Hear, hear! say I, but our grandchildren’s grandchildren when grey old men will still be trying to settle the Irish question, which can never be settled until there arises a big man strong enough to force his will on the Empire and fortunate enough to be able to hand over the reins of political dictatorship to an equally enlightened and powerful successor.

It is hopeless to expect Irish matters to go well, when the balance of parties in the House of Commons is held by hirelings and traitors, men who debase patriotism and would to-day encourage outrage as much as they did in 1884, if it was worth their mercenary while.

I had a word to write myself a year later to Mr. T. Harrington, who thought he could tell as many lies about me as suited his own purpose, and I addressed my reply, published on August 29, 1887, to the Editor of the Times.  It ran as follows:—­

’Sir—­I have just read the speech of Mr. T. Harrington in the debate on Mr. Gladstone’s motive relating to the proclamation of the National League, in which he states that I invented and gave to Mr. Balfour the particulars of the boycotting of Justin M’Carthy.  I beg you will allow me to state that I never wrote to Mr. Balfour, or to any member of the Government, on that or any subject.  Had I supplied the information, I would have mentioned some facts which Mr. Balfour omitted, for instance, that a man named Andrew Griffin was nearly murdered because he brought provisions to Justin M’Carthy, that four men were put on their trial for the outrage, but notwithstanding a plain charge from the judge, the jury, fearing the vengeance of the League, acquitted the prisoners.  I would also mention a fact that would seem almost incredible to your English Catholic readers, that the old man cannot attend his place of worship without being hissed at in the church, and that his aged wife, while partaking of the sacrament of the Holy Communion, was hissed at and jeered.  These things can be proved on oath, and are not to be set aside by frothy declamation.  Neither can the fact be disproved that one of the offences for which Justin M’Carthy has suffered was that he purchased his farm from me under Lord Ashbourne’s Act, a proceeding which (as it is likely to settle down the country) is considered a deadly crime; and for committing the same offence another man in the same barony had his cows stabbed.

Your obedient servant, S.M.  HUSSEY.’

There is yet another case I cannot forbear from handing on to a generation that knows no outrages nearer home than Macedonia.  Six ruffians, having their faces covered with handkerchiefs, and armed with heavy cudgels, entered the house of a farmer named Lambe and began to beat him.  To save his head from the blows, he ran the upper part of his body up the chimney and held on by the cross-bar.  His wife, on coming to his assistance, was beaten so severely that her skull was fractured, while an aged female—­stated to be in her ninety-seventh year—­was not only roughly handled, but also beaten.  A most discreditable episode indeed, in a land formerly renowned for respect for womanhood, and for the warm-hearted generosity of her sons.