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zation as the poetry of the "Celtic Revival."

There was a gospel of "passive resistance," too, which led Irishmen to refuse to pay taxes or take any part in the Anglicizing of Ireland. It was this phase that soon won the disapproval of the party that stood for parliamentary activity, and naturally it aroused dissatisfaction in England.

From Ash Street the countess took me to Glasnevin Cemetery, where men lie buried, who, having lived under conditions such as I had just looked upon, spent their lives in protest against the same. Here was the grave of O'Donovan Rossa and a score of others whom I felt were heroes. Here, also, was the grave of Anne Devlin, that brave woman who refused to betray Robert Emmet to the British officers seeking him after his unsuccessful effort to oppose English rule in 1803. These graves and the ruinous houses of Ash Street show patriotism and poverty working for each other and, despite themselves, against each other.

A few months after my visit, there was fighting all about Glasnevin Cemetery between the Royal Irish Constabulary and those who were to carry on the traditions of the great struggle.

Not far from the home of Countess Markievicz stand the Portobello barracks, while much farther off are the Beggar's Bush barracks. She asked me one day if I thought I could make a plan of the latter from observation that would be of use if at any time it was decided to dynamite them. She gave no explanation, did not even tell me in what part of Dublin the barracks were located nor that two officers of the Irish Volunteers had already tried to make this plan and had failed. But she knew that I had had experience in gaging distances and drawing maps. I had just taken a course in calculus, and it was when telling her of my love for mathematics that she set me this task.

There was a large map of Dublin on the wall of a study in her house. I scrutinized this carefully, for I did not know my way alone about Dublin. Then I started out and found the place without great difficulty. It is in the southwestern outskirts of the city, a large, brick structure filling in the right angle where two streets meet. From this corner I walked very slowly along the front of the barracks, counting my paces, gaging the height of the outer wall, and studying the building itself for anything its secretive exterior might betray. I presently noticed that the loopholes which appeared in the wall at regular intervals stopped short a number of yards from the corner. They had been filled in with bricks of a slightly different color than the rest of the wall. At once I asked myself why this had been done and, to discover the reason, if possible, crossed the street to where I could look over the wall. I was able to see that within the right angle at the corner was a small, circular building. It stood close to both the front and side wall, yet did not touch either. There was room for a sentry to walk around it, and all loopholes near it had been bricked up.

The conclusion I drew from this fact was that here was a powder magazine. It was so placed as not to be too noticeable from the street, easily guarded by a sentry, and conveniently near the loopholes in case defense of the barracks became necessary.

I walked away, and next approached the barracks from another side. Here I found that between the street and the main wall was a low outer wall about my own height. When I reached the spot where I thought the magazine ought to be, I took my handkerchief and let it blow--accidentally, of course--over this outer wall. A passing boy gallantly offered to get it for me. Being a woman and naturally curious, I found it necessary to pull myself up on tiptoe to watch him as he climbed over the wall. The ground between the two walls had not been paved, but was of soft earth. I had seen enough. Thanking the boy, I put my handkerchief carefully into my pocket so as not to trouble any one else by making them climb about on Dublin walls, and went on my way.

Upon my return to Leinster Road, I gave the distances and heights I had taken to Madam, describing the way a hole could be dug, under cover of a dark night, between the two walls close to where the magazine stood. A quantity of explosive could be placed in this hole, a long wire could be attached to a detonator and laid along the outer wall for some distance, and then, without being noticed, some one could touch the end of the wire with the battery from a pocket flashlamp. The explosion that followed, I felt sure, would blow up not only the inner wall, but the wall of the magazine and set off the powder stored therein. Madam asked me to write this all down. Later she showed what I had written to the man who was to be Commander-in-chief of the Republican army in Dublin, James Connolly. He knew Beggar's Bush barracks well enough to see that my map was correct and believed the plan practicable enough to carry out in case conscription should become a fact in Ireland despite all promises to the contrary.

But the test I had been put to was, it seemed, not merely a test of my ability to draw maps and figure distances. From that day I was taken into the confidence of the leaders of the movement for making Ireland a republic.

The situation, I learned from Mr. Connolly, was very hopeful, because for the first time in hundreds of years those who were planning a revolution to free Ireland had organized bodies of Irishmen who not only were well trained in the use of firearms, but so full of the spirit of the undertaking that they were ready at a moment's notice to mobilize. There was the Irish Citizen Army which Mr. Connolly had organized after the Transport Workers' strike to defend working-men from onslaughts by the police. I do not believe any one who has not seen what we call a "baton charge" of the Dublin police can quite comprehend the motives which make for such ruthless methods.

In the first place, whenever the police are called out for strike duty or to be on the lookout for rioting, they are given permission to drink all they wish. At the station-houses are big barrels of porter from which the police are expected to help themselves freely. Then the saloon-keepers--we call them publicans--are not expected to refuse a drink to any policeman who demands it, and are paid or not according to the mood of the protector of the public peace. Add to this that the police do not attack in order to disperse a crowd, but to kill. In a public square where a crowd has gathered to hear a labor speech, the police assemble on four sides and, upon a given signal, rush to the center, pushing even innocent passers-by into the midst of the crowd that, on the instant, has become a mob. Then the police use their batons like shillalahs, swinging them around and around before bringing them down upon the heads of the people.

Fearing one of these baton attacks in 1913, Madam, having come down to the square in her car, had just stepped out upon the sidewalk when she was struck full in the face by a policeman's club! On that same day, too, the police rushed into the adjoining streets and clubbed every person they met, even people several blocks from the square who, at the moment, were coming out of church from vesper service.

Mr. Connolly found that in any strike in Ireland the interests of England and of the employer were the same; that his strikers had to meet the two members of the opposition without any defense. Therefore he had organized the men who were fighting for better hours and wages into a "Citizen Army." It is against the law for any one to bear arms in Ireland, but in this case the authorities could do nothing because they had not disarmed the men of Ulster when the latter armed and drilled to defend themselves against Home Rule, should it become a fact. The Ulster-men were openly planning insurrection under Sir Edward Carson--insurrection against a law, a political measure desired by the majority! It was an anarchistic outbreak that Carson had in mind. Mr. Connolly, on the other hand, was organizing simply for defense against police power that had grown unbridled in its activities. No one interfered with him.

As always, this organization was under surveillance, and reports about it were sent to the authorities. But there appeared to be no more than three hundred members, a small body not dangerous to the police if it should come into conflict with them. It was not known that there were several times three hundred members, but that only this number was allowed to drill or march at any one time. This drilling baffled the police. Many a night the three hundred would be mobilized and quietly march through Dublin out into the country, the police trailing wearily and nervously after them, expecting some excitement along the line of march. Nothing ever happened. Back to town in the wee, small hours the police would come, only to see the men disperse as quietly as they had assembled and go home to bed. After this had happened many times, it no longer attracted official attention. Only perfunctory reports were made of any mobilization of the Citizen Army, and thus it came about that on Easter Sunday the mobilization was taken for nothing more than the usual drill and not reported.

The second organization, the Irish Volunteers, was brought into being by those in favor of Home Rule, and was a makeweight against the Ulster-men. Since the Irish Volunteers were organized to protect law, to uphold Home Rule should it become a fact as promised, nothing could be done by the authorities when the volunteers began to arm themselves. Besides, nothing had been done to prevent the Ulster-men from arming themselves. The conservative press in England actually supported the Ulster-men, and English army officers resigned rather than disarm them. What, then, could they be expected to do to a body of men who stood for law and order instead of opposing it as in Ulster? This situation made possible a strategic position for the leaders of the Republican movement.

Had not the authorities realized that now they would meet with armed resistance if they broke their promise about conscription, we should have had to send our brothers to France and Flanders early in the war. But the Citizen Army and the Irish Volunteers had no intention of allowing men to be carried off to fight England's battles when, for the first time in many years, there was a chance of winning freedom for Ireland. To keep this constantly in the public mind, Mr. Connolly had a large sign hung over the main entrance to Liberty Hall, his headquarters:

WE SERVE NEITHER KING NOR KAISER, BUT IRELAND

The need of explosives was great, and I took part in a number of expeditions to obtain them. One night we raided a ship lying in the river. The sailors were drunk, and three or four of our men had no trouble in getting into the hold. I was standing guard on the other side of the embankment wall, holding one end of a string that served as a telegraph between our outposts in the street and our men in the boat. One jerk from me meant, "Some one coming"; two jerks, "Police"; three jerks, "Clear out as best you can."

Suddenly I heard the outpost up the street whistling a patriotic tune. This was a signal to me. It meant the police were coming. I gave two jerks of the string and waited.

A policeman came slowly toward me. He had his dark-lantern and, catching sight of me, flashed it in my face. He stared, but said nothing. No doubt he was wondering what a decently dressed girl was doing in that part of town at such an hour. I watched him as closely as he watched me. If he caught sight of my string, I intended to give three jerks, and, at the same moment, throw pepper in his face, my only weapon.

But he did not notice the string, and passed on. My heart had stopped beating; now it began again, though I felt rather queer. Risks like this have to be taken, however, when one is preparing a revolution and has neither firearms nor ammunition, the people in power having put an embargo upon them. It is all in the way of war. I can add that this raid was as successful as usual.

One day the countess took several of us, including her dog Poppet, out beyond Dundrum. Upon our return we could call this expedition "a little shooting party." And it would be the truth, for Poppet, being an Irish cocker, more interested in hunting than in revolts, joined himself to two men who were intent on getting birds. He was of so great assistance that these men, in recognition of his services, gave us a few of the birds he brought in. We took them home as trophies.

But the whole truth was that we had been out to test dynamite. We were looking for some old wall to blow up, and found one on the side of a hill. After the hunters had disappeared, two of us were posted with field-glasses while Madam set off the explosive. It was a lonely place, so we were not disturbed. The great stones flew into the air with dust and thunder. Indeed, the country people round about, when they heard that rumble and saw the cloud of smoke, must have wondered at the sudden thunder-storm on the hill.

An Irishman told me once that, although he had hoped for a revolution and worked for it, he had never felt it would be a reality until one night when he and some friends, out cross-country walking in the moonlight, came upon Madam and her Fianna boys bivouacked in the open. They had come out for a drill. She was in uniform, with kneebreeches, puttees, and officer's coat, and the whole scene was martial and intense.

The Fianna were proud of the fact that they were the first military organization in Ireland, four years older than either the Irish Citizen Army or the Irish Volunteers. It was in 1909 that the countess heard of Baden-Powell coming to Ireland to organize his British Boy Scouts, where they might be useful later on to the empire. She tried to get people interested in organizing the same way for Ireland, and finally made this her own task, though she knew nothing of military tactics and as little of boys. There was virtually no money or equipment like that in Baden-Powell's organization, and naturally many blunders were made at the outset. But she studied both boys and tactics, and finally came to believe that to succeed, the spirit of old Ireland must be invoked. So the organization was given the historic Gaelic name, Fianna, with its flavor of romance and patriotic tradition. The boys saved up their money for uniforms and equipment, and from the beginning were aware of themselves as an independent, self-respecting body. They have stood well the test of the revolution.

One of the most popular actresses at the Abbey Theater in Dublin was Helen Maloney. Through her energy Mr. Connolly returned from America to organize the working-men of Ireland, and thus met the countess. From the friendship and co?peration of these three persons, you can judge how all class distinction had gone down before the love of Ireland and the determination to free her.

James Connolly was a very quiet man at the time I met him, quiet and tense. He was short and thick-set, with a shrewd eye and determined speech. He proved a genius at organization, and this was lucky, for in Dublin there are no great factories, except Guinness's, to employ large numbers of men, and this makes organization difficult. To have managed such a strike as the Transport Workers' in 1913, after only half a dozen years of organization, is proof of his great ability. And then to organize a Citizen's Army!

Connolly is the answer to those who think the rising was the work of dreamers and idealists. No one who knew him could doubt that when he led his army of working-men into battle for the Irish Republic, he believed there was a good fighting chance to establish such a republic. He was practical, and had no wish to spill blood for the mere glory of it; there was nothing melodramatic about him. A north of Ireland man,--he originally came from the only part of Ireland I know well, County Monaghan,--he had many times given proof of sound judgment and courage. He was often at the house of the countess while I was visiting her, and one evening, just before I left, Madam called my attention to the fact that he was in better spirits than for a long time past. Word had come to him from America that on or near Easter Sunday a shipful of arms and ammunition would arrive in Ireland. This news determined the date of the rising, for it was all that was needed from without to insure success. We believed this then, and do still.

We were collecting and hiding what arms and ammunition we could. In proportion to the amount of courage of those in the secret, so the dynamite that they hid against the day soon to come grew and accumulated. Though the house in Leinster Road was always watched, the countess had it stocked like an arsenal. Bombs and rifles were hidden in absurd places, for she had the skill to do it and escape detection. A French journalist who visited Dublin shortly before the insurrection possibly came upon some of this evidence, or perhaps it was only the Fianna uniforms which impressed him, for he wrote:

"The salon of the Countess Markiewicz is not a salon. It is a military headquarters."

Despite this martial ardor, Madam found time to write poetry and "seditious" songs. This poetry would be in print now had not the house of Mrs. Wise-Power, where she left it for safekeeping, been blown to pieces by English gunners when they tried to find the range of the post-office. Their marksmanship would not have been so poor, perhaps, had they had the countess to teach them.

Many of the singers of our old and new lays are in prison, sentenced for their part in stirring up insurrection, even though they had nothing to do with the rising itself. The authorities seemed to take no notice of these patriotic concerts while they were being given, but afterward they paid this modern minstrelsy the tribute it deserved. For these concerts were full of inspiration to every one who attended. Though all were in the open, they were, as a matter of fact, "seditious," if that word means stirring up rebellion against those who rule you against your will.

One of the many things I recall gives a clear idea of the untiring and never-ending enthusiasm of the countess. She realized one day that the Christmas-cards usually sold in Ireland were "made in Germany," and since the war was on, had been supplanted by cards "made in England." She sat down at once to design Irish Christmas-cards for the holiday season of 1916. But when that Christmas came around she was in prison, and the cards were--no one can say where.

When I left Dublin to return to my teaching in Glasgow, they made me promise that I would come back whenever they sent for me, probably just before Easter.

When I told my mother on my return of the plans for Easter, she shook her head.

"There never was an Irish rising that some one didn't betray it," she said. "It was so in '67, and before that in 1798."

But she did not appreciate the spirit I had found in Dublin. I told her that all were united, rich and poor, dock-workers, school-teachers, poets, and bar-tenders. They were working together; I believed they would stand and fight together. And I was right.

It was not easy to go quietly back to teaching mathematics and hear only now and then what was going on in Dublin. Fortunately, Glasgow is two fifths Irish. Indeed, there are as many Irish there as in Dublin itself, and the spirit among the younger generation is perhaps more intense because we are a little to one side and thus afraid of becoming outsiders.

In February, when conscription came to Scotland, there was nothing for members of the Irish Volunteers in Glasgow to do but to disappear. I knew one lad of seventeen whose parents, though Irish, wanted him to volunteer in the service of the empire. He refused, telling them his life belonged to Ireland. He went over to fight at the time of the rising, and served a year in prison afterward.

Whenever an Irish Volunteer was notified to report for service in the Glasgow contingent of the British army, he would slip across the same night to Ireland, and go to Kimmage, where a camp was maintained for these boys. While the British military authorities were hunting for them in Scotland and calling them "slackers," they were drilling and practising at the target, or making ammunition for a cause they believed in and for which they were ready to die.

Presently news came from Dublin that James Connolly had written a play entitled, "Under which Flag?" We heard also that when it was produced, it had a great effect upon the public. In this play the hero, during the last act, chooses the flag of the republic and the final curtain falls. Some one told Mr. Connolly he ought to write another act to show what happened afterward. His reply was that another act would have to be written by "all of us together."

"Dangerous?" some one asked.

"Nonsense!" retorted mighty England. "Would poets, pedagogues, and dreamers dare to lead the Irish people against the imperial power that had dominated them for centuries? Unthinkable!"

When the first members of the police force entered, Connolly asked them if they had a warrant. They had none. He told them they could not come in without one. At the same time the countess quietly drew her revolver and as quietly pointed it in their direction in a playful manner. They understood her, however, and quickly withdrew to get their warrant.

Immediately Connolly sent an order for the Citizen Army to mobilize. How they came! On the run, slipping into uniform coats as they ran; several from the tops of buildings where they were at work, others from underground. More than one, thinking this an occasion of some seriousness, instantly threw up their jobs.

Mr. Connolly showed me a copy of the secret order when I arrived on Holy Thursday. It read:

The following precautionary measures have been sanctioned by the Irish Office on recommendation of the General Officer commanding the forces in Ireland. All preparations will be made to put these measures in force immediately on receipt of an order issued from the Chief Secretary's Office, Dublin Castle, and signed by the Under Secretary and the General Officer commanding the forces in Ireland.

First, the following persons will be put under arrest: All members of the Sinn Fein National Council, the Central Executive Irish Sinn Fein Volunteer County Board, Irish Sinn Fein Volunteers, Executive Committee National Volunteers, Coisda Gnotha Committee, Gaelic League. See list A3 and 4, and supplementary list A2.

The Sinn Feiners are likened to the "Black Hand" or other anarchistic groups by those who read of them as leaders of a "revolt." As a matter of fact, they were, from the first, the literary, artistic, and economic personalities who started the Celtic Revival. Arthur Griffiths, who is not given enough credit for the passion with which he conceived the idea of working for Ireland as Hungarians worked for Hungary, published a little weekly magazine in which the first of the new poetry appeared. It appealed to the deepest instincts in us; it was a revolt of the spirit, clothing itself in practical deed.

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