about to be fulfilled.  Nothing can palliate the fearful sin and almost more fearful course of miserable deception; but he might, by taking the one right and honourable course of resigning his leadership—­if only for a time—­at least have given a proof of shame, and have saved England and Ireland from the terrible pain of discussion and disagreement, and from the danger to Home Rule which his retention of the post must cause.  His Parliamentary colleagues have done immense harm by their loud protestations in his favour.  There is much to excuse them, but not him, for this course.  Our poor Davitt is miserable, and is braving a storm of unpopularity by writing strongly against his (Parnell’s) retention of the leadership.  His whole thought is for Ireland, and he knows that his advice is that of a true friend to her—­as well as to the wretched man himself....

    Your ever affectionate,

    MAMA

Mr. Michael Davitt had taken a house in Richmond, and was living there at this time.  Some years earlier Lady Russell had read his “Prison Diary,” and had written the following poem.  She did not know him at that time.

Written after reading Michael Davitt’s “Leaves from a Prison Diary"

  DUNROZEL, September, 1887

  Man’s justice is not Thine, O God, his scales
  Uneven hang, while he with padlocked heart
  Some glittering shred of human tinsel sees
  Outweigh the pure bright gold of noblest souls,
  Who from the mists of earth their eyes uplift
  And seek to read Thy message in the stars.

  Thou hearest, Lord, beneath the felon’s garb
  The lonely throbbing of no felon’s heart,
  The cry of agony—­the prayer of love
  By agony unconquered—­love, heaven-born,
  That fills with holy light the joyless cell,
  As with the daybreak of his prayer fulfilled,
  The glorious dawn of brotherhood for man,
  And freedom to the sorrowing land that bore him,
  For whose dear sake he smiles upon his chains. 
  Thou gatherest, Lord, his bitter nightly tears
  For home, for face beloved and trusted hand,
  For the green earth, the freshly blowing breeze,
  The heaven of Liberty, all, all shut out.

  His vanished dreams, his withered hopes Thou knowest,
  The baffled yearnings of his heart to snatch
  From paths unhallowed childhood’s tottering feet,
  And lay a rosy smile on little lips
  With homeless hunger pale, to curses trained,
  Whereon no kiss hath left a memory sweet.

  His chainless spirit, bruised by prison bars,
  Wounded by touch of fellow-men in whom
  Thy image lost he vainly sought, Thou seest
  Unsullied still, lord of its own domain,
  Soar in its own blue sky of faith and hope.

  Such have there been and such there yet will be,
  From whom the world’s hard eye is turned in scorn,
  But still for each a nation’s tears will fall,
  A nation’s heart will be his earthly haven,
  And when no earthly stay he needeth more,
  Will he not, Father, feel Thy love enfold him,
  And hear Thy voice, “Servant of God, well done.”