to Ireland—­clash number one.  It is not simply a question of yes or no; there are attendant circumstances.  Around a public man in place circulates a swarm of interested people, needy friends, meddling politicians, “supporters” generally.  The chief magistrate will have influence on the bench which they all wish to invoke now and then, and they all wish to see him there.  They don’t approve of any principle that stands in the way.  They group themselves together as his “supporters,” and claiming to have put him into public life, they act as if they had acquired a lease of his soul.  Not what he knows to be right, but what they believe to be useful, must be done; and before the first day is done the first fight must be made.  However, the old Fenian has enough of the spirit of old times to come safe through the first round.  But the second is close on his heels:  Dublin Castle has been attentive.  The mayor, as chief magistrate, has privileges on which the Castle now silently closes.  There are private and veiled remonstrances by secret officials:  “The mayor is acting illegally; he must not do so-and-so; such is the function of a magistrate; he has not taken the oath,” etc.  All this renewing the fight of the first day, for the Castle, too, wants the mayor on the bench to brand him as its own and alienate him from the old flag.  It puts on the pressure by suppressing his privileges, weakening his influence, and disappointing his “supporters.”  All this is silently done.  Still, the mayor holds fast, but he has not counted on this, and is beginning to be baffled and worried.  Meanwhile a sort of guerilla attack is being maintained:  invitations arrive to garden parties at Windsor, lesser functions nearer home, free passages to all the gay festivals, free admissions everywhere, the route indicated, and a gracious request for the presence of the mayor and mayoress.  Genuine business engagements now save the situation, and the invitations are put by, but our chief citizen is now bewildered.  These social missiles are flying in all directions, always gracious and flattering, never challenging and rude—­who can withstand them?  Still he is bewildered, but not yet caught.  A new assault is made:  the great Health Crusade Battery is called up.  Here we must all unite, God’s English and the wild Irish, the Fenian and the Castleman, the labourer and the lord.  Surely, we are all against the microbes.  There is a great demonstration, their Excellencies attend—­and the mayor presides.  Under the banner of the microbe he is caught.  It is a great occasion, which their Excellencies grace and improve.  His Excellency is affable with the mayor; her Excellency is confidential and gracious with the mayoress—­we might have been schoolchildren in the same townland we are so cordial.  Everything proceeds amid plaudits, and winds up in acclamation.  Their Excellencies depart.  Great is the no-politics era—­you can so quietly spike the guns of many an old politician—­and keep him safe.