy
And when they got a move on
Be sure they were'nt slow
An' soon upon the run then
The Ulster "Special" Hun men
Thats what I call the Gun men
Where the River Lagan Flows
Our land they'll think they'll sever
But to this we say never
If forty more Partition Bills
In Eng and they could grow
Too long our time we've bided
To let Erin be devided
To please the Orange bigots
Where the River Lagan Flows

--- Page 75 ---
The Black & Tans'
Lament,
Air: "I'm for Ever Blowing Bubbles."
I am a man, known as a "Tan,"
In Ireland marking time,
One pound a day, is'nt bad pay,
To make things hum and shine,
The Irish here don't like our ways,
But Greenwood gives us lots of praise—for
CHORUS—
We're for ever causing trouble, blinking
trouble everywhere,
Anything to loot, anyone to shoot,
As long as it pays, well, we don't care.
These I. R. A's. are villians, they've often
made us swear,
But oh! they've gave us awful trouble,
blinking trouble everywhere.
When we came here, George made it clear,
A pic-nic 'twas going to be,
Then came a rush. and every ambush,
Got on our nerves you see,
The people have the "wind up,"—perhaps,
But these I. R. A's. are desperate chaps,
CHORUS.

--- Page 76 ---
AN AUXILIARIES'
RECOLLECTIONS
Air.—“ SLIEVE-NA-MON.”
Alone, all alone, I'm only skin and bone
All alone in this big English town,
My lot is very hard, no one has regard
That once I was a member of the Crown.
I fought in Erin's Isle—one of the rank and file,
And helped to enforce England's banns,
But I never will forget the Sinn Feiners I met,
When I was a member of the “ Tans.”
When first I joined the boys, my heart was full of joy,
And I dreamed not of fortune's stern frown,
But judge my great surprise, and I'm not telling lies
When I found myself down in Cork town.
I was not there a day when my hair turned grey,
And my heart with fear did expand.
Oh! how can I forget the Cork “ Shinners ” I met
When I was a member of the “ Tans.”
To Dublin next I came and the Rebels there I blame
For the wreck I was in after life.
My leg and arm were broke—my face was a joke,
In fact I was a stranger to my wife.
Sometimes at dead of night I take an awful fright,
At the Custom House once more I seem to stand,
The awful hours I spent I always will repent,
When I was a member of the “ Tans.”
The truce was signed at last—we knew that all was past
And we packed up prepared for the run.
The shooting was all o'er—we had enough galore
It was worse than in Flanders which was fun.
And now I'm all alone—just only skin and bone
And the contempt of every Irishman,
So my last advice is this if you want true happiness
Never join in the “ Black and Tans.”
Copyright

--- Page 77 ---
The Man from the
“Morning Post.”
Air: “When Irish Eyes are Smiling.”
There's a tear in me eye, and the reason is why,
I was ne'er in this country before,
I came feeling glad but now I am sad,
Since I landed on Erin's shore;
For every Jackeen has cocked his caubeen,
And sedition an' treason they boast,
This cursed Sinn Fein has quite turned their brain,
Sez the man from the “Morning Post.”
CHORUS—
I came to Ireland smiling but now I'd like to cry,
When I talk about the “Hempire” they wink the
other eye,
An' the Bolsheviks as pouring in gold all round the
coast,
Since the day I came here I'm trembling with fear,
Sez the man from the “Morning Post.”
“Tis a terrible tale how they break out of jail,
And kill all before them as well,
When they make their escape, your life is not safe,
But the worst past I've yet to tell:
They've bombs in galore, hid under the floor,
And of rifles and bayonets a host,
All purchased I'm told with Bolshevik gold,
Sez the man from the “Morning Post.”
On truth I was bent, to Mountjoy I went,
And asked all the warders up there,
How the “Shinners” got out? they answered in doubt,
And pointed up in the air.
There's a big aeroplane, controlled by Sinn Fein,
That comes down in the night like a ghost.
And before you can cough, it has hopped them right off,
Sez the man from the “Morning Post.”
I'm now going home, away o'er the foam,
To give my report to the “Sub,”
How the streets run in blood, in a regular flood,
(And you can't get a drink in a pub).
On the first morn in May, they struck work all day,
And swore their employers they'd roast,
Sure I really believe they've got arms up their sleeve,
Sez the man from the “Morning Post.”

--- Page 78 ---
ISSUE OF
$250,000
5% REGISTERED CERTIFICATES
Trustees:
Most Rev. Dr. Fogarty
(Lord Bishop of Killaloe).
Arthur Griffith, T.D.
(For Eamonn De Valera, T.D.).
James O'Mara, T.D.
BONDS CAN BE HAD AT
£1, £5, £10, £20, £50, and £100.
OBJECTS OF THE LOAN.
To propagate the Irish Case all over the World.
To establish an Irish Consular Service.
To promote Irish Trade and Commerce.
To Develop and Encourage
Irish Sea Fisheries.
Re-Afforestation; and
Irish Industrial Effort.
To establish a National Civil Service and National Arbitration Courts.
To establish a Land Mortgage Bank with a view to the Re-occupancy of Untenanted Lands.
And Generally for National Purposes as directed by Dáil Eireann.
Get a Copy of the Prospectus from your Member of the Dáil or his Representative in your Parish.
THE MILITARY FORCES OF ENGLAND HAVE BANNED THE "CORK EXAMINER" FOR PUBLISHING THE PROSPECTUS OF THE DAIL EIREANN LOAN.
ENGLAND DOES NOT WANT THE IRISH PEOPLE TO HEAR OF THE LOAN.
WHY? BECAUSE SHE REALISES THE WEAPON FORGED BY SINN FEIN WILL BREAK IRELAND'S BONDS.
THE ONLY ANSWER WORTHY OF IRISHMEN IS TO DOUBLE THE AMOUNT ASKED FOR.
THEREFORE, THINK OF THE AMOUNT YOU WERE ASKED TO SUBSCRIBE, AND DOUBLE IT.
HAND YOUR SUBSCRIPTION TO YOUR MEMBER OF THE DAIL OR HIS REPRESENTATIVE IN YOUR PARISH.

--- Page 79 ---
Irish Emigrants and English Mobs.
LETTER FROM THE BISHOP OF LIMERICK.
To the Editor of the "Munster News."
SIR—The treatment which the poor Irish emigrant lads have received at Liverpool is enough to make any Irishman's blood boil with anger and indignation. What wrong have they done to deserve insults and outrage at the hands of a brutal English mob? They do not want to be forced into the English Army, and sent to fight English battles in some part of the world. Is not that within their right? They are supposed to be freemen, but they are made to feel that they are prisoners, who may be compelled to lay down their lives for a cause that is not worth "three rows of pins" to them.
It is very probable that these poor Connaught peasants know little or nothing of the meaning of the war. Their blood is not stirred by the memories of Kossovo, and they have no burning desire to die for Servia. They would much prefer to be allowed to till their own potato gardens in peace in Connemara. Small nationalities and the wrongs of Belgium and Rheims Cathedral, and all the other cosmopolitan considerations that rouse the enthusiasm of the Irish Party, but do not get enough of recruits in England, are far too high-flying for uneducated peasants, and it seems a cruel wrong to attack them because they cannot rise to the level of the disinterested Imperialism of Mr. T. P. O'Connor, and the rest of the New Brigade.
But in all the shame and humiliation of this disgraceful episode what angers one most is that there is no one, not even one of their own countrymen, to stand up and defend them. Their crime is that they are not ready to die for England. Why should they? What have they or their forebears ever got from England that they should die for her? Mr. Redmond will say a Home Rule Act on the Statute Book. But any intelligent Irishman will say a simulacrum of Home Rule, with an express notice that it is never to come into operation.
This war may be just or unjust, but any fair-minded man will admit that it is England's war, not Ireland's. When it is over, if England wins, she will hold a dominant power in this world, and her manufactures and her commerce will increase by leaps and bounds. Win or lose, Ireland will go on in her old round of misgovernment, intensified by a grinding poverty which will make life intolerable. Yet the poor fellows who do not see the advantage of dying for such a cause are to be insulted as "shirkers" and "cowards," and the men whom they have raised to power and influence have not word to say on their behalf.
If there is to be conscription, let it be enforced all round, but it seems to be the very intensity of injustice to leave English shirkers by the million go free and coerce the small remnant of the Irish race into a war which they do not understand, and which, whether it is right or wrong, has but a secondary and indirect interest for them. I am, dear sir, your obedient servant,
* EDWARD THOMAS,
10th November, 1915.
Bishop of Limerick.

--- Page 80 ---
EXECUTION "CHEERS"
From the Irish Independent of April 23rd.
Sir—I notice in your issue of yesterday's date that Mr. D. J. Nugent denied that members of the English Parliament stood and cheered at the announcement that Irishmen had been shot for attempting to win for Irishmen what Russians have since won for Russia amid the plaudits of the world. He denied it, very characteristically, not only in the name of the Irish M.P.'s but also in the name of English, Scottish, and Welsh members. Mr. Nugent went on to state that "any person could see in the Hansard reports that there was no such thing." How very remarkable! For it happens that here is history behind even this fact.
Let me take first things first. The London "Daily Telegraph" stated on May 4th that when on the previous day the announcement was made that three Irishmen had been shot "the House cheered, and cheered loudly." Laurence Ginnell has stated that when the English, Scottish, and Welsh members rose like one man (with a few exceptions) and cheered loudly that a certain number of Irish members leapt to their feet and cheered with the best, waving their hats above their heads. Laurence Ginnell's statement is enough for most Irishmen, who know his record of fearless honesty in the teeth of bitter hatred. His statement has been confirmed by other members of the House, and by strangers present not members of the House.
Yet does anyone doubt that members of the Irish Party would do this? Have they so clean a public record? Did they love the men who had been shot? No. Mr. Nugent, who now is so virtuous in denial, taunted the men who had been shot the previous day with being in receipt of "German gold." And this is the man who now denies that any Irish member of the English Parliament could cheer the announcement of Padraic Pearses' execution! But the facts are known, and the names are noted.
Why, then, does "Hansard" contain no mention of so striking an incident? The English papers mentioned it: why does not "Hansard" I will attempt, for my part, to answer this question. if Mr. Nugent will first answer one of mine. For when "Hansard" came out containing a report of the infamous proceedings of the 3rd May, Mr. Ginnell at once handed in a question to the Clerk of the House asking by what authority this deletion was made, with the result that public records were tampered with and remained untrustworthy and incomplete.
He handed in his question, and proceeded on his way. But a messenger overtook him and returned his question, saying that the Speaker had disallowed it as being "out of order." Why did the Speaker disallow that question?
DARRELL FIGGIS.
Fairford, Gloucestershire,
April 20, 1917.

--- Page 81 ---
Songs of the Four Fields of Erin. No. 5.
Griffith & De Valera,
OR "PUT" AND "TAKE" FOR IRELAND.
Air: "The Peeler and the Goat."
Sez De Valera I will "Put"
A resolution striking O,
An' solid I will place my vote,
Tho' not unto your liking O,
The terms we sought I still stand by,
Was not what Lloyd George gave ye O.
But Independence out and out,
Republic for Sinn Feinners O.
Sez Griffith now I'm bound to "Take"
The Irish Free State granted O,
And of the Terms make no mistake.
We're British Troops transplanted O.
The Treaty signed in London town.
Would bring us Peace and Freedom O,
And not in war our sons shot down,
For everyone we need them O.
I "Put" it to the House once more,
Sez De Valera rising O,
I stick to what I said before,
Which is not so surprising O.
The Delegates have been let down,
By Mr. George in London O,
And once let the Republic go,
Then there'll be no refunding O.
This Measure I'd advise you "Take,"
No principle retracting O.
And work the best of it to make.
And wise you will be acting O.
The House, they followed Griffiths words,
And ratified the Treaty O,
By Seven Votes, an Irish State,
And this then closed the meeting O.
Copyright] IRISH SUPPLY CO., DUBLIN. 1922

--- Page 82 ---
ORGANISE ! THAT YOU MAY BE FREE.
A MONSTER
MEETING
To Establish a SINN FEIN CLUB
in the South City Ward will be held at
Purveyors' Assistants Hall,
Exchange Street,
On Thursday, Sept. 20
At 8 p.m.
Amongst the Speakers are
Count Plunkett, M.I.P.
W. T. Cosgrave, M.I.P.
Joseph McGuinness, M.I.P.
Arthur Griffith,
Sean Milroy.
M. Collins, etc.
Gaelic Press. Printers, 30 Upr. Liffey Street, Dublin.

--- Page 83 ---
THE LAMENT FOR EDWARD DUFFY
By JEREMIAH O'DONOVAN ROSSA.
ON the 21st May, 1867, EDWARD DUFFY, one of the Fenian prisoners, was sentenced in Green Street Court-House to fifteen years penal servitude; on the 17th January, 1868, Duffy lay dead in his cell in Millbank Prison, a victim to English misrule in Ireland. O'Donovan Rossa was at this time also a "Convict" in Millbank, and a few weeks after Duffy's death another Irish political prisoner, named Lynch, whispered through the prison grating in passing Rossa's cell, "Duffy is dead!" Whereupon the following pathetic poem was written. It was sent secretly and specially to the Nation, and it appeared in the issue of that journal for the 1st January, 1870. Writing editorially, at the time the Nation said—"Considered in any light, it is a composition of great pathos, force and beauty, and regarded as the brainwork of a man enduring daily the hardships and indignities of English prison life, it appeared to us to be a remarkable literary effort.
The world is growing darker to me—darker day by day;
The stars that shone upon life's path are vanishing away,
Some setting and some shifting—only one that changes never,
'Tis the guiding star, the beacon-light, that blazes bright as ever.
Liberty sits mountain high, and slavery has birth
In the hovels, in the marshes, in the lowest dens of earth,
The tyrants of the world pit-fall dig the path between,
And overshadow it with scaffolds, prison blocks and guillotine.
The gloomy way is brightened when we walk with those we love,
The heavy load is lightened when we bear and they approve,
The path of life grows darker to me as I journey on,
For the loving hearts that travelled it are falling one by one.
The news of death is saddening even in the festive hall;
But when 'tis heard through prison bars 'tis saddest then of all.
Where there's none to share the sorrow in the lonely prison cell—
In the prison within prison—a blacker hell than hell;
That whisper through the grating has thrilled through all my
veins—
"Duffy is dead!" a noble soul hath slipped the tyrants chains,
And whatever wounds they gave him, their lying books will show
How they very kindly treated him, more like a friend than foe.
For these are Christian Pharisees, the hypocrites of Creeds
With the Bible on their lips and the Devil in their deeds;
Too merciful in public gaze to take our lives away,
Too anxious here to plant in us the seed of life's decay.
Those Christians stand between us and the God above our head,
The sun and moon they prison, and withold the daily bread;
Entomb, enchain and starve us, that the mind they may control,
And quench the fire that burns in the ever-living soul.
To lay your head upon the block for faith in freedom's God,
To fall in fight for freedom in the land your fathers trod;
For freedom on the scaffold high to draw your latest breath
Or anywhere 'gainst tyranny 'tis well to die the death.
Still, sad and lone was yours, Ned, 'mid the jailers of your race,
With none to press the cold white hand, with none to smooth the
face.
With none to take the dying wish to homeland, friend or brother,
To kindred mind, to promised bride, or to the sorrowing mother.
I tried to get to speak to you before you passed away,
As you were dying near to me and far from Castlerea;
But the Bible-mongers spurned me off when at their office door
I asked last month to see you, now I'll never see you more.
If spirits once released from earth could visit earth again
You'd come and see me here, Ned, but for those we look in vain,
In the dead-house you are lying and I'd "wake" you if I could;
But they'll "wake" you in Loughlin, Ned, in that cottage by the
wood.
For the mother's instinct tells her that the dearest one is dead;
That the gifted mind, the noble soul, from earth to heaven
hath fled.
As the girls rush towards the doors and look towards the trees
To catch the sorrow-laden wail that's borne on the breeze.
Thus the path of life grows darker to me—darker day by day;
The stars that flashed their light on it are vanishing away,
Some setting and some shifting, but that one which changes
never—
The beacon light of liberty that blazes bright as ever.

--- Page 84 ---
DÁIL ÉIREANN.
TRADE DEPARTMENT.
April 14th, 1921.
Importation and Sale of British Goods.
Prohibition Order No. 2.
In accordance with the powers conferred on the Ministry by Dáil Eireann at its Session in March, 1921, it is hereby ordered that on and after May 14th, 1921, the importation and sale of BRITISH makes of the following articles is prohibited :—
BISCUITS.
BOOT POLISHES.
SOAP.
Every loyal citizen of the Republic is expected to give active support to the Government in making this Order absolute.
Signed, EARNAN DE BLAGHD,
Minister of Trade.
We are at war with England. By purchasing from her we provide her with the means to continue her campaign of aggression against us. It is the duty of all citizens to avoid buying British manufactured goods as far as possible. Certain articles have been prohibited in accordance with the decree of Dáil Eireann, and any purchase of such articles is an act of treachery.
Civilians must help the active forces by striking an economic blow at England.

--- Page 85 ---
Mr. Larkin's arrest after speaking from the balcony of the Imperial Hotel, O'Connell street, Dublin, during the 1913 labour troubles. He was wearing a frock coat belonging to the late Count Markiewicz. Picture by courtesy of "The Kerryman."
"JIM" LARKIN DIES
Sean O'Casey Tribute
MR. JAMES LARKIN, internationally-known Irish labour leader, died in a Dublin hospital, after a short illness, yesterday morning. He was aged 72. Revolutionary, journalist, orator, "Big Jim" will be remembered chiefly for his work among the unorganised dock labourers of Belfast and Dublin early in this century.
"A man of seething energy . . . of remarkable oratorical talent . . . a talented leader . . . he performed miracles among the unskilled workers"—this was how he was described publicly by Lenin.
Sean O'Casey, last night, paid the following tribute to Mr. Larkin:—
"It is hard to believe that this great man is dead; that this 'lion' of the Irish Labour movement will roar no more. When it seemed that every man's hand was against him the time he led workers through the tremendous days of 1913 he wrested tribute of Ireland's greatest and most prominent men. Yeats, George Russell, Orpen and George Bernard Shaw proclaimed him to be the greatest Irishman since Parnell. And so he was; for all thoughts and all activities surged in the soul of this Labour leader. He was far and away above the orthodox Labour leader, for he combined within himself the imagination of the artist, with the fire and determination of a leader of a down-trodden class.
"He was the first man in Ireland—and, perhaps, in England, too—who brought poetry into the workers' fight for a better life. Lectures and concerts, and other activities, he brought into Liberty Hall, and the social centre he organised in Croydon Park coloured the life of the Dublin workers, and was a joyous experience they had never known before, and won for Jim the admiration of many who had but scanty interest in the labour movement.
FORESEER
"Before all others, Jim Larkin brought into the Dublin labour strife an interest in the hearts of humanity never associated before with the life of those who had to work hard and long for a living; and to-day this interest has grown to tremendous proportions, and the workers are swarming to enjoy and to understand the finer things of life.
"So Jim Larkin, as well as being a great leader of men and an imaginative artist himself, was a foreseer of things to come. He was the man who first introduced to me the great name of Eugene O'Neill just after that playwright had had his 'Hairy Ape' produced in New York. He fought for the loaf of bread as no man before him had ever fought; but, with the loaf of bread, he also brought the flask of wine and the book of verse.
"He had the eloquence of an Elizabethan, fascinating to all who heard him, and irresistible to the workers. He was familiar with the poetry of Shakespeare, Whitman, Shelley and Omar Khayyam, and often quoted them in his speeches. In all his imaginative speeches
there ran the fiery thread of devastating criticism not only of the employers, but of the workers themselves.
"Jim Larkin never hesitated to expose and condemn the faults of his followers. No man ever did more since the days of Father Mathew to persuade the workers to live a more sober and sensible life than this Jim.
"Many were jealous of his great fight and of his influence on the working class, and many still are, but the life of this man, so great, so unselfish, so apostolic, will live for ever in the hearts and minds of those who knew him, and in the minds of those who will hear of the mission to men, and of all he did to bring security and decency and honour to a class that never knew of these things until Jim Larkin came.
"There was a man sent from God whose name was Jim, and that man was Larkin. Jim Larkin is not dead, but is with us all, and will be with us always."
Mr. George Bernard Shaw said that he had no remarks to make about Larkin. He said, however:—
"He had a very distinguished career, and a monument should be erected to his memory."
VOTES OF SYMPATHY
Votes of sympathy with relatives of Mr. Larkin were passed yesterday by the Dublin Port and Docks Board, the Housing Sub-Committee of the Dublin Corporation, the Fianna Fail group of the Dublin Corporation, and by a conference of the Irish T.U.C. and the Congress of the Irish Unions.
The body of Councillor Larkin will be taken from the Meath Hospital at 7.0 p.m. to-day to the Thomas Ashe Hall, 5A College street, the headquarters of the Workers' Union of Ireland. There it will lie in state until 3.0 p.m. on Sunday, when it will be taken to St. Mary's Church, Haddington road.
The funeral will take place after 10 o'clock Mass on Monday morning to Glasnevin Cemetery.
The public will be admitted to Thomas Ashe Hall between 9 o'clock and 11 o'clock to-night; from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. to-morrow, and from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Sunday.
Members of the Union will escort the body from the Meath Hospital to College street to-day, and from College street to Haddington road on Sunday.
(See also Page 4)

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CAPTAIN ROBERT
MONTEITH 28
3
7
(IRISH PRESS Correspondent)
NEW YORK, Friday.
Captain Robert Monteith, who accompanied Sir Roger Casement from Berlin to Ireland in 1916, is returning to Dublin. He and Mrs. Monteith expect to sail early in April for Cobh. The Captain, after defeating Dublin Castle's wily men, came to New York and resided here for several years. He moved to Detroit and was employed by Henry Ford till recently. All the time, Captain Monteith was active in Irish cultural and political affairs and worked energetically to sustain the finest Irish-American traditions.
The Monteiths are busy these days in New York greeting friends and meeting new ones, as well as arranging for their transportation home. They say they are not on a run-around visit, but to settle down permanently in retirement amid old scenes with the friends of their youth.

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SALVAGED FROM THE AUD
The strange story of two ensigns, salvaged from the Aud, after she was sunk off the south coast, is told below. Here is one: Nine feet by six, bearing the German Eagle in the centre and, in the left-hand corner, the Military Cross. The other ensign is identical.
V.L. 47 9.P.
1916 MEMENTOES
HELD IN BRITAIN
Private War Museum Collection
Rush Hist
(From Our Correspondent)
LONDON, Sunday.
POIGNANT documents of Easter Week are stored at this side of the Channel. They are known as the King George V Collection, having been received by him from various sources.
They include:
The official surrender signed by P. H. Pearse, James Connolly and Thomas MacDonagh, three of the signatories of the Declaration of the Republic;
The actual Tricolour Flag hoisted by the Volunteers on the G.P.O. on Easter Monday;
A Fianna bannerette belonging to the Countess Markievicz;
The colours of the City of Limerick Sinn Fein Volunteers;
The German Ensign and two rifles from the "Aud";
Copies of the last issues of "The Gael," which was owned by Eamon O Duibhir of Goolds Cross, and of the last issues of "The Eyeopener" and "The Irish War News";
Volunteers' equipment, leaflets and the printed rules and regulations of the Cumann na mBan, together with pikes and various small articles.
I saw some of these relics privately at the Imperial War Museum in Lambeth shortly before World War II. A few weeks later they were removed to the country.
At no time have they been exhibited to the public at the Museum, now re-opened after seven years.
"We have no intention of making use of them," Mr. Bradley, the director of the Museum, told me to-day. "They have not been brought back to Lambeth, and they are not actually the property of the Museum."
FLAG BULLET-RIDDEN
The Tricolour Flag is 6 feet by 4 feet and is bullet-ridden in a number of places. The words "Irish Republic" appear on both sides in Celtic design and in lettering half-gold and half-white.
The flag was hoisted on the roof of the G.P.O. on Easter Monday and was hauled down
when the Volunteers were forced to surrender on the sixth day.
The beautifully-inscribed Fianna bannerette is 3 feet by 2 feet. It was taken by a search party from the house of the Countess.
The large centre depicts a silver pike-head on a large sun-burst, which is done in cloth-of-gold embroidery. The inscription at the head is: "Na Fianna Eireann," and at the foot:—
"Cuimhnigidh ar Luimneach agus ar feall na Sasanach," which was the Irish battle-cry at Fontenoy.
The massive flag of the City of Limerick Volunteers, 7 feet by 5 1/2 feet was taken from the house of one of the leaders of the movement. It is in green, white and gold and the colours now are rather faded.
There are two cap badges of the City of Limerick Regiment of the Irish Volunteers. Bright gold in colour, they embody the famous Treaty Stone, surmounted by two pikes and the slogan "Cuimhnigidh ar Luimnigh" (Remember Limerick).
THE AUD ENSIGN
The Aud ensign came from the German armed merchant cruiser (1,063 tons) of this name. The ship was originally the English Wilson liner "Castro" but had been detained in a German port on the outbreak of World War I, and was cleverly disguised as the Norwegian tramp steamer, the Aud, and sent on April 12, 1916, with arms for the Irish volunteers. She arrived in Tralee Bay on April 20, as did the submarine, U.19, on board which was Sir Roger Casement.
The full story of the "Aud" has been well told by the Captain, Karl Spindler, in his book, "The Mystery of the Casement Ship."
The Volunteers were quite unprepared for the Aud's arrival on Holy Thursday. The ship was following the original plan to have the arms landed in Tralee Bay between Holy Thursday and Easter Sunday.
The leaders in Ireland changed the plans and a code
message was sent to Germany via America, that on no account were the arms to be landed before the night of Easter Sunday, April 23rd. This information never reached the Aud, as she had already set out and carried no wireless.
Captain Spindler tarried for twenty-four hours off the Kerry coast and then moved southwards, and next day ran into the British patrol of flower-class sloops. She was ordered to proceed to Cobh under escort of the Bluebell, and held on during the night, but next morning she stopped suddenly, hoisted this ensign and another at main truck and ensign staff and lowered her boats.
Then followed an explosion, and the Aud sank. Lieut. Spindler and his crew were taken prisoners.
GIVEN BACK TO GERMANS
A diver later located the wreck and brought up specimens of her munitions and Russian rifles, together with two German ensigns, one of which decorated the Bluebell's wardroom until the end of the war. Later the late Admiral, Sir Lewis Bayly, Commander-in-Chief, Western Approaches, 1915-19, with headquarters at Cobh, had this flag framed and hung up in his house. The second was sent to the late King George V.
Admiral Bayly kept his until November, 1936, when he wrote Herr von Ribbentrop, German Ambassador in London, saying that he would like to return it to the German Navy without publicity, if the gesture would be appreciated.
The offer was accepted and at a lunch at the Admiral's London home the ensign was handed over to Rear-Admiral Wassner, the German Naval Attaché with the following note from Admiral Bayly: "I wish to return this naval ensign taken from the s.s. Aud as a token of friendship and respect to the German Navy."
A few days later Admiral Bayly received a letter of warm thanks from Admiral Raeder, who was destined to lead the sea war against Britain three years later in World War II.
"I see in this," wrote Admiral Raeder, "a renewed proof of the friendly relations which blind our two navies together in mutual respect."
Such is the strange story of the two ensigns of the Aud.

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Go the Memory of the Late Archbishop Murray. & Requiest in part
HE Most Rev. Daniel Murray is dead! This announcement falls upon the ear with a solemnity which shows that a great and good, no sensible and impartial man will deny. He who archbishop was both great and good, no sensible and impartial man will deny. He who would eavil at some particular public acts, should take into account the whole of his graces long career, the difficulties he had to surmount, the extreme variety of questions and persons he had to deal with, the undoubted solidity, consistency, and purity of his life, but, above all, the fruits of morality, education, and religion so abundantly and so manifestly produced by his administration. If all those be fairly considered, a right-minded man can only come to the one conclusion, that Doctor Murray was a wise, a learned, a great and a holy bishop.
He was a man pre-eminently fond of peace and quietness. He shrunk instinctively not only from all civil and religious commotion, but from everything that could innediately tend to produce it. He wished the government to be induced to make concessions to the subject more from a sense of justice than from fear; with good will, and not by constraint; while, on the other hand, he wished the subject to show by his good conduct how deserving he was of justice and kindness, and how manifestly he had suffered from injustice and wrong. These sentiments proceeded from his mild and gentle nature, from his unaffected piety and goodness of heart, and from the horror he ever felt at the recollection of the terrific scenes he had witnessed during the first years of his priesthood. He had heard an officer tell his men to shoot the Popish priest as he was going through the streets of Arklow to attend a sick case, and he escaped instant death only by turning short through a shop, and passing from the chapel door, and he was called him. He had heard the rattle of artillery drawn up, on a false and wicked rumour, before his chapel door, and he was left alone in his vestments on the altar by his congregation, who in mortal terror forced their way through the mud walls of the humble temple, which was shortly afterwards burned to the ground. His mild and unassuming parish priest was shot in his bed at the age of 78 years, and he himself had to fly for his life through the greatest risks into Publin. No wonder he should have felt an extreme anxiety to escape witnessing a repetition of such scenes. If, then, he did not take part in the noisy politics of the day, it was not from the want of courage or of patriotism, for no man loved his country more truly than he did, none rejoiced more sincerely in the honour, prosperity, and happiness of his countrymen, and no man felt more acutely for the want, the woe, and the sufferings that befel them. He took a different view of his duty to his country from other men, and he thought he could best
He viewed education not only in its abstract principles, but also with reference to the prejudices he had to contend with, and the evils of which he had to make choice. Can any man adduce any but good results from the national system over which he had presided for so many years? It was in the same spirit he favored the Queen's Colleges, and in the hope of being able to mould them into solid & permanent usefulness to the young men of Ireland. The whole tenor of his life went to show that he would sooner lay his head on the block than willingly sanction anything really nuxious to Catholic faith or morals.—The moment the chair of St. Peter's pronounced in Catholic annistakable tones, the good archbishop at once abandoned his own views, a large portion of the Irish prelates adopted his views, & I believe at the present moment retain his opinions. Another proof of his wisdom & of the good effects of whatever he took in hands, is found in the working of the bequests' act, which at first was met with great clamour, but it is now found to be the principal defence of Catholic charities against the provisions of the infinite anti-titles act.
Let the state of his diocess on the day of his death, be compared with its condition at the time when he was charged with its government; & let its multiplied educational & religious institutions speak trumpet-tongued for the wisdom, the piety and the zeal of the incomparable prelate. The archdiocess of Publin has great reason to deplore her widow hood, & its elegancy have just cause to bewail the death of one who watched over their fame, their happiness & their safety, with more than a parent's care. He was a man of a generous & amble nature, raised for above everything low, vindictive & mean. No matter what was said or done against him, he never allowed any angry or revengful feeling to obscure his clear intellect or to warp his sound judgment, but pronounced on the matter in dispute solely on its merits, & delighted to do justice & show kindness to his opponents. The writer of these lines differed with him widely & frequently both in word & in act, & not withstanding received early promotion & repeated proofs of kindness at his hands. A perfect gentleman, he was fitted to take his place in the palaces of kings as a true prince of the Catholic church, & competent to meet the courtier on his own ground, not with the tinsel or frippery of mere worldly manners, but with the golden grace & solid dignity of true politeness, based upon an exquisite taste, a highly cultivated intellect, unbounded benevolence, of ambition, piety, & pure religion. No man could say that he will admit in those high places for his thought it right & proper for the metropolitan of the great mass of the people to be on friendly terms with the executive, to be in a position to act as their mediator, & to mitigate the severity of hursh lows in their regard. However the expediency of the course may be questioned, no one can doubt the purity of the motives of the benevolent & good archbishop.
All will admit that he went there because he thought it right & proper for the metropolitan of the great mass of the people to be on friendly terms with the executive, to be in a position to act as their mediator, & to mitigate the severity of hursh lows in their regard. However the expediency of the course may be questioned, no one can doubt the purity of the motives of the
Taken all in all where is his equal to be found? What man is competent to wear his mouth, & to fill the void caused by his death? Quis est ille et taudabinus erun? Perity will affirm the judgment that a finer or porrer character did not exist in his day.
SACERDOS.

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LIFE SERVICE TO IRISH NATION
Death In Dublin Of Count Plunkett
1313/48
THE death occurred yesterday at his residence, 42 Upper Mount St., Dublin, of George Noble Count Plunkett. Aged 96, he played a distinguished part in the struggle for independence, and was father of Joseph Mary Plunkett, one of the signatories of the Easter Week Proclamation.
Count Plunkett was born in Dublin on December 3, 1851, and, while but a child, was brought by his mother to France. He received part of his early education in Nice, and, returning to Dublin in 1862, he went to the Oblate School in Upr.
The late Count Plunkett
Mount Street, where he won prizes for Irish history. In 1867 he entered Clongowes Wood College, where he displayed remarkable gifts in literature and modern languages. He left Clongowes two years later, and travelled extensively on the Continent.
Returning to Ireland, he studied law and was called to the Bar. He then entered Trinity College, where he became closely associated with the various College Societies and contributed papers on literature, art, and Irish industrial and social questions.
PAPAL HONOURS
In 1884 he received the Papal title of Count from Pope Leo XIII. He was a Commander of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre, a Papal Chamberlain, and had received the Cross of St. John of Lateran, and the Grand Cross and Star of SS. Cyril and Methodius. He was founder of the Academy of Christian Art, of which he was President for many years.
As a member of the family of the Martyr, Count Plunkett attended the Beatification ceremonies of Blessed Oliver Plunkett in Rome.
In 1903 he was secretary to the International Exhibition at Cork. In 1907 he was appointed Director of the National Museum of Science and Art, and due to his enthusiasm the number of students visiting the Museum rose from 100 to 3,000.
His work on Botticelli and other studies of Italian art won for him the honorary membership of the Academy of St. Luke in Rome, of the Fine Arts in Florence, and the Virtuosi al Pantheon. He was a member of the Danish Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries and other Irish and foreign academic groups. He was a former member of the Dublin and Irish Association District. Institute
When Pope Blessed Irish Volunteers
AT the request of the Executive of the Irish Volunteers, Count Plunkett went to Rome in March, 1916, to inform Pope Benedict XV of the proposed Rising and the moral justification for it. He returned with the Pope's personal blessing, traditionally given to all those fighting for what they believed to be a just cause.
of Journalists, and for many years was chairman of the Irish branch of the Press Fund.
He was an enthusiastic traveller, and visited most of the United States. In 1884 he married Miss Josephine Cranny, and had three sons and two daughters.
NATIONAL ACTIVITIES.
During the Parnell Split Count Plunkett stood fast to the "Chief," whom he had met in the early days when Isaac Butt founded the Home Rule movement. He was founder and president for many years of the Society for the Preservation of the Irish Language.
After the 1916 Rising Count and Countess Plunkett were arrested and imprisoned as "suspects." The Count was retired from his post as Director of the National Museum by the British Government and deported to England.
Allowed home to contest the Roscommon by-election in 1917, he won the seat for Sinn Fein and refused to sit in Westminster. Subsequently he called the Mansion House conference, at which agreement was reached on the new Sinn Fein policy, which was later endorsed by the released prisoners as the platform for the 1918 Election.
He was again arrested in 1918 and spent many months in an English prison. Released at the end of 1918, warrants were again issued for his arrest in 1919 and later. He was Minister for Foreign Affairs in the First Dail in 1919 and was Minister for Fine Arts in the Second Dail in 1921.
Temporary leader of the Sinn Fein movement from the time of his election in Roscommon, Count Plunkett remained in command until the general amnesty, when he was succeeded by Mr. de Valera. He continued as a Dail representative for Roscommon until 1927, and was selected by Sinn Fein to contest the Co Galway by-election in 1936.
SONS IN RISING
His three sons fought in the 1916 Rising. Joseph Mary was executed, and George and John were sentenced to ten years' penal servitude, the death sentence on George having been commuted. George was fatally injured in a driving accident near Dundalk in 1944.
Countess Plunkett died in 1944. Surviving relatives are: Mr. Jack Plunkett (son); Mrs. Geraldine Dillon (daughter); wife of Prof. Thomas Dillon, of Galway; Fiona Plunkett (daughter). There are eleven grandchildren and seven great grandchildren.

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Edinburgh United Liberal Committee.
PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION
IN HONOUR OF
CHARLES STEWART PARNELL, Esq., M.P.,
On the Occasion of his Visit to receive
the Freedom of the City,
— — — WILL BE HELD IN THE — — — — —
CORN EXCHANGE, EDINBURGH,
On SATURDAY, 20th JULY, at 5 p.m.
— — — — —
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF ABERDEEN WILL PRESIDE.
— — — — —
ADMISSION, 2s. 6d.
J. Y. G.

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"MOST COURAGEOUS MAN
I EVER KNEW " Junk Has "
I MET Desmond FitzGerald on my first morning in Dingle about the beginning of April, 1913. I had gone to Corsa Dhuibhne to learn some Irish and was trying to find a farmer who would give me work as a labourer.
The FitzGeralds had settled in Ballintaggart House, a mile from Dingle, a couple of days before, and when Desmond heard of my arrival he came to look me up. For the next sixteen months I spent the greater part of every Sunday with the FitzGeralds, first at Ballintaggart, and afterwards at Ventry when they moved to the old coast-guard station there.
At that time Desmond had, of course, no thought of active participation in politics, though he had been in the London Gaelic League and had come to the Kerry Gaeltacht to perfect his Irish and though he was an ardent admirer of Arthur Griffith.
His mind was set on a literary career, and he did enough then and afterwards to indicate the distinction which he might have attained as a writer if the national movement had not carried him off in another direction.
Fought in Easter Week
On the formation of the Irish Volunteers, Desmond immediately became active in the split occurred after the start of the first world war, he stood resolutely and prominently for the Sinn Fein viewpoint, with the result that after a time he was ordered out of Kerry under the Defence of the Realm Act and forbidden to live in Dublin.
He came to Bray, just over the Dublin border, a began organising Volunteers throughout Co. Wicklow.
One of his speeches, delivered in the course of this work, led to a sentence of six months' imprisonment. His incarceration ended in time to let him go into the Post Office in Easter Week.
From 1914 till 1919 I did not see much of Desmond; we were once or twice in prison simultaneously, but not in the same jail.
With his appointment in charge of the Department of Publicity in the Dail Government, his fruitful ministrial career began. I always thought that in circumstances such as ours he was the ideal man to be in charge of national propaganda.
He resolutely resisted all the costly schemes that were cropped and, at times, very influentially backed, for elaborate
Mr. Desmond FitzGerald, Minister for Defence and Minister for External Affairs in Mr. Cosgrave's Government, died in Dublin last Wednesday. In this article, Mr. Ernest Blythe, Minister for Finance in the same Government, pays tribute to his former Cabinet colleague.
MR. DESMOND FITZGERALD
and costly propaganda campaigns abroad. His view was that if we once began to buy space and writers, we should find that the host of genuine sympathisers and voluntary supporters who could opinion effectually influence public to be alienated and to cool off.
Desmond also resisted the pressure to which he was constantly subjected from most quarters in favour of painting outrages by British forces in the facts and that was justified by a blacker and also the pressure in favour of accepting without investigation every report of an outrage. The result of his attitude and of the personal inpression which he made, was that independent foreign Pressmen, who admired and trusted him, did ten times as much to make Ireland's case known throughout the world as would have been done if he advocated of heavy expenditure had had their way, or if a less transparently honest man had been in charge of propaganda. Moreover, his resistance to those who thought against the Black-and-Tans ought to be believed, resulted in the "Bulletin" of the Dail Department of Publicity having a reputation for reliability which few sheets of its kind can ever have enjoyed.
Desmond FitzGerald was both physically and morally the most courageous man I have ever known, and I have been interested during the last two or three days to hear people who were far from seeing the same tribute.
It is not really common to find a man who has the two kinds of courage in equal measure. But Desmond could face obloquy, slander and ridicule with the same debonair air as he would face danger to life or limb.
If he thought a cause was right, nothing could deter him from fighting for it; and if it was a highly unpopular cause he only fought for it with added zest.
In his public actions he was entirely unselfish.
Had Amazing Memory
Although Desmond FitzGerald had not the grimness which sometimes showed itself in Kevin O'Higgins, nor the concentration on immediate issues, the two men were in a number of ways very much alike, and greatly respected one another while often making fun of each other.
They were alike in their fearlessness and devotion to the public interest, and both had absolutely phenomenal memories, particularly, I think, Desmond, who was able to throw his mind back to an important conversation that took place many years previously, and not only recall its general import but actually participant.
It is to be hoped that in recent years he put on paper at least a part of his invaluable store of knowledge of the crucial events of recent Irish history. His death has taken from our midst not merely a man beloved by those who knew him well but a man whose courage, patriotism and integrity enriched our public life.
EARNAN DE BLAGHD.

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