Orders and gun enforcement.  The empire did not deviate from the usual program of empires—­action without discussion.  In the crises that are always occurring between organized revolt and the empire, there is never any consideration of the physical agony that goads the people to revolt.  There wasn’t now.  By early afternoon, the answer, on great, black-lettered posters, was swabbed to the sides of buildings all over town: 

“De Valera reception forbidden!”

That was the headline, and after instructions warning the people not to take part in the ceremony, the government order ended: 

“God save the king!”

How would the revolutionaries reply?  Rumors ran riot.  The Sinn Fein volunteers would pit themselves against His Majesty’s troops.  The streets would be red again.  The belief that the meeting would be held in spite of the proclamation was supported by a statement on green-lettered posters that appeared later next the British dictum: 

“Lord mayor requests good order at reception!”

This plea was followed by a paragraph asking that the people attending the reception would not allow themselves to be provoked into disorder by the British military.  Then there was the concluding exclamation: 

“God save Ireland!”

On my way to the Sinn Fein headquarters in Harcourt street, I passed the Mansion House of the Lord Mayor and found two long-coated Dublin Military Police stripping the new wet poster from the yellow walls.  When I arrived at Number 6, Harcourt street, I saw black-clad Mrs. Sheehy-Sheffington, in somewhat agitated absorption of thought, coming down the worn steps of the old Georgian house.  In the upper back room, earnest young secretaries worked in swift silence.  One of them, a curly-haired girl with her mouth o-ed about a cigarette, puffed unceasingly.  At last Harry Boland, secretary of Sinn Fein, entered.

“The council decides tonight,” he admitted.  His eyes were bright and faraway like one whose mind is on a coming crisis.  When I told him I would drop in again to hear the decision, he protested that they would be at it till late.  On my counter protest that time made no difference to me, he promised that if I would not come he would send me word at eleven that night.  “But I think,” he added, “we won’t know till morning.”

At ten that night, Boots knocked at my door.  I concluded that there had been a stampeded decision.  But on going out I discovered the Associated Press correspondent there.  He told me that he heard that I was to receive the news and that he did not believe that there was any necessity of bothering the Sinn Feiners twice for the same decision.

“I think the reception is quite likely,” he volunteered.  “This afternoon a good many of the Sinn Fein army were at University chapel at confession.  At the girls’ hostels of National University—­which is regarded as a sort of adolescent Sinn Fein headquarters—­there have been strict orders that the girls are to remain indoors tomorrow night.”