On this day only one of my men came in.  He said that he had gone on the roof and had been shot at, consequently that the Volunteers held some of the covering houses.  I went to the roof and remained there for half an hour.  There were no shots, but the firing from the direction of Sackville Street was continuous and at times exceedingly heavy.

To-day the Irish Times was published.  It contained a new military proclamation, and a statement that the country was peaceful, and told that in Sackville Street some houses were burned to the ground.

On the outside railings a bill proclaiming Martial Law was posted.

Into the newspaper statement that peace reigned in the country one was inclined to read more of disquietude than of truth, and one said is the country so extraordinarily peaceful that it can be dismissed in three lines.  There is too much peace or too much reticence, but it will be some time before we hear from outside of Dublin.

Meanwhile the sun was shining.  It was a delightful day, and the streets outside and around the areas of fire were animated and even gay.  In the streets of Dublin there were no morose faces to be seen.  Almost everyone was smiling and attentive, and a democratic feeling was abroad, to which our City is very much a stranger; for while in private we are a sociable and talkative people we have no street manners or public ease whatever.  Every person spoke to every other person, and men and women mixed and talked without constraint.

Was the City for or against the Volunteers?  Was it for the Volunteers, and yet against the rising?  It is considered now (writing a day or two afterwards) that Dublin was entirely against the Volunteers, but on the day of which I write no such certainty could be put forward.  There was a singular reticence on the subject.  Men met and talked volubly, but they said nothing that indicated a personal desire or belief.  They asked for and exchanged the latest news, or, rather, rumour, and while expressions were frequent of astonishment at the suddenness and completeness of the occurrence, no expression of opinion for or against was anywhere formulated.

Sometimes a man said, “They will be beaten of course,” and, as he prophesied, the neighbour might surmise if he did so with a sad heart or a merry one, but they knew nothing and asked nothing of his views, and themselves advanced no flag.

This was among the men.

The women were less guarded, or, perhaps, knew they had less to fear.  Most of the female opinion I heard was not alone unfavourable but actively and viciously hostile to the rising.  This was noticeable among the best dressed class of our population; the worst dressed, indeed the female dregs of Dublin life, expressed a like antagonism, and almost in similar language.  The view expressed was—­

“I hope every man of them will be shot.”

And—­

“They ought to be all shot.”