safety was not unchallengeable; there could be no pledge to send an expeditionary force outside the kingdom.  Then, with a sudden lift of his voice, he added:  “One thing I would say:  the one bright spot in the very dreadful situation is Ireland.  The position in Ireland—­and this I should like to be clearly understood abroad—­is not a consideration among the things we have to take into account now.”

The history of this passage is strange.  All who heard assumed that the speaker relied on definite promises.  Such a promise had been given, from one party.  The Ulster leader had, with the sure instinct for Ulster’s interest which guided him throughout, conveyed to the Government through Mr. Bonar Law an assurance that they could count on Ulster’s imperial patriotism.  Ulster, so far as pledges went, was the bright spot.  Where Germany had counted on finding trouble for Great Britain, no trouble would be found.  But Sir Edward Grey at that moment of his career was lifted perhaps beyond himself, certainly to the utmost range of his statesmanship.  He was a chief member of the Ministry which had brought to the verge of complete statutory accomplishment the task which the Liberal party inherited from Gladstone.  He knew—­his words have been already quoted—­what Ireland’s gratitude to Gladstone had been even for the unfinished effort; and now, in this crucial hour, he counted upon Ireland.  From Ulster, which had its bitter resentment, assurances were needed:  but if Ulster were contented to fall into line, then all was well with Ireland.  Speaking as one who had done his part by Ireland, with the confidence that counts upon full comradeship he assumed the generosity of Ireland’s response.  That did not fail him, sudden and unforeseen though the challenge came—­for it was an appeal and a challenge to Ireland’s generosity.

When the notable words concerning Ireland were spoken, Redmond turned to the colleague who sat next him, one of his close personal friends, and one of his wisest, most moderate and most courageous counsellors.  He said:  “I’m thinking of saying something.  Do you think I ought to?” Mr. Hayden answered, “That depends on what you are going to say.”  Redmond said:  “I’m going to tell them they can take all their troops out of Ireland and we will defend the country ourselves.”  “In that case,” said Mr. Hayden, “you should certainly speak.”  Redmond leant over to Mr. T.P.  O’Connor, who sat immediately below him, and consulted him also.  Mr. O’Connor was against it.  Though the war had no more enthusiastic supporter, he thought the risk too great.  It was just a week and a day since Redmond had moved an adjournment to consider the occasion when Government forces were turned out to disarm Irish Volunteers, and when troops fired without order on a Dublin crowd.  Ireland was still given over to a fury of resentment, issuing not alone in speeches but in active warlike preparation.  On Sunday, August 1st, memorial masses for the victims