Title: Charles Stewart Parnell - His Love Story and Political Life
Author: O'Shea, Katharine
Language: English
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[Frontispiece: CHARLES STEWART PARNELL Taken in the sitting-room at
Wonersh Lodge, Eltham by Mrs. Parnell]



CHARLES STEWART PARNELL

His Love Story and Political Life

BY

KATHARINE O'SHEA

(Mrs. Charles Stewart Parnell)



  "_No common soul was his; for good or ill
  There was a mighty power_"
            HAWKSHAW--_Sonnet IX_



  CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
  London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
  1921



  First published in Two Volumes 1914
  One Volume Edition 1921



  DEDICATED TO
  LOVE

  Had the whole rich world been in my power,
  I should have singled out thee, only thee,
  From the whole world's collected treasury."
                                          MOORE



_PUBLISHERS' NOTE_

_Of all the love stories in history possibly none had more intense
reactions upon politics than that of Charles Stewart Parnell and
Katharine O'Shea, which is unfolded with candour so compelling in
this record of their life._

_The engrossing interest in Ireland has demanded a new and popular
edition of Mrs. Parnell's book.  No real comprehension of the Irish
question is possible without a thorough knowledge of Parnell's life
and his part in the creation of the modern Home Rule movement; and no
intimate knowledge of Parnell's character and the springs of his
policy during the critical decade of the 'eighties can be had without
studying the revelations of his correspondence with his wife._

_In this edition some abridgment has been necessary to bring the book
within the compass of a single volume.  The less material parts of
Mrs. Parnell's narrative of her own girlhood have been curtailed, and
the long correspondence of Captain O'Shea has been summarised in a
note appended to Chapter xxvii.  One or two omissions are indicated
in footnotes.  The text has been subject to no other interference._

  _La Belle Sauvage,
      September_, 1921.



{ix}

MRS. PARNELL'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

On October 6th, 1891, nearly twenty-three years ago, Charles Stewart
Parnell died in the arms of his wife; nearly twenty-three years ago
the whole of the civilized world awoke to laud--or to condemn--the
dead chief.  It ranked him with the greatest heroes, or with the
vilest sinners, of the world, because he had found and kept the haven
of her arms with absolute disregard of that world's praise or blame,
till death, the only power greater than the love that held him there,
tore him from them.

And then the hate that followed him to the grave turned to the woman
he had loved, to vent upon her its baffled spleen; not considering
that such a man as he would keep the heart of his wife as closely in
death as he had kept it in life, so closely that none could come near
it, so secretly that none could find the way to plant therein a
sting.  And so for these more than twenty-two years, I, his wife,
have lived upon memories so happy and so precious that, after time
had brought back some meaning to my life, I took a certain pleasure
in reading all men had to say of him whom they so little knew.  Never
in all the "lives," "articles," or "appreciations" I read had there
been one that could say--or one that desired to say--that Parnell was
not a man who stands out sharp and clear from other men for good or
ill.

But now, after all these years, one of Parnell's erstwhile followers
has arisen to explain to another generation that Parnell was not
really such a man as this, that he {x} was one of Ireland's eternal
failures.  One who held her dear indeed, but one who balanced her
welfare against the clutches of a light o' love with all the
foolishness of callow degeneracy, so fondly imagined chivalry by the
weak.  Not a man who gave his country his whole life, and found the
peace and courage of that life in the heart of the woman he loved.
No, that is how a man lives and loves, whether in secret or before
the whole world.  That is how Parnell lived and loved, and now after
these long years I break my silence lest the unmanly echo of excuse
given forth by Mr. O'Brien in an age that loves excuse may cling
about the name of the man I loved.  It is a very poignant pain to me
to give to the world any account of the sacred happiness of eleven
years of my life and of the agony of sorrow that once seemed too
great to bear; but I have borne it, and I am so near him now that I
fear to leave near the name of that proud spirit the taint of excuse
that he loathed.

Parnell never posed as "rather the victim than the destroyer of a
happy home," as Mr. O'Brien suggested in the _Cork Free Press_ of
last year, and he maintained to the last day of his life that he
suffered no "dishonour and discredit" in making the woman he loved
his own.

And because Parnell contravened certain social laws, not regarding
them as binding him in any way, and because I joined him in this
contravention since his love made all else of no account to me, we
did not shrink at the clamour of the upholders of those outraged
laws, nor resent the pressing of the consequences that were
inevitable and always foreseen.  The freedom of choice we had
ourselves claimed we acknowledged for others, and were wise enough to
smile if, in some instances, the greatness of our offence was loudly
proclaimed by those who he {xi} knew lived in a freedom of love more
varied than our own.  For the hypocrisy of those statesmen and
politicians who, knowing for ten years that Parnell was my lover, had
with the readiest tact and utmost courtesy accepted the fact as
making a sure and safe channel of communication with him, whom they
knew as a force to be placated; for those who, when the time came to
stand by him in order to give Ireland the benefits they had promised
him for her, repudiated him from under the cloak of the religion they
thereby forswore, he, and I with him, felt a contempt unspeakable.

In this book I am giving to the public letters so sacred to my lover
and myself that no eyes other than our own should ever have seen
them, but that my son was jealous for his father's honour, and that I
would not my lover's life should seem in these softer days a lesser
thing, beset with fears and indecisions that he did not know.  I
have, lived in those eleven years of Parnell's love so constantly
that nothing has been lost to me of them, and the few details of them
that I give will show a little of what manner of man he was, while
still I keep for my own heart so much that none shall ever know but
he and I.

In regard to the political aspect of the book those who know the
Irish history of those days will understand.  My lover was the leader
of a nation in revolt, and, as I could, I helped him as "King's
Messenger" to the Government in office.  It has been erroneously said
by some of the Irish Party that I "inspired" certain measures of his,
and biased him in various ways politically.  Those who have said so
did not know the man, for Parnell was before all a statesman;
absolutely convinced of his policy and of his ability to carry that
policy to its logical conclusion.  Self-reliant and far-seeing, the
master of his own mind.

{xii}

I was never a "political lady," and, apart from him, I have never
felt the slightest interest in politics, either Irish or English, and
I can honestly say that except for urging him to make terms with the
Government in order to obtain his liberation from prison, I did not
once throughout those eleven years attempt to use my influence over
him to "bias" his public life or politics; nor, being convinced that
his opinions and measures were the only ones worth consideration, was
I even tempted to do so.  In my many interviews with Mr. Gladstone I
was Parnell's messenger, and in all other work I did for him it was
understood on both sides that I worked for Parnell alone.

KATHARINE PARNELL.

_Brighton, April_, 1914.



{xiii}

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

1. MY EARLY LIFE

2. VISITORS AT RIVENHALL

3. MY FATHER'S DEATH AND MY MARRIAGE

4. A DAY ON THE DOWNS

5. MORE FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES

6. CAPTAIN O'SHEA ENTERS POLITICAL LIFE

7. MR. PARNELL AND THE IRISH PARTY

8. THE FIRST MEETING WITH MR. PARNELL

9. AT ELTHAM

10. THE LAND LEAGUE TRIALS

11. PARLIAMENTARY ASSOCIATIONS

12. HOBBIES AND A CHALLENGE

13. ASTRONOMY, "SEDITION," AND ARREST

14. KILMAINHAM DAYS

15. MORE KILMAINHAM LETTERS

16. THE "KILMAINHAM TREATY"

17. THE PHOENIX PARK MURDERS AND AFTER

18. ENVOY TO GLADSTONE

19. THE FIRST HOME RULE BILL

20. MR. PARNELL IN DANGER--FOUNDING OF NATIONAL LEAGUE

{xiv}

21. A WINTER OF MEMORIES

22. HORSES AND DOGS

23. SEASIDE HOLIDAYS

24. LONDON REMEMBRANCES

25. THE PARNELL COMMISSION

26. BRIGHTON HAUNTS

27. THE DIVORCE CASE

28. A KING AT BAY

29. PARNELL AS I KNEW HIM

30. MARRIAGE, ILLNESS AND DEATH

INDEX



{1}

Charles Stewart Parnell



CHAPTER I

MY EARLY LIFE

  "_Go forth; and if it be o'er stoney way
    Old Joy can lend what newer grief must borrow,
  And it was sweet, and that was yesterday.
    And sweet is sweet, though purchased with sorrow._"
                                          F. THOMPSON.


My father, Sir John Page Wood, was descended from the Woods of
Tiverton, and was the eldest of the three sons of Sir Matthew Wood,
Baronet, of Hatherley House, Gloucestershire.  He was educated at
Winchester and at Trinity College, Cambridge, and after entering into
holy orders, before he was twenty-four years of age, was appointed
private chaplain and secretary to Queen Caroline, performing the last
offices for her at her death in 1820, and attending her body to its
final resting-place in Brunswick.  He then became chaplain to the
Duke of Sussex, and in 1824 was appointed by the Corporation of
London to the rectory of St. Peter's, Cornhill.

In 1820 my father married Emma Caroline, the youngest of the three
daughters of Admiral Michell (and my father's uncle, Benjamin Wood,
M.P. for Southwark at the time, married the second daughter, Maria,
the "Aunt Ben" of this book).  She was eighteen.  My father was still
at Cambridge.  The improvident young pair found it difficult to live
on the small allowance that was {2} considered sufficient for my
father at college.  They appear to have been very happy
notwithstanding their difficulties, which were augmented a year later
by the birth of a son; and while my father became "coach" to young
men of slower wit, my mother, who was extremely talented with her
brush, cheerfully turned her beautiful miniature painting to account
for the benefit of her young husband and son.  She soon became an
exhibitor of larger works in London, and the brothers Finden engraved
several of her pictures.

She and my father seem to have idolized their first child, "Little
John," and his early death, at about four years old, was their first
real sorrow.  The boy was too precocious, and when he was three years
old his proud young parents were writing "he can read well now, and
is getting on splendidly with his Latin!"

Constable, the artist, was a friend of my mother's, who thought
highly of her work, and gave her much encouragement, and the young
people seem to have had no lack of friends in the world of art and
letters.  Of my mother, Charles Sheridan said he "delighted in her
sparkling sallies," and the young Edwin Landseer was "mothered" by
her to his "exceeding comfort."

My mother was appointed bedchamber woman to Queen Caroline, and
became very fond of her.  The consort of George IV. appears to have
taken the greatest interest in "Little John," and I had until a short
time ago--when it was stolen--a little workbox containing a
half-finished sock the Queen was knitting for the little boy when her
fatal illness began.

My parents then lived in London for some years while my father did
duty at St. Peter's.  In 1832 my father became vicar of Cressing, in
Essex, and he took my {3} mother and their (I think three) children
there, leaving a curate in charge of St. Peter's.  Thirteen children
in all were born to my parents (of whom I was the thirteenth), and of
my brothers and sisters there were seven living at the time of my
birth.

There was little room for all these young people in the vicarage at
Cressing, and it was so extremely damp as to be unhealthy; so my
parents moved to Glazenwood, a charming house with the most beautiful
gardens I have ever seen in a place of moderate size.  I think my
brother Fred died here; but my first memories are of Rivenhall, where
my parents moved soon after my birth.  Rivenhall Place belonged to a
friend of my father's, Sir Thomas Sutton Weston, of Felix Hall.  The
beautiful old place was a paradise for growing children, and the
space and beauty of this home of my youth left me with a sad distaste
for the little houses of many conveniences that it has been my lot to
inhabit for the greater part of my life.

In politics my father was a thoroughgoing Whig, and as he was an able
and fluent speaker, and absolutely fearless in his utterances, he
became a great influence in the county during election times.  I
remember, when he was to speak at a political meeting, how he laughed
as he tied me up in enormous orange ribbons and made me drive him
there, and how immensely proud of him I was (though, of course, I
could not understand a word of it all) as he spoke so persuasively
that howls and ribald cries turned to cheers for "Sir John's man."

When he went to London to "take duty" at St. Peter's Cornhill, he and
I used to stay at the Green Dragon, Bishopsgate Street.  There was a
beautiful old courtyard to this hotel with a balcony, overhung with
creepers, {4} running all round the upper rooms.  I loved this place,
and when I was too young to care much for the long service and
sermons, I was quite content that my father should tuck me up safely
in bed before going to evensong at St. Peter's.

Sometimes I was not well enough to go to London with him, and on
these occasions comforted myself as much as possible with a
compensating interest in the habits of the Rev. Thomas Grosse, who
took my father's place at Cressing.  He was very good and kind to me,
and in the summer evenings, when he knew I was missing my father, he
would take me out to look for glow-worms, and show me the stars,
teaching me the names of the planets.  Years afterwards the knowledge
I thus gained became a great happiness to me, as I taught Mr. Parnell
all I knew of astronomy, and opened up to him a new world of
absorbing interest.

Friends of my brother Evelyn frequently stayed at Rivenhall, and one
of them, a colonel of Light Dragoons, was engaged to one of my elder
sisters.  This gentleman appealed to my youthful mind as being all
that a hero should be, and I used to stick a red fez on my golden
curls and gallop my pony past the dining-room windows so that he
might see and admire the intrepid maiden, as the prince in my fairy
book did!

I loved the winter evenings at Rivenhall when my brothers were not at
home.  My father used to sit by the fire reading his _Times_, with
his great white cat on his knee, while I made his tea and hot
buttered toast, and my mother and sister Anna read or sketched.  I
used to write the plots of tragic little stories which my "Pip"[1]
used to read and call "blood-stained bandits," owing to the {5}
violent action and the disregard of convention shown by all the
characters concerned.

However, these childish efforts of mine led to greater results, as
one evening my mother and sister laughingly offered to buy my "plot"
in order to "write it up" into a novel.  I was, of course, very proud
to sell my idea, and thenceforth both my mother and sister wrote many
successful novels, published by Chapman and Hall--and, I believe, at
prices that are rarely realized by present-day novelists.

I was thus the unwitting means of greatly relieving my parents'
anxiety of how to meet, with their not very large income, the heavy
expense of educating and maintaining my brothers, and the
responsibilities of their position.

My brothers loved to tease me, and, as I was so much younger than
they, I never understood if they were really serious or only laughing
at me.  Evelyn was specially adroit in bewildering me, and used to
curb my rebellion, when I was reluctant to fetch and carry for him,
by drawing a harrowing picture of my remorse should he be killed "in
the next war."  The horror of this thought kept me a ready slave for
years, till one day, in a gust of temper, I burst out with: "I shan't
be sorry at all when you're killed in a war cos' I didn't find your
silly things, and I wish you'd go away and be a dead hero now, so
there!"  I remember the horrified pause of my mother and sister and
then the howl of laughter and applause from Evelyn and Charlie.
Evelyn was very good to me after this, and considered, more, that
even little girls have their feelings.

As a matter of fact, my mother was so entirely wrapped up in Evelyn
that I think I was jealous, even though I {6} had my father so much
to myself.  My mother was most affectionate to all her children, but
Evelyn was her idol, and from the time when, as a mere lad, he was
wounded in the Crimean War, to the day of her death, he was first in
all her thoughts.

Of my brothers and sisters I really knew only four at all well.
Clarissa had died at seventeen, and Fred when I was very young; Frank
was away with his regiment, my sister Pollie was married and away in
India before I was born, and my sister Emma married Sir Thomas
Barrett-Lennard while I was still very young.  She was always very
kind to me, and I used to love going to visit her at her house in
Brighton.  Visiting Sir Thomas Barrett-Lennard's country seat,
Belhus, I did not like so much, because, though Belhus is very
beautiful, I loved Rivenhall better.

My mother was a fine musician, and as I grew older, I began to long
to play as she did.  There was a beautiful grand piano in the
drawing-room, and I used to try to pick out tunes upon it.  My mother
had spent much money on her eldest daughter's--Maria's
(Pollie)--musical education.  At the end of this Pollie said she
detested it, and would never play a note again if she could help it.
When I asked that I might be taught to play my mother said, "No.
There is the piano; go and play it if you really want to learn."  In
time I could play very well by ear, and began to compose a little and
seek for wider knowledge.  My love of music led me to try
composition, and I used to set to music any verses that took my
fancy.  Among these I was much pleased with Longfellow's "Weariness,"
and was so encouraged by my mother's praise of the setting that I
sent the poet a copy.  I was a very happy girl when he wrote to thank
me, {7} saying that mine was the best setting of his poem he had ever
heard.

Armed with the manuscript of this music and some others, the next
time I went to London with my father I went to Boosey's, the musical
publishers, and asked their representative to publish them.

"Quite impossible, my dear young lady," he answered at once.  "We
never take beginners' work!"  I plaintively remarked that even Mozart
was a "beginner" once, and could not understand why he laughed.
Still, with a smile, he consented to look at the manuscript, and to
my joy he ceased to laugh at me and tried some of it over, finally
agreeing, much to my joy, to publish "Weariness" and a couple of
other songs.

I remember my father's pleasure and the merry twinkle in his eye as
he gravely assented to my suggestion that we were a very gifted
family!

While my brother Frank (who was in the 17th Foot) was stationed at
Aldershot he invited my sister Anna and myself down to see a review.
He was married, and we stayed with him and his wife and children in
the married officers' quarters, which appeared to us to be very gay
and amusing.

I greatly enjoyed seeing the cavalry, with all the officers and men
in full dress.

Many of the officers came over to call after the review, and among
them was Willie O'Shea, who was then a cornet in the 18th Hussars.
There was a small drama acted by the officers in the evening which my
brother's wife took us to see, and there were many of the 18th
Hussars, who paid us much attention, though, personally, I found the
elderly and hawk-eyed colonel of the regiment far more interesting
than the younger men.



[1] Sir John.



{8}

CHAPTER II

VISITORS AT RIVENHALL

  "_A chiel's amang you takin' notes,
  And, faith, he'll prent it!_"--BURNS.


Among other visitors to Rivenhall was Lieut.-Colonel Steele, of the
Lancers, a dark, handsome man, who married my sister Anna.

I remember looking at Anna consideringly when I was told this was to
be, for, as children do, I had hitherto merely regarded Anna as a
sister too "grown-up" to play with on equal terms, and yet not as a
person sufficiently interesting to be married to one of the
magnificent beings who, like Evelyn's friends, wore such beautiful
uniforms and jingly spurs.  But my sister had soft brown hair and a
lovely skin, blue eyes that were mocking, gay, or tender in response
to many moods, and a very pretty figure.  And I solemnly decided that
she was really pretty, and quite "grown-up" enough to be loved by the
"beautiful ones."

Anthony Trollope was a great friend of my father and mother, and used
to stay with us a good deal for hunting.  He was a very hard rider to
hounds, and was a cause of great anxiety to my mother, for my sister
Anna loved an intrepid "lead" out hunting, and delighted in following
Trollope, who stuck at nothing.  I used to rejoice in his "The Small
House at Allington," and go about fitting the characters in the book
to the people about {9} me--a mode of amusement that palled
considerably on the victims.

I was always glad when our young cousin George (afterwards Sir
George) Farwell (Lord Justice Farwell) came to see us.  A dear lad,
who quite won my childish admiration with his courtly manners and
kind, considerate ways.

The Hon. Grantley-Barkley (who was seventy, I believe) was a dear old
man who was very fond of me--as I was of him.  I was but a child when
he informed my parents that he wished to marry me when I was old
enough!  He was a dear friend of my father's, but, though the latter
would not consider the matter seriously, my mother, who was an
extraordinarily sympathetic woman, encouraged the idea.

Grantley-Barkley was always called the "Deer-slayer" by his friends.
A fine old sportsman, his house, "The Hut," at Poole, Dorset, was a
veritable museum of slain beasts, and I used to shudder secretly at
the idea of becoming mistress of so many heads and horns.

The dear old man used to write long letters to me before I could
answer them in anything but laborious print, and he wrote sheets to
my mother inquiring of my welfare and the direction of my education.
I still have many of the verses he composed in my honour, and though
the last line of the verse that I insert worries me now as much as it
did when I received it, so many years ago, I still think it very
pretty sentiment:

  "Then the Bird that above me is singing
    Shall chase the thought that is drear,
  When the soul to _her_ side it is winging
    The limbs _must_ be lingering near!"


This little one-sided romance died a natural death as {10} I grew up,
my old friend continuing to take the kindest interest in me, but
accepting the fact that I was no exception to the law of youth that
calls to youth in mating.

My brother Frank suggested to my brother-in-law, Sir Thomas
Barrett-Lennard, that Willie O'Shea, who was a first-class
steeplechase rider, would no doubt, if asked, ride the horse Honesty
that Tom was going to run in the Brentwood Steeplechase.  He had
already ridden and won many races.  Willie readily agreed to ride,
and came to stay at Belhus for the race.

I was staying there at the time, and though I was considered too
young to be really "out," as a rule I had my share in any festivities
that were going on.  I remember my brother-in-law saying casually to
my sister Emma, who was giving a dinner party that evening: "Who is
Katie to go in with, milady?" and she answered promptly, "Oh, she
shall go in with O'Shea."  A mild witticism that rather ruffled my
youthful sense of importance.

My first sight of Willie then, as a grown-up, was on this evening,
when I came rather late into the hall before dressing for dinner.  He
was standing near the fire, talking, with the eagerness that was not
in those days bad form in young men, of the steeplechase he had
ridden and won on Early Bird.

I had been so much the companion of older men than he that I was
pleased with his youthful looks and vivacity.  His dress pleased me
also, and, though it would appear a terrible affair in the eyes of a
modern young man, it was perfectly correct then for a young officer
in the 18th Hussars, and extremely becoming to Willie: a brown velvet
coat, cut rather fully, sealskin waistcoat, black-and-white check
trousers, and an enormous carbuncle and diamond pin in his curiously
folded scarf.

{11}

When introduced to me he was most condescending, and nettled me so
much by his kindly patronage of my youthfulness that I promptly
plunged into such a discussion of literary complexities, absorbed
from my elders and utterly undigested, and he soon subsided into a
bewildered and shocked silence.

However, in the few days of that visit we became very good friends,
and I was immensely pleased when, on parting, Willie presented me
with a really charming little poem written about my "golden hair and
witsome speech."

Of course, as usual, I flew to show my father, who, reading, sighed,
"Ah, too young for such nonsense.  I want my Pippin for myself for
years to come."[1]

In the summer at Belhus I met Willie again.  Unconsciously we seemed
to drift together in the long summer days.  The rest of the household
intent on their own affairs, we were content to be left together to
explore the {12} cool depths of the glades, where the fallow deer ran
before us, or the kitchen garden, where the high walls were covered
with rose-coloured peaches, warm with the sun as we ate them.  What
we talked about I cannot remember, but it was nothing very wise I
should imagine.

Week after week went by in our trance of contentment.  I did not look
forward, but was content to exist in the languorous summer
heat--dreaming through the sunny days with Willie by my side, and
thinking not at all of the future.  I suppose my elders were content
with the situation, as they must have known that such propinquity
could have but one ending.

There was a man by whom I was attracted and who had paid me
considerable attention--E.S., stationed at Purfleet.  He was a fine
athlete, and used to fill me with admiration by jumping over my
pony's back without touching him at all.  I sometimes thought idly of
him during these days with Willie, but was content to drift along,
until one day my sister asked me to drive over with a note of
invitation to dinner for the officers at Purfleet.

In the cool of the evening I set out, with Willie, of course, in
attendance.  Willie, on arrival, sprang out of the pony cart to
deliver the note, and as he was jumping in again glanced up at the
window above us, where it happened E. S. and another officer were
standing.  Without a moment's hesitation Willie leant forward and
kissed me full on the lips.  Furious and crimson with the knowledge
that the men at the window had seen him kiss me, I hustled my poor
little pony home, vowing I would never speak to Willie again; but his
apologies and explanation that he had only just wanted "to show those
fellows that they must not make asses of themselves" seemed so funny
and in keeping with the dreamy sense I had of belonging {13} to
Willie that I soon forgave him, though I felt a little stab of regret
when I found that E. S. declined the invitation to dinner.  He never
came again.

Willie had now to rejoin his regiment, and in the evening before his
going, as I was leaving the drawing-room, he stopped to offer me a
rose, kissing me on the face and hair as he did so.

A few mornings after I was sleeping the dreamless sleep of healthy
girlhood when I was awakened by feeling a thick letter laid on my
cheek and my mother leaning over me singing "Kathleen Mavourneen" in
her rich contralto voice.  I am afraid I was decidedly cross at
having been awakened so suddenly, and, clasping my letter unopened,
again subsided into slumber.

So far nearly all my personal communication with Willie when he was
away had been carried on by telegraph, and I had not quite arrived at
knowing what to reply to the sheets of poetic prose which flowed from
his pen.  Very frequently he came down just for a day to Rivenhall,
and I drove to meet him at the station with my pony-chaise.  Then we
used to pass long hours at the lake fishing for pike, or talking to
my father, who was always cheered by his society.

At this time Colonel Clive, of the Grenadier Guards, was a frequent
visitor.  I was really fond of him, and he pleased me by his pleasure
in hearing me sing to my own accompaniment.  I spent some happy hours
in doing so for him when staying at Claridge's Hotel with my sister,
and I remember that when I knew he was coming I used to twist a blue
ribbon in my hair to please him.

Once, when staying at Claridge's, my sister and I went to his rooms
to see the sketches of a friend of my brother Evelyn's, Mr. Hozier,
the clever newspaper {14} correspondent, afterwards Sir H. Hozier,
and father of Mrs. Winston Churchill.  The drawings were, I believe,
very clever, and I know the tea was delicious.

It was some time after this that the 18th Hussars were stationed at
Brighton.  Willie loved early morning gallops on the Downs, and, on
one occasion, he rode off soon after daybreak on his steeplechaser,
Early Bird, for a gallop on the race-course.  At the early parade
that morning Willie was missing, and, as inquiries were being made as
to his whereabouts, a trooper reported that Early Bird had just been
brought in dead lame, and bleeding profusely from a gash in the chest.

He had been found limping his way down the hill from the race-course.
Willie's brother officers immediately set out to look for him, and
found him lying unconscious some twenty yards from a chain across the
course which was covered with blood, and evidently the cause of the
mishap.  They got him down to the barracks on a stretcher, and there
he lay with broken ribs and concussion of the brain.

He told us afterwards that he was going at a hard gallop, and neither
he nor Early Bird had seen the chain till they were right on it, too
late to jump.  There had never been a chain up before, and he had
galloped over the same course on the previous morning.

I was at Rivenhall when I heard of the accident to Willie, and for
six unhappy weeks I did little else than watch for news of him.  My
sister, Lady Barrett-Lennard, and Sir Thomas had gone to Preston
Barracks to nurse him, and as soon as it was possible they moved him
to their own house in Brighton.  For six weeks he lay unconscious,
and then at last the good news came that he was better, and that they
were going to take him to Belhus to convalesce.

{15}

A great friend of Willie's, also in the 18th--Robert Cunninghame
Graham--was invited down to keep him amused, and my sister, Mrs.
Steele, and I met them in London and went down to Belhus with them.
Willie was looking very ill, and was tenderly cared for by his friend
Graham.  He was too weak to speak, but, while driving to Belhus, he
slipped a ring from his finger on to mine and pressed my hand under
cover of the rugs.

Robert Cunninghame Graham, uncle of Robert Bontine Cunninghame
Graham, the Socialist writer and traveller, walked straight into our
hearts, so gay, so careful of Willie was he, and so utterly _bon
camarade_, that we seemed to have known him for years.  In a few days
Anna and I left Belhus, and Willie's father came over from Ireland to
stay with him till he was completely recovered.

Before Willie left I was back at Belhus on the occasion of a dinner
party, and was shyly glad to meet him again and at his desire to talk
to me only.

While the others were all occupied singing and talking after dinner
we sat on the yellow damask sofa, and he slipped a gold and turquoise
locket on a long gold and blue enamel chain round my neck.  It was a
lovely thing, and I was very happy to know how much Willie cared for
me.



[1] Captain O'Shea's family, the O'Sheas of Limerick, were a
collateral branch of the O'Sheas of County Kerry.  William O'Shea had
three sons, Henry, John and Thaddeus, of whom the first named was
Captain O'Shea's father.  John went to Spain (where a branch of the
family had been settled since 1641, and become the Duges of
Sanlucas), founded a bank and prospered.  Henry found the family
estate (Rich Hill) heavily mortgaged, entered the law, and by hard
work pulled the property out of bankruptcy and made a fortune.  He
married Catherine Quinlan, daughter of Edward Quinlan, of Tipperary,
a Comtesse of Rome, and had two children, Captain O'Shea and Mary,
afterwards Lady of the Royal Order of Theresa of Bavaria.  The
children had a cosmopolitan education, and the son went into the 18th
Hussars, a keen sporting regiment, where he spent great sums of
money.  Finally, a bill for £15,000 coming in, his father told him
that his mother and sister would have to suffer if this rate of
expenditure continued.  Captain O'Shea left the regiment just before
his marriage to Miss Wood.  The Comtesse O'Shea was a highly educated
woman, assiduous in her practice of religion, but valetudinarian and
lacking a sense of humour.  Mary O'Shea's education had left her
French in all her modes of thought and speech.  Both ladies
disapproved of the engagement between Captain O'Shea and Miss Wood.



{16}

CHAPTER III

MY FATHER'S DEATH AND MY MARRIAGE

  "_Fair shine the day on the house with open door;
  Birds come and cry there and twitter in the chimney,
  But I go for ever and come again no more._"
                                            --STEVENSON.


The following autumn my father, mother, and I went to stay at Belhus
on a long visit, my father going to Cressing each week for the Sunday
duty, and returning to us on Monday morning.

We all enjoyed spending Christmas at Belhus.  My mother and my sister
Emma were devoted to one another, and loved being together.  We were
a much larger party also at Belhus, and there were so many visitors
coming and going that I felt it was all more cheerful than being at
home.

Among other visitors that winter, I well remember Mr. John
Morley--now Lord Morley--as he was told off for me to entertain
during the day.  He was a very brilliant young man, and my elders
explained to me that his tense intellect kept them at too great a
strain for pleasurable conversation.  "You, dear Katie, don't matter,
as no one expects you to know anything!" remarked my sister with
cheerful kindness.  So I calmly invited John Morley to walk with me,
and, as we paced through the park from one lodge to the other, my
companion talked to me so easily and readily that I forgot my rôle of
"fool of the family," and responded most intelligently to a really
very interesting conversation.

With the ready tact of the really clever, he could already {17} adapt
himself to great or small, and finding me simply ready to be
interested, was most interesting, and I returned to my family happily
conscious that I could now afford to ignore my brother Evelyn's
advice to "look lovely and keep your mouth shut!"

John Morley, so far as I remember him then, was a very slight young
man with a hard, keen face, the features strongly marked, and fair
hair.  He had (to me) a kindly manner, and did not consider it
beneath him to talk seriously to a girl so young in knowledge, so
excessively and shyly conscious of his superiority, and so much awed
by my mission of keeping him amused and interested while my elders
rested from his somewhat oppressive intellectuality.  I remember
wondering, in some alarm, as to what topic I should start if he
suddenly stopped talking.  But my fear was entirely groundless; he
passed so easily from one thing interesting to me to another that I
forgot to be self-conscious, and we discussed horses and dogs, books
and their writers--agreeing that authors were, of all men, the most
disappointing in appearance--my father, soldiers, and "going to
London," with the greatest pleasure and mutual self-confidence.  And
I think that, after that enlightening talk, had I been told that in
after years this suave, clever young man was to become--as
Gladstone's lieutenant--one of my bitterest foes, I should perhaps
have been interested, but utterly unalarmed, for I had in this little
episode lost all awe of cleverness as such.

My father died in February, 1866.  The vexed question of ways and
means--always a vexed question in a clergyman's household when the
head of the house dies--pressed heavily on my mother, who was left
almost penniless by my father's death.

My mother and sisters were discussing what was best {18} to be done,
and my mother was speaking sadly as I went into her room.  "We must
sell the cow, and, of course, the pig," my eldest sister (Emma)
replied in her sweet, cheerful voice, which produced a little laugh,
though a rather dismal one, and our sorrow was chased away for the
moment.

My mother's sister, Mrs. Benjamin Wood, on hearing of her troubles,
settled a yearly income on her, thus saving her from all future
anxiety, most of her children being provided for under our
grandfather's--old Sir Matthew Wood's--will.

During that year we lived chiefly at Rivenhall.  It was a very quiet,
sad year, but we had a few pleasant visitors.  Sir George Dasent, of
the _Times_, and also Mr. Dallas, who wrote leading articles for the
same paper, were frequent visitors, and Mr. Chapman (of Chapman and
Hall, publishers), with pretty Mrs. Chapman, Mr. Lewes, and many
other literary people were very welcome guests.  My mother and sister
Anna (Mrs. Steele) were writing books, and much interested in all
things literary.  At the end of the year we joined my eldest sister
and her husband at Brighton, and soon after this Willie returned from
Spain and called on us at once, with the ever-faithful Cunninghame
Graham.  I now yielded to Willie's protest at being kept waiting
longer, and we were married very quietly at Brighton on January 25,
1867.  I narrowly escaped being married to Mr. Cunninghame Graham by
mistake, as Willie and he--the "best man"--had got into wrong
positions.  It was only Mr. Graham's horrified "No, no, no," when
asked whether he would have "this woman" to be his wife, that saved
us from many complications.

My mother, brothers and sisters gave me beautiful {19} presents, and
my dear sister Emma gave me my trousseau, while Willie himself gave
me a gold-mounted dressing-bag.  My old Aunt H. sent me a gold and
turquoise bracelet.  Willie saw this after I had shown him what my
sister Mrs. Steele had given me--a carbuncle locket with diamond
centre.  Aunt H. was a very wealthy woman, my sister not at all well
off, though in any case her present would have been much more to me
than that of Aunt H.  However, Willie merely remarked of Anna's gift:
"That is lovely, darling, and this," taking up Aunt H.'s bracelet,
"this will do for the dog," snapped it round the neck of my little
Prince.

Long afterwards he and I went to call on Aunt H., and as usual I had
Prince under my arm.  I noticed Aunt H. break off in a sentence, and
fix a surprised and indignant eye on my dog.  I had forgotten all
about Prince's collar being Aunt H.'s bracelet, and only thought she
did not like my bringing the dog to call, till I caught Willie's eye.
He had at once taken in the situation, and became so convulsed with
laughter that I hastily made my adieu and hustled him off.

Sir Seymour Fitzgerald lent us Holbrook Hall for our honeymoon, a
kindness that proved unkind, as the pomp and ceremony entailed by a
large retinue of servants for our two selves were very wearisome to
me.  There was little or no occupation for us, as the weather was too
bad to get out much; our kind host had naturally not lent us his
hunters, and we were, or Willie was, too much in awe of the
conventions to ask anyone to come and relieve our ennui.  Indeed, I
think that no two young people were ever more rejoiced than we were
when we could return to the life of the sane without comment.

Willie had sold out of the army just before his marriage, {20} and
his Uncle John, who had married a Spanish lady and settled in Madrid,
offered Willie a partnership in his bank, O'Shea and Co., if he would
put the £4,000 he received for his commission into it.  This was too
good an offer to be refused, so I said good-bye to my people, and
bought some little presents for the servants at home, including a
rich silk dress for my old nurse Lucy, who had been in my mother's
service since the age of sixteen, and who was much upset that her
youngest and dearest nursling should be taken away to such
"heathenish, far-off places."

Before leaving England Willie and I stayed for a few days in London,
and his mother and sister Mary called on us.  They had not attended
the marriage, as they would not lend their countenance to a "mixed"
marriage, though once accomplished they accepted the situation.  They
were very nice and kind, and so gently superior that at once I became
politely antagonistic.  They brought me some beautiful Irish poplins
which were made into gowns to wear in Madrid to impress the Spanish
cousins, and a magnificent emerald bracelet, besides £200 worth of
lovely Irish house-linen.  My mother-in-law and sister-in-law were
most generous indeed, and I then, and always, acknowledged them to be
thoroughly good, kind-hearted women, but so hidebound with what was
to me bigotry, with conventionality and tactlessness, that it was
really a pain to me to be near them.  They admired me, and very
plainly disapproved of me; I admired them for their Parisian
finish--(for want of a better term)--and for their undoubted
goodness, but, though I was rather fond of Mary, they wearied me to
death.

That week we crossed over to Boulogne, and there we had to stay for a
few days, as I was too ill from the crossing to go farther.  The
second morning Willie, seeing I {21} was better, wanted to go out to
_déjeuner_, and told me to lie still in bed, and he would tell them
to send a maid with my food, as he knew that I, not being used to
French customs, would not like a waiter to bring it.  To make sure of
my not being disturbed he locked the door.  To my horror half an hour
after he had gone there was a tap at the door, and a manservant
opened it with his key, and marched in, despite my agitated protests
in very home-made French.  Once in, however, he made me so
comfortable by his deft arrangement of a most tempting meal and
paternal desire that "Madame should eat and recover herself," that I
was able to laugh at Willie's annoyance on his return to find the
waiter once more in possession and removing the tray.

We then went to Paris to stay with my mother-in-law and Mary for a
few days, while they found me a French maid and showed me the sights.
I had a great quantity of very long hair in those days, and Willie
insisted on my having it very elaborately dressed--much to my
annoyance--in the latest French fashion, which I did not consider
becoming to me.  My maid was also much occupied in making the toilet
of my little dog.  He was a lovely little creature, and Caroline
would tie an enormous pale blue bow on him as a reward for the
painful business of combing him.  From the time Willie gave me this
little dog to the day it died, about six years afterwards, it went
everywhere with me.  He was as good and quiet as possible when with
me, but if I ever left him for a moment the shrill little howls would
ring out till the nearest person to him would snatch him up, and fly
to restore him to his affectionate, though long-suffering, mistress.

At Paris there was trouble with my mother-in-law and Mary at once
because of him.  They took me to see Notre {22} Dame, and as a matter
of course Prince was in my arm under my cloak.  As we came out I let
my little dog down to run, and the Comtesse nearly fainted.  "You
took the dog into the _church_!  Oh, Katie, how wrong, how could,
you!  Mary! what shall we do?  Do you not think----?" and turning a
reproachful glance on me, Mary responded, "Come, mother," and,
leaving me amazed and indignant on the steps, they passed into Notre
Dame again.  With some curiosity I peeped in after them, and beheld
them kneeling at prayer just inside the door.  They came out almost
at once, and the old Comtesse looked happier.  "You did not
understand, dear," said Mary kindly, "it is better not to take the
little dog into a church."  I was young enough to resent being told I
did not understand, and promptly returned, "I understand, Mary, that
you and the Comtesse consider it wicked to take Prince into Notre
Dame.  Well, I don't, and you must excuse me if I remind you that God
made the dog; and I seem to remember something about a Child that was
born in a stable with a lot of nice friendly beasts about, so you
need not have gone back to pray about me and Prince, I think!"  And,
scooping up Prince, I stalked off with a dignity that was rather
spoilt by my not having sufficient French to find my own way home,
and having to wait at the carriage for them.  We drove home with much
stiffness, and only thawed sufficiently to assure Willie how much we
had enjoyed ourselves!

While I was abroad I often used to get away by myself to spend many
happy hours in the beautiful churches with Prince tucked under my
arm, and often a friendly old priest would give us a smile as he
passed on his way about the church, so it was apparently not a very
deadly sin to take him with me.

{23}

Willie's mother and Mary became more reconciled to the little dog
when they found how much admired he was in Paris.  An old Frenchman,
after seeing him one evening as Willie and I were leaving table
d'hôte, made inquiries as to where we were staying, and called on
Willie to offer £100 for "madame's pet" if at any time she wished to
sell him.  Willie was too wise to approach me with the offer, and
assured monsieur that madame would consider the offer an insult only
to be wiped out in monsieur's blood!



{24}

CHAPTER IV

A DAY ON THE DOWNS

  "_A son to clasp my finger tight._"--NORMAN GALE.


When we had been in Spain for nearly a year, there was some dispute
about the business arrangements of Willie's partnership in his
uncle's bank, and Willie withdrew altogether from the affair.  We
then decided to return to England.  Though glad to go home, I parted
from my Spanish relations with regret, and have always since my visit
to them thought that the admixture of Irish and Spanish blood is most
charming in its result.

On our return to England we lived in Clarges Street, London, for some
time, while Willie was looking for a place in the country where he
could start a stud farm.  Willie was very fond of horses, and
understood them well, and I was delighted at the idea of his getting
some really good brood mares and breeding race-horses.  We knew, of
course, nothing of the enormous expense and many losses such an
undertaking was certain to entail.

At last we decided to take Bennington Park, Hertfordshire, and on
going there Willie bought some good blood stock, among the pick of
which were Alice Maud, Scent, and Apricot.  Soon we had all the boxes
tenanted, and I spent many happy hours petting the lovely
thoroughbred mares with their small velvety noses and intelligent
eyes.

The chief form of social intercourse in the county was the giving of
long, heavy, and most boring dinners.  People thought nothing of
driving eight or even ten miles {25} (and there were no motor-cars
then) to eat their dinner in each other's houses, and this form of
entertainment used to produce such an absolutely painful boredom in
me that I frequently hid the invitations from Willie, who wished to
"keep up with the county."

Willie and I were a good-looking young couple, and people liked to
have us about.  Willie, too, was a good conversationalist, and had a
ready wit that made him welcome, since an Irishman and wit are
synonymous to the conventional mind.  That his witticisms pertained
rather to the France of his education than the Ireland of his birth
was unrecognized because unexpected.

I was--rather, I fear, to Willie's annoyance--labelled "delightfully
unusual" soon after our going to Bennington, the cause being that I
received my guests one evening with my then abundant hair hanging
loosely to below my waist, twisted through with a wide blue ribbon.
To Willie's scandalized glance I replied with a hasty whisper, "The
very latest from Paris," and was rewarded with the mollified though
puzzled expression very properly awarded by all men to the "latest
fashion" of their womenkind.

I put off the queries of the ladies after dinner in the same way, and
was rewarded by them by the general admission that it was a fashion
for the few--who had the hair.  Never did I admit that I had been out
with the horses so late that I had had just time for Caroline to
hurry me into a gown and shake down my hair as my first guest
arrived.  So little do we deserve the fame forced upon us.

Willie was never good at dunning friends for money owed, and as we
had many brood mares, not our own, left with us for months at a time,
the stable expenses, both for forage and wages, became appallingly
large.  It was always difficult to get the accounts in, and while
Willie {26} did not like to worry the owners even for the amount for
the bare keep of the animals, he was himself perpetually worried by
forage contractors, the shoeing smith, and the weekly wage bill,
besides the innumerable extra expenses pertaining to a large stable.

As I urged against the sale of the mares, which he so often
threatened, their happy, peaceful maternity, in the long lush grass
and shade of trees by day, their comfortable boxes at night, and
their fondness of me, he used to stare gloomily at me and swear
gently as he wished there were more profit than peace in their
maternity and my sentimentality.  But he could forget his worries in
the pleasure of schooling the yearlings, and we agreed always to hold
on as long as possible to a life we both found so interesting, and
with the facile hope of youth we thought to get the better of our
expenses in time.

In this year (1869) my eldest (surviving) brother, Frank, became very
ill, and Willie and I went to Rivenhall to see him.  He wanted me to
nurse him, so I stayed on in my old home while Willie returned to
Bennington.

Frank had consumption, and very badly; he suffered intensely, and I
think I have never longed for the presence of a doctor with more
anxiety than I did for Dr. Gimson's at that time.  My perpetual fear
was that the effect of the opiate he gave to deaden poor Frank's pain
would wear off before he came again.  When it grew dusk Frank desired
me to put candles in every window, that he might not see the
shadows--the terrifying shadows which delirium and continual doses of
morphia never fail to produce.

Frank's very dear friend, Captain Hawley Smart, the novelist, came to
Rivenhall in the hope that he could cheer poor Frank's last hours;
but he was too ill to know or care, {27} and Hawley Smart could, like
the rest of us, only await the pitying release of death.

We went on at Bennington in very much the same way until the end of
that year.  Willie had been betting very heavily in the hope of
relieving the ever-increasing difficulty of meeting our heavy
expenses, and now, in view of his losses in racing added to the cost
attendant on keeping up such a large stud, the kind-hearted bank
manager insisted that the large overdraft on his bank must be
cleared.  Hitherto, whenever he had become very pressing, Willie had
sent him "something on account," and we had given a breakfast for his
hunt, as Willie said such a good fellow "could not eat and ask at the
same time."  Now, however, Mr. Cheshire sorrowfully declined to eat,
and maintained that his duty to his firm necessitated his insisting
upon the clearing of the overdraft.

When Willie was made bankrupt, Mr. Hobson--a gentleman living near us
with his very charming wife, who afterwards became Mrs. A.
Yates--very kindly took my little old pony across the fields at night
to his own place and kept him there so that he should not go into the
sale of our goods.  This defrauded no one, as the pony (my own) was
beyond work, being my childhood's pet.

I was now nearing my first confinement, and my aunt, Mrs. Benjamin
Wood, took a house for me at Brighton close to my sister's, Lady
Barrett-Lennard.  There my son Gerard was born.

I was very ill for some time after this, and my mother, Lady Wood,
stayed with me, employing her time in making a lovely water-colour
sketch for me.

Willie's affairs were now settled, and I had to give up all hope of
returning to my dearly loved country home and all my pets; but I had
the consolation of my beautiful babe, {28} and I forgot my sorrow in
my greater possession.  He was very healthy, so I had no trouble on
that score.

A young solicitor who took Willie's affairs in hand, Mr. Charles Lane
(of Lane and Monroe), very kindly took upon himself to call on my
Uncle William, who was then Lord Chancellor of England, and ask him
to assist us in our financial difficulties.  Uncle William was much
astonished at the application of this obviously nervous young
solicitor, who with the courage born of despair went on to suggest
that Lord Hatherley might give Willie a lucrative appointment.

Strangely enough it had never occurred to me to apply to Uncle
William for anything, and when Mr. Lane called on us and solemnly
presented me with a substantial cheque and a kind message from my
uncle, Willie and I were as surprised as we were pleased, even though
Mr. Lane explained that "the Lord Chancellor had no post suitable"
for Willie's energies.

We then moved into a house on the Marine Parade, as the one we were
in was very expensive, and though I was glad to be next door to my
sister, I felt it was not fair to my aunt, Mrs. Wood, who was paying
the rent for us.

My faithful French maid Caroline stuck to us all through our fallen
fortunes, as also did our stud-groom, Selby, and though we could no
longer pay them the high wages they had always had, they refused to
leave us.

My aunt now took a cottage for me at Patcham, just put of Brighton,
and I was able to have my pony there.  The house at Patcham was a
dear, little, old-fashioned place right against the Downs, and there
I used to walk for miles in the early morning, the springy turf
almost forcing one foot after the other, while the song of the {29}
larks and scent of the close-growing, many-tinted herbage in the
clear bright air filled me with joyous exhilaration.

Willie went to town, and often was away for days, on various
businesses, and I was very lonely at home--even though I daily drove
the old pony into Brighton that I might see my sister.

I had a cousin of Willie's, Mrs. Vaughan, to stay with me for some
time, but she was perpetually wondering what Willie was doing that
kept him so much away, and this added irritation to loneliness.  I
had had such a busy life at Bennington that I suffered much from the
want of companionship and the loss of the many interests of my life
there.  I felt that I must make some friends here, and, attracted by
a dark, handsome woman whom I used to meet riding when I walked on to
the Downs, I made her acquaintance, and found in her a very congenial
companion.  Quiet and rather tragic in expression, she thawed to me,
and we were becoming warmly attached to one another when Willie, in
one of his now flying visits, heard me speak of my new friend.  On
hearing her name--it was one that a few years before had brought
shame and sudden death into one of the oldest of the "great" families
of England--he professed to be absolutely scandalized, and, with an
assumption of authority that at once angered me, forbade me to have
any more to do with her.  He met my protests with a maddening
superiority, and would not tell me why she was "beyond the pale."  I
explained to him my own opinion of many of the women he liked me to
know and almost all the men, for I had not then learnt the hard
lesson of social life, and that the one commandment still rigorously
observed by social hypocrisy was, "Thou shalt not be found out."

{30}

When I met Mrs. ---- again she soothed my indignation on her behalf,
and as we sat there, high on a spur of a hill, watching the distant
sea, she smiled a little sadly as she said to me: "Little fool, I
have gambled in love and have won, and those who win must pay as well
as those who lose.  Never gamble, you very young thing, if you can
help it; but if you do be sure that the stake is the only thing in
the world to you, for only that will make it worth the winning and
the paying."

It was nearly ten years afterwards that I, feeling restless and
unhappy, had such a sudden longing for the sea, that one morning I
left my home (at Eltham) very early and went down to Brighton for the
day.  I was alone, and wished to be alone; so I got out of the train
at Preston, for fear I should meet any of my relations at Brighton
station.  A fancy then seized me to drive out to Patcham, about a
mile farther on, to see if my former little house was occupied.
Having decided that it was I dismissed my fly and walked up the
bridle path beyond the house out on to the Downs, where, turning
south, towards the sea, I walked steadily over the scented turf,
forcing out of my heart all but the joy of movement in the sea wind,
with the song of the skylarks in my ears.

I sang as I walked, looking towards the golden light and sullen blue
of the sea, where a storm was beating up with the west wind.
Presently I realized that I was very tired, and I sat down to rest
upon a little hilltop where I could see over the whole of Brighton.
The wind brought up the rain, and I rose and began to descend the
hill towards Brighton.  I wondered apathetically if my sister was in
Brighton or if they were all at Belhus still.  Anyhow, I knew there
would be someone at her house who {31} would give me something to
eat.  Then I turned round, and began deliberately to climb up the
hill on to the Downs again.  After all, I thought, I had come here to
be alone, and did not want to see my sister particularly.  The family
might all be there, and anyhow I did not want to see anybody who
loved me and could bias my mind.  I had come down to get away from
Willie for a little while--or rather from the thought of him, for it
was rarely enough I saw him.  If I went down to see Emma and Tom they
would ask how Willie was, and really I did not know, and then how
were the children.  Well, I could thankfully answer that the children
were always well.  Why should I be supposed to have no other
interests than Willie and my children?  Willie was not, as a matter
of fact, at all interesting to me.  As to my children, I loved them
very dearly, but they were not old enough, or young enough, to
engross my whole mind.  Then there was dear old Aunt Ben, who was so
old that she would not tolerate any topic of conversation of more
recent date than the marriage of Queen Victoria.  What a curiously
narrow life mine was, I thought, narrow, narrow, narrow, and so
deadly dull.  It was better even to be up there on the Downs in the
drifting rain--though I was soaked to the skin and so desperately
tired and hungry.  I paused for shelter behind a shepherd's hut as I
saw the lithe spare form of my brother-in-law, Sir Thomas, dash past,
head down and eyes half closed against the rain.  He did not see me,
and I watched him running like a boy through the driving mist till he
disappeared.  He had come over from Lewes, I supposed.  He was a
J.P., and had perhaps been over to the court; he never rode where he
could walk--or rather run.

I waited, sheltering now from the rain, and through the {32} mist
there presently came a girl riding.  On seeing me she pulled up to
ask the quickest way to Brighton, as the mist had confused her.  As I
answered her I was struck by a certain resemblance, in the dark eyes
and proud tilt of the chin, to my friend of many years ago, whose
battles I had fought with Willie, and who had told me something of
her life while we sat very near this place.  The girl now before me
was young, and life had not yet written any bitterness upon her face;
but as she thanked me, and, riding away, laughingly urged me to give
up the attempt to "keep dry," and to fly home before I dissolved
altogether, I had the voice of my old-time friend in my ears, and I
answered aloud, "I am afraid; I tell you, I am afraid."  But she was
dead, I knew, and could not answer me, and I smiled angrily at my
folly as I turned down the track to Preston, while I thought more
quietly how the daughter whose loss had caused such bitter pain to my
dear friend, when she had left all for love, had grown to happy
womanhood in spite of all.

I was now feeling very faint from my long day of hard exercise
without food, but there was a train about to start for London, and I
would not miss it.

On the platform for Eltham, at Charing Cross, stood Mr. Parnell,
waiting, watching the people as they passed the barriers.  As our
eyes met he turned and walked by my side.  He did not speak, and I
was too tired to do so, or to wonder at his being there.  He helped
me into the train and sat down opposite me, and I was too exhausted
to care that he saw me wet and dishevelled.  There were others in the
carriage.  I leant back and closed my eyes, and could have slept but
that the little flames deep down in Parnell's eyes kept flickering
before mine, though they were closed.  I was very cold; and I felt
that he took off {33} his coat and tucked it round me, but I would
not open my eyes to look at him.  He crossed over to the seat next to
mine, and, leaning over me to fold the coat more closely round my
knees, he whispered, "I love you, I love you.  Oh, my dear, how I
love you."  And I slipped my hand into his, and knew I was not afraid.



{34}

CHAPTER V

MORE FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES

  "_Thus while Thy several mercies plot
  And work on me, now cold, now hot,
  The work goes on and slacketh not._"
                                  --VAUGHAN.


Willie was away more than ever after this, and I became so bored and
lonely that I told him that I must join him in London if he meant to
be there so much.  He then proposed to give up the Patcham house and
move the small household to Harrow Road, London, temporarily, till we
had time to find something less depressing.

In going we also hoped to shake off an acquaintance who haunted us at
Brighton and Patcham, a Mr. D., but he soon found us out, and,
realizing that I was determined to be "not at home" to him, he took
to leaving gifts of beautiful Spanish lace at the door, directed to
me, and only the words "from Romeo" inside.

This man had lived most of his life in Spain, and was a remarkably
good judge of Spanish lace, and I must confess I was tempted to keep
the rich creamy-white stuff that arrived anonymously.  This "Romeo"
was more than middle-aged, and, when he wrote that for "safety's
sake" he would address messages to me through the "agony" column of
the newspapers, Willie's wrath was unbounded.

He wrote to poor "Romeo" in sarcastic vein, alluding to his age and
figure, his insolence in addressing "a young and beautiful" woman
with his "pestilent" twaddle.  He told him, too, that he withdrew
from all business transactions {35} with him, and would have much
pleasure in kicking "Romeo" if he dared call at the house again.  I
was almost sorry for the foolish old man; but that was wasted on him,
for he continued, undeterred by Willie's anger, to address "Juliet"
in prose and verse in the daily papers.  As he said, the "Daily Press
was open to all, and the Captain could not stop that!"  I used to
laugh helplessly as Willie opened the morning paper at breakfast,
and, first gravely turning to the "agony" column, would read the
latest message to "Juliet" from her devoted "Romeo," becoming so
angry that breakfast was spoiled to him.  The sudden cessation of our
acquaintance prevented our making that of Mme. Adelina Patti though
"Romeo" had arranged a dinner in order that I should meet her.

A few weeks after we arrived in Harrow Road Willie began to complain
of feeling ill, and a swelling that had formed on his neck became
very painful.  He was confined to bed, and after great suffering for
weeks, Mr. Edgar Barker, who was constantly in attendance, said he
must operate to save Willie's life.  I had no nurse, as at this time
we were in such financial straits that I really did not know which
way to turn, and Willie was too ill to be asked about anything.  Mr.
Barker said to me, "You must hold his head perfectly still, and not
faint."  So he operated, and all went well, in spite of my
inexperience in surgical nursing.  Mr. Barker, for whose kindness at
this time I can never be sufficiently grateful, helped me in every
way, and would not allow even Willie's mother and sister to do so, as
their presence irritated the patient so intensely.

During this time of trouble a Mr. Calasher, a money-lender, called to
have some acceptances of Willie's met.  I left Willie's bedside for a
few minutes to see him, and he was kindness itself, agreeing to a
renewal on my signature {36} alone, and most kindly sending in some
little delicacies that he thought Willie might fancy.  When Willie
had recovered and went to see Mr. Calasher about the bills, it being
then more than ever impossible to meet them, he (Mr. Calasher) would
not consent to a further renewal, but tore the bills across and gave
them back to Willie, saying, "Don't worry yourself, Captain O'Shea,
but pay me when you can, and add six per cent. interest if you are
able."  I am glad to say we did this within the year.  His courtesy
about these bills was a great relief to me, as Willie was far too ill
to be spoken to about business, and I was at my wits' end for money
to meet everyday expenses.  The accommodating Jew who lends the
indiscreet Christian his money--naturally with a businesslike
determination to increase it--has so much said against him that I am
glad to be able to speak my little word of gratitude of one who was
considerate and chivalrous to Willie as well as myself, to his own
detriment.

Better circumstances arising on Willie's recovery of health, we were
anxious to get away from the depressions of Harrow Road, with its
constant procession of hearses and mourners on the way to Kensal
Green Cemetery.  After a weary hunt we finally decided upon a house
in Beaufort Gardens.  My French maid rejoiced in returning to her
light duties as lady's maid, and reigned over a staff of maids in
unison with the butler.  Selby, at last convinced that race-horses
were out of the question with us, left us, with mutual expressions of
esteem, to seek more congenial surroundings.

We went to Beaufort Gardens in 1872, and Willie insisted upon my
making many new acquaintances.  We soon found ourselves in a social
swirl of visits, visitors and entertainments.  I had always disliked
society, as such.  {37} Willie, however, thoroughly enjoyed this
life, and as he was always worrying me to dress in the latest
fashion, and would have a Frenchman in to dress my hair before every
party, I became very rebellious.

Here my eldest daughter was born, and I was glad of the rest from
parties and balls--even though so many people I did not care to see
came "to cheer me up!"  As soon as I was about again the life I found
so wearisome recommenced.  After escorting me home from a dance or
reception that I had not wanted to go to, Willie would go off again
to "finish up the night," and one night, when in terror I was seeking
for burglars, I found a policeman sitting on the stairs.  He
explained genially that the door was open, and he thought it better
to come inside and guard the door for the Captain's return!

Alfred Austin--not then Poet Laureate--was a great friend and
constant visitor of ours at that time.  He had been at school--at
Oscott--with Willie, and he was, I remember, extremely sensitive to
criticism.  "Owen Meredith," Lord Lytton, was also a frequent
visitor, especially when my sister Anna was with us--she being
sympathetic to his genius.

I think Willie and I were beginning to jar upon one another a good
deal now, and I loved to get away for long walks by myself through
the parks of London.  Kensington Gardens was a great solace to me in
all seasons and weathers, and I spent much of my time there.  I often
turned into the Brompton Oratory on my way home for a few minutes'
peace and rest of body and soul, and these quiet times were a comfort
to me when suffering from the fret and worry of my domestic life.

I first made my way to the Oratory when my daughter Norah was
baptized, and some little time afterwards one {38} of the Fathers
called on me.  Finally Father ---- undertook to call regularly to
instruct me in the Catholic religion.  He and the other priests lent
me any books I wanted, and "The Threshold of the Catholic Faith," and
one other I have now.  That I never got beyond the "Threshold" was no
fault of these good Fathers, who taught me with endless patience and
uncompromising directness.  But I had before me two types of Catholic
in Willie and his mother and sister, and both were to me
stumbling-blocks.  The former was, as I knew, what they call a
"careless Catholic," and I thought that if he who had been born in
that faith that means so much made so little of it, perhaps it was
more of a beautiful dream than a reality of life.  Yet when I turned
and considered those "good Catholics," his mother and sister, I found
such a fierce bigotry and deadly dullness of outlook, such an immense
piety and so small a charity, that my whole being revolted against
such a belittling of God-given life.  Now, I know that Mary and the
Comtesse disliked me personally, and also that my temperament was
antagonistic to theirs, as indeed to Willie's, though the affection
he and I had for one another eased the friction between us; but youth
judges so much by results, and my excursion into the Catholic
religion ended in abrupt revolt against all forms and creeds.  This
feeling was intensified when my second little girl, Carmen, was born
and christened at the Oratory.  I would not go in, but stood waiting
in the porch, where I had so often marked tired men and women passing
in to pray after their hard and joyless day of toil, and I felt that
my children were taken from me, and that I was very lonely.

My Uncle William, Lord Hatherley, was Lord High Chancellor at this
time, and we were a good deal at his house, both at "functions" and
privately.  His great {39} friend, Dean Stanley, was very kind to me;
Dean Hook came, too, and many other Churchmen were continually in and
out in their train.  My cousin, William Stephens, who afterwards
became Dean of Winchester, was then a very good-looking and agreeable
young man; he followed my uncle about like a shadow, and my uncle and
Aunt Charlotte were devoted to him.  But my uncle gathered other
society than that of Churchmen about him, and it amused me to watch
for the pick of the intellectual world of the day as they swarmed up
and down the stairs at the receptions, with the necessary make-weight
of people who follow and pose in the wake of the great.

Willie insisted upon his wife being perfectly gowned on these
occasions, and as he so often got out of going to those functions and
insisted on my going alone, certain other relations of Lord
Hatherley's would hover round me with their spiteful remarks of:
"Dear Katie, alone again I poor dear girl, where does he go?  How odd
that you are so often alone--how little you know!"  I was fond of my
old uncle and he of me, but these little amenities did not make me
like these social functions better, especially as his wife, my Aunt
Charlotte, had a most irritating habit of shutting her eyes when
greeting me, and, with her head slightly to one side, saying, "Poor
dear!  Poor lovely lamb!"

This winter, following the birth of my second girl, was bitterly
cold, and my health, which had not been good for some time before her
birth, caused much anxiety.  After a consultation between Sir William
Gull, Sir William Jenner, and my usual doctor, it was decided that we
should go to Niton, Isle of Wight, as I was too weak to travel far.
My dear old aunt, Mrs. Benjamin Wood, sent her own doctor to me, and
he recommended me to inject opium--an {40} expression of opinion that
horrified Sir William Jenner into saying, "That man's mad, or wants
to get rid of you!"

Our pecuniary affairs were again causing us considerable anxiety, but
my dear aunt played the fairy godmother once more, and sent Willie a
cheque so that we could go to Niton without worry or anxiety, and
stop there until my health should be re-established.  We were
delighted with the summer warmth of the sun, and spent a happy
Christmas basking in it.  Since the hotel was very expensive, Willie
established me in lodgings with the children and nurses in Ventnor,
and, finding the place decidedly dull, returned to London.

The local doctor at Ventnor, who had been put in charge of my
shattered health, was not satisfied that it was in any way improving,
and, finding one day that I was in the habit of taking sleeping
draughts, he snorted angrily off to the chemist and returned with a
large tin of meat extract, with which he presented me, adding the
intimation that it was worth a dozen bottles of my draught--which
happened to be a powder--and that my London doctors were bereft of
intelligence.  I was too tired to argue the point and contented
myself with the observation that all doctors save the one in
attendance were fellows in intelligence--a sentiment he considered
suspiciously for some moments before snorting away like the amiable
little steam engine he was.  His specific for sleeplessness was much
more wholesome than drugs, and I have always found it so since then.



{41}

CHAPTER VI

CAPTAIN O'SHEA ENTERS POLITICAL LIFE

  "_D'un coeur qui t'aime,
    Mon Dieu, qui peut troubler la tranquille paix?
  Il cherche, en tout, ta volunté suprème,
    Et ne se cherche jamais.
  Sur la terre, dans le ciel même,
    Est-il d'autre bonheur que la tranquille paix
  D'un coeur qui t'aime?_"--RACINE.


Willie was too busy to come down to Ventnor again, and I became so
depressed by the relaxing air and by the sight of the many poor
consumptive people I met at every turn, veritable signposts in their
different stages of disease of the road I had been warned that I was
on, that I decided to go nearer home.  My doctor suggested Hastings,
and there I went, taking my small family under the kindly escort of
one of my nephews.

Willie soon came down, and, as my health improved rapidly, we stayed
on for some time, making frequent visits to my Aunt "Ben" at Eltham,
who was making our stay at the seaside possible.  This was
practically my first introduction to my aunt, as my former visits
were when, as a little child, I was only allowed to sit by her side
in the "tapestry room" trying to do some needlework under her
supervision, and assisting her in the consumption of the luscious
peaches she always had on the table.  In those days I would have been
wild with terror at the idea of being left alone with this aunt, who
always wore the fashions of her early Victorian youth, and who would
not tolerate the slightest noise in the house.  I now found her {42}
of fascinating interest, and even the painful sense of "hush" in her
house, the noiseless stepping of the servants and the careful
seclusion of sunlight had attractions for me.  My uncle, Benjamin
Wood, had died very many years before, and my aunt never alluded to
him.  She herself had never left Eltham since his death, and had only
once been in a railway train, living in complete seclusion in her
fine old Georgian house, only "taking the air" in the grounds
adjoining or emerging forth in her chariot to drive for an hour daily.

She lived in the intellectual world of the Greek poets, and of
Addison, Swift and Racine; and there was a leisure and a scholarly
atmosphere about her life that seemed to banish the hurry and turmoil
of the modern world at her gate.  She was extremely generous in
subscribing to what she termed "Organizations for the better conduct
of charitable relief," and, though of no particular religious belief,
she subscribed to the various objects of local charity when asked to
do so by the clergyman of the parish.  The latter gentleman once made
the mistake of offering to read the Scriptures to her on the occasion
of an illness, and I well remember his face of consternation when she
replied: "I thank you, Mr. ----, but I am still well able to read,
and the Scriptures do not interest me."  Yet during the many years I
spent in constant companionship with her the quiet peace which
reigned by her side gave me the most restful and soothing hours of my
life.

After we had paid her several visits in this way she informed me that
she had ascertained that I was much alone, that she was very tenderly
attached to me, and would wish to provide for me and my children if I
would come to live near her so that I could be her constant
companion.  She added that she considered that this arrangement would
{43} be more "seemly" for me, as Willie was obliged to be away from
home so much.

After consultation with the (county court) judge, Gordon Whitbread,
her nephew and my cousin, who always transacted her business for her,
she bought a house for me at the other side of her park, and arranged
to settle a regular income on me and to educate my children.  In
return she asked that her "Swan"--as she always called me--should be
her daily companion.  This I was until her death, at the age of
ninety-four, about fifteen years later.

My aunt lived a life of great seclusion, and, with the exception of
George Meredith (the author), and the Rev. ---- Wilkinson, who each
came down once a week to read to her, her oculist and great friend,
Dr. Bader, and two old ladies, friends of her youth, she rarely saw
anyone.  Her house--"The Lodge," Eltham--was fine old Georgian,
spoilt inside by the erection of mock pillars in the hall.  She was
very particular that no one should tread upon the highly polished
floors, and, as the two large halls had only rugs laid about on the
shining surface, one had either to make many "tacks" to reach the
desired door or seat, or take a short cut on tiptoe and risk her
"displeasure."

It was amusing to watch George Meredith on his excursion from the
front door to the dressing-room at the foot of the stairs, where my
aunt kept three pairs of slippers for the use of her "gentlemen
readers" lest their boots should soil the carpets.  To reach this
little room he had--if in a good mood and conforming to his old
friend's regulations--to walk straight ahead past the room, and make
a detour round a pillar of (imitation) green marble and a table, back
to the door.  On days of rebellion against these forms and ceremonies
he would hesitate for {44} a moment just inside the door, and, with a
reckless uplifting of his head, begin a hasty stride across the
sacred places; a stride which became an agitated tip-toeing under the
scandalized gaze of the footman.  Before he began to read to my aunt
the following dialogue invariably took place:--

"Now, my dear lady, I will read you something of my own."

"Indeed, my dear Mr. Meredith, I cannot comprehend your works."

"I will explain my meaning, dear Mrs. Wood."

"You are prodigiously kind, dear Mr. Meredith, but I should prefer
Molière to-day."

While Willie and I were still living in London we went down one day
to see a furnished house we wished to rent for a few weeks, and,
remembering my Aunt Ben's injunction to convey her "felicitations to
her dear Mr. Meredith," we called on him.

I had not before met George Meredith, and had only read one of his
works--and that "behind the door" when I was very young, owing to
some belated scruple of my elders.  I remember, as we neared the
house, asking Willie the names of Meredith's other works, so that I
might be ready primed with intelligent interest, and Willie's
sarcastic little smile, as he mentioned one or two, adding, "You need
not worry yourself; Meredith will soon enlighten us as to his books.
They say it's the one thing he ever talks about."  But we spent a
delightful afternoon with Mr. Meredith, who showed us all his
literary treasures and the little house at the end of the garden
where he wrote.  While we sat in the lovely little garden drinking
tea our host descanted on the exquisite haze of heat that threw soft
shadows about the house and gave the great trees {45} in the
background the appearance of an enchanted forest.  George Meredith
was "reader" to Chapman and Hall in those days, and he spoke to me
appreciatively of the work of my mother and sister, who published
with Chapman and Hall.

In these days at Eltham I learnt to know George Meredith very well,
as I saw him almost every week when he came down to read to my aunt.
The old lady did not like triangular conversation, so as soon as they
were fairly launched in reading or conversation, I would gladly slip
away to my own occupations.  To Aunt Ben, Meredith appeared to be a
very young man indeed, and in her gentle, high-bred way she loved to
tease him about his very great appreciation of his own work--and
person.  Meredith took her gentle raillery absolutely in good part
and would hold forth upon what the literary world "of all time" owed
him in his books, and also upon what Lady This-or-that had said in
admiration of his good looks at such-and-such a gathering.  My aunt
used to delight in these tales, which were delivered in the mock
serious manner of a boy telling his mother of his prowess, real or
imagined; and after a time of listening to him, with only her gently
modulated little bursts of laughter to encourage him, she would say,
"Oh, my dear Mr. Meredith, your conceit is as wonderful as your
genius!"--bringing forth from him the protest, "My dear lady, no!
But it is a pleasure to you to hear of my successes and to me to tell
you of them."  And so I would leave them to their playful badinage
and reading.

Meredith was very fond of his old friend, and always treated her with
the chivalrous and rather elaborate courtesy that he well knew she
delighted in.  His weekly visits were a great pleasure to her, and
although she would not {46} allow him to read anything modern and
never anything of his own work, I think he must have enjoyed his
reading and talk with this clever old lady, for often the stipulated
two hours of the "classics and their discussion" lengthened into the
three or four that caused him to miss all the most convenient trains
home.

One evening as I was going into the house I saw him standing on the
terrace gazing after the retreating form of my little girl Carmen,
then about six years old.  As I came up he pointed at the stiff
little back and said, "She was flying along like a fairy Atalanta
when I caught her, and said, 'What is your name?'  'Miss
Nothin'-at-all!' she replied, with such fierce dignity that I dropped
her in alarm."

I called the child to come back and speak politely to Mr. Meredith,
but, to his amusement, was only rewarded by an airy wave of the hand
as she fled down a by-path.

As I sometimes chatted to Mr. Meredith on his way through the grounds
to the station, he would tell me of "that blessed woman," as he used
to call his (second) wife, already then dead, and of how he missed
her kind and always sympathetic presence on his return home and in
his work.  Sometimes the handsome head would droop, and I thought he
looked careworn and sad as he spoke of her, and in doing so he lost
for the moment all the mannerisms and "effectiveness" which were
sometimes rather wearisome in him.  As my aunt grew very old she--in
the last few years of her life--became unequal to listening and
talking to her "gentlemen readers," and to me she deputed the task of
telling them so.  In the case of George Meredith it was rather
painful to me, as I feared the loss of the £300 a year my aunt had so
long paid him for his {47} weekly visits might be a serious one to
him.  But he, too, had aged in all these years, and perhaps his
visits to his old friend were becoming rather irksome to him in their
regularity.  Curiously enough, I shared my aunt's inability to enjoy
his work, and to the last I met his mocking inquiry as to my
"progress in literature" (i.e. his novels) by a deprecating "Only
'Richard Feverel.'"

The house my aunt bought for me was just across her park, and she had
a gate made in the park fence so that I might go backwards and
forwards to her house more quickly.  My house was a comfortable villa
with the usual little "front garden" and larger one in the rear.
There were excellent stables at the end of this garden.  The house,
"Wonersh Lodge," had the usual dining-room and drawing-room, with two
other sitting-rooms opening severally into the garden, and a large
conservatory, which I afterwards made over to Mr. Parnell for his own
use.  My aunt furnished the house, and we were most comfortable,
while my children rejoiced in having the run of the park and grounds
after the restraint of town life.

Willie was very much in London now, and occupied himself in getting
up a company to develop some mining business in Spain.  He always
drew up a prospectus excellently; on reading it one could hardly help
believing--as he invariably did--that here at last was the golden
opportunity of speculators.  Some influential men put into the
Spanish venture sums varying from £1,000 to £10,000.  Our old friend
Christopher Weguelin took great interest in it, and eventually Willie
was offered the post of manager, at La Mines, at a good salary.  It
was a very acceptable post to Willie, as he loved the life in foreign
countries.  There was a very good house, and he had it planted round
with eucalyptus trees to keep off the {48} fever so prevalent there,
and from which the men working the mines suffered greatly.

Willie was, however, immune to fever, and never had it.  He was away
in Spain for over eighteen months this time, and did not come home at
all during the period.

My son now, at eight years old, proved too much for his French
governess, so we arranged for him to go to a school at Blackheath,
though he was two years younger than the age generally accepted
there.  The little girls were started afresh with a German governess,
and on Willie's return from Spain he stayed at Eltham for a time.

We were pleased to see one another again, but once more the wearing
friction caused by our totally dissimilar temperaments began to make
us feel that close companionship was impossible, and we mutually
agreed that he should have rooms in London, visiting Eltham to see
myself and the children at week-ends.  After a while the regularity
of his week-end visits became very much broken, but he still arrived
fairly regularly to take the children to Mass at Chislehurst on
Sunday mornings, and he would often get me up to town to do hostess
when he wished to give a dinner-party.  I had all my life been well
known at Thomas's Hotel, Berkeley Square, as my parents and family
had always stayed there when in London.  So here I used to help
Willie with his parties, and to suffer the boredom incidental to this
form of entertainment.

On one occasion Willie, who always said that even if only for the
sake of our children I ought not to "drop out of everything," worried
me into accepting invitations to a ball given by the Countess ----,
whom I did not know, and for this I came up to town late in the
afternoon, dined quietly at the hotel by myself, and dressed {49} for
the ball, ready for Willie to fetch me as he had promised after his
dinner with some friends.  I was ready at half-past eleven as had
been arranged, and the carriage came round for me at a quarter to
twelve.  At twelve the manageress, a friend from my childhood, came
to see if she could "do anything for me" as Captain O'Shea was so
late.  At 12.30 the head waiter, who used to lift me into my chair at
table on our first acquaintance, came to know if "Miss Katie" was
anxious about "the Captain," and got snubbed by the manageress for
his pains.  At one o'clock, white with anger and trembling with
mortification, I tore off my beautiful frock and got into bed.  At
nine o'clock the next morning Willie called, having only just
remembered my existence and the ball to which he was to have taken me.

Willie was now longing for some definite occupation, and he knew many
political people.  While he was on a visit to Ireland early in 1880
he was constantly urged by his friends, the O'Donnells and others, to
try for a seat in the next Parliament.  A dissolution seemed
imminent.  He had often talked of becoming a member for some Irish
constituency, and now, on again meeting The O'Gorman Mahon in
Ireland, he was very easily persuaded to stand in with him for County
Clare.  He wrote home to me to know what I thought of the idea,
saying that he feared that, much as he should like it, the expenses
would be almost too heavy for us to manage.  I wrote back strongly
encouraging him to stand, for I knew it would give him occupation he
liked and keep us apart--and therefore good friends.  Up to this time
Willie had not met Mr. Parnell.



{50}

CHAPTER VII

MR. PARNELL AND THE IRISH PARTY

  "_I loved those hapless ones--the Irish Poor--
                              All my life long.
  Little did I for them in outward deed,
  And yet be unto them of praise the meed
  For the stiff fight I urged 'gainst lust and greed:
                              I learnt it there._"
                                    --SIR WILLIAM BUTLER.


"The introduction of the Arms Bill has interfered with Mr. Parnell's
further stay in France, and it is probable he will be in his place in
the House of Commons by the time this is printed."

This paragraph appeared in the Nation early in 1880.  On the 8th
March of that year, the Disraeli Parliament dissolved, and on the
29th April Mr. Gladstone formed his Ministry.

In the Disraeli Parliament Mr. Parnell was the actual, though Mr.
Shaw had been the nominal, leader of the Irish Parliamentary Party
since the death of Mr. Isaac Butt in 1879.  Shaw continued the Butt
tradition of moderation and conciliation which had made the Irish
Party an unconsidered fraction in British politics.  Parnell
represented the new attitude of uncompromising hostility to all
British parties and of unceasing opposition to all their measures
until the grievances of Ireland were redressed.  He carried the
majority of his Party with him, and in Ireland he was already the
people's hero.

Born in June, 1846, Parnell was still a young man.  {51} He came of a
fine race; he was a member of the same family as the famous poet,
Thomas Parnell, as Lord Congleton, Radical reformer and statesman,
and, above all, Sir John Parnell, who sat and worked with Grattan in
Ireland's Great Parliament and shared with him the bitter fight
against the Union.  On his mother's side he was the grandson of the
famous Commodore Charles Stewart, of the American Navy, whose bravery
and success in the War of Independence are well known.  It was
natural that a man of such ancestry should become a champion of the
rights of his native land.

Yet though in 1879 he was the virtual chief of the Irish Party, eight
years before he was an Irish country gentleman, living quietly on his
estates at Avondale in County Wicklow.

It is a mistake to say that his mother "planted his hatred of England
in him," as she so seldom saw him as a boy.  He was sent to school in
England at six years old, and he used to tell me how his father--who
died when he (Charles S. Parnell) was twelve years old--would send
for him to come to Ireland to see him.  His mother, Mrs. Delia
Parnell, lived chiefly in America, going over to Avondale that her
children might be born in Ireland, and returning as soon as possible
to America.  After her husband's death she only visited the place
occasionally, and altogether saw very little of her son Charles.  He
often told me how well he remembered being sent for in his father's
last illness to go to him at Dublin, and the last journey with his
dying father back to Avondale.  His father had made him his heir and
a ward of Court.

In reality Parnell's hatred of England arose when he began to study
the records of England's misgovernment {52} in Ireland, and of the
barbarities that were inflicted upon her peasantry in the name of
England's authority.

For years before he left the seclusion of Avondale this hatred had
been growing.  He followed the Fenian movement with the liveliest
interest, and he often accompanied his sister Fanny when she took her
verses to the offices of the _Irish World_.  The sufferings of the
Fenian prisoners, so courageously borne, stirred his blood and
awakened his imagination.  It can be imagined with what inward anger
the young man heard of the detective raid on his mother's house in
Temple Street, Dublin--when they found and impounded the sword he was
privileged to wear as an officer of the Wicklow Militia.

But it was the Manchester affair of 1867 and the execution of Allen,
Larkin and O'Brien which crystallized his hatred of England.  From
that moment he was only biding his time.  Yet he was slow to move,
and loath to speak his mind, and, until he went to America in 1871,
he was better known for his cricketing and his autumn shooting than
for his politics.  When he returned to Avondale with his brother John
in 1872 the Ballot Act had just been passed, and it was the
consciousness of the possibilities of the secret vote as a weapon
against England that finally persuaded him to be a politician.

But, though he joined the newly formed Home Rule League, it was not
until 1874 that he stood for Parliament in Dublin County.  He came
out at the bottom of the poll.  The election cost him £2,000; the
£300 which he had received from the Home Rule League he handed back
to them.  In April, 1875, he stood for Meath and was placed at the
top of the poll.

When he entered Parliament the Irish Party, as I have said, was of
little account.  The case for Ireland was {53} argued by Isaac Butt
with fine reasonableness and forensic skill, but it produced
absolutely no effect.  The English parties smiled and patted the
Irish indulgently on the head.  In Ireland all the more resolute and
enthusiastic spirits had an utter contempt for their Parliamentary
representatives; from the machine nothing was to be hoped.  It was
the mission of Parnell to change all that, to unite all the warring
elements of the Nationalist movements into one force to be hurled
against England.

But still he waited and watched--learning the rules of the House,
studying the strength and weaknesses of the machine he was to use and
to attack.  He found it more instructive to watch Biggar than Butt,
for Biggar was employing those methods of obstruction which Parnell
afterwards used with such perfect skill.  From June, 1876, he took a
hand in affairs.  Side by side with Biggar, he began his relentless
obstruction of Parliamentary business until the demands of Ireland
should be considered.  Already in 1877 he was fighting Butt for the
direction of the Irish Party.  On September 1st of that year Parnell
became President of the Home Rule Confederation of Great Britain in
place of Butt, and the victory was really won.  Thenceforward Parnell
was the true leader of the Irish movement inside Parliament and out
of it.  He attracted the support of Fenians by his uncompromising
tactics and his fearless utterances, and when the New Departure was
proclaimed by Michael Davitt (just out of prison) and John Devoy, and
the Land League was formed in 1879, Parnell was elected president.

The objects of the League were "best to be attained by defending
those who may be threatened with eviction for refusing to pay unjust
rents; and by obtaining such reforms in the laws relating to land as
will enable every {54} tenant to become the owner of his holding by
paying a fair rent for a limited number of years."  The League was
meant by its founders, Davitt and Devoy, to work for the abolition of
landlordism in Ireland, which, in turn, should pave the way for
separation.  Though Parnell was himself working for Home Rule, the
League became a tremendous driving power behind his constitutional
demands.  For some months Disraeli's Government did nothing, while
the agitation spread like wildfire.  Then in November three of the
leaders were arrested, on December 5th a fourth--and in a few days
released!  Ireland laughed, and the League grew.  On December 21st
Parnell and Dillon sailed for New York to appeal for funds to save
the tenant farmers and to tighten the bond between the new movement
and the revolutionary societies of America.  His triumphal progress
through the States and Canada, his reception by the Governors of
States, members of Congress, judges and other representative men, and
finally his appearance before Congress to develop his views on the
Irish situation, are well known.  It was on this journey--at
Toronto--that he was first hailed as the "Uncrowned King."

The unexpected news of the dissolution summoned him home.  In going
out Disraeli tried to make Home Rule the issue of the election, but
Lord Hartington--who was then leading the Liberal Party--and Mr.
Gladstone refused to take up the challenge.  All the English parties
were united in hostility to Home Rule.

But the violent manifesto of Disraeli threw the Irish voting strength
in England into the Liberal scale.  The Liberals swept the country.

Curiously enough, even in Ireland the issue of the election was not
Home Rule.  There it was the land, and {55} nothing but the land.
For the harvest of 1879 had been the worst since the great famine;
evictions were in full swing, and the Land League had begun its work.

The demand was for a measure securing the "three F's": Fixity of
tenure, fair rents determined by a legal tribunal, and free sale of
the tenant's interest.  But in many constituencies the demand was for
the extinction of landlordism.

Parnell carried the election on his back.  He was fighting not only
the Liberals and the Tories, but the moderate Home Rule followers of
Mr. Shaw.  His energy seemed inexhaustible; from one end of Ireland
to the other he organized the campaign, and addressed meetings.  The
result was a triumph for his policy and for the Land League.  Of the
61 Home Rulers elected, 39 were Parnellites.



{56}

CHAPTER VIII

THE FIRST MEETING WITH MR. PARNELL

  "_One evening he asked the miller where the river went._"
  "_'It goes down the valley,' answered he, 'and turns a power
  of mills.'_"--R. L. STEVENSON.


Willie and The O'Gorman Mahon had been returned at the General
Election, and many and varied were the stories The O'Gorman Mahon
told me subsequently of their amusing experiences.  How they kissed
nearly every girl in Clare and drank with every man--and poor Willie
loathed Irish whisky--how Willie's innate fastidiousness in dress
brought gloom into the eyes of the peasantry until his unfeigned
admiration of their babies and live stock, scrambing together about
the cabins, "lifted a smile to the lip."

The O'Gorman Mahon was then a tall, handsome old man with a perfect
snowstorm of white hair, and eyes as merry and blue as those of a
boy.  He could look as fierce as an old eagle on occasion, however,
and had fought, in his day, more duels than he could remember.  A
fine specimen of the old type of Irishman.

When he came down to Eltham to see us, Willie and I took him over to
Greenwich and gave him a fish dinner.  We sat late into the night
talking of Irish affairs, and The O'Gorman Mahon said to me, "If you
meet Parnell, Mrs. O'Shea, be good to him.  His begging expedition to
America has about finished him, and I don't believe he'll last the
session out."

{57}

He went on to speak of Mr. Parnell; how aloof and reserved he was,
and how he received any inquiries as to his obviously bad health with
a freezing hostility that gave the inquirers a ruffled sense of
tactlessness.

Willie broke in to say that he and I were going to give some
political dinners in London and would ask Parnell, though he was sure
he would not come.  The O'Gorman Mahon paid some idle compliment, but
I was not interested particularly in their stories of Parnell, though
I mentally decided that if I gave any dinners to the Irish Party for
Willie I would make a point of getting Parnell.

On the 26th of April the members of the Irish Party met in Dublin to
elect a chairman, and the meeting was adjourned without coming to a
decision, but in May Mr. Parnell was chosen as leader.  Willie voted
for him, with twenty-two others, and telegraphed to me to say that he
had done so, but feared that Mr. Parnell might be too "advanced."
The fact was that many people admired steady-going William Shaw, the
then chairman, as being very "safe," and doubted whither their
allegiance to Mr. Parnell would lead them.  Years after, when their
politics had diverged, Mr. Parnell said: "I was right when I said in
'80, as Willie got up on that platform at Ennis, dressed to kill,
that he was just the man we did not want in the Party."

After the meeting of Parliament Willie was insistent that I should
give some dinner parties in London, and, as his rooms were too small
for this purpose, we arranged to have a couple of private rooms at
Thomas's Hotel--my old haunt in Berkeley Square.  There were no
ladies' clubs in those days, but this hotel served me for many years
as well as such a club could have done.

{58}

We gave several dinners, and to each of them I asked Mr. Parnell.
Among the first to come were Mr. Justin McCarthy (the elder), Colonel
Colthurst, Richard Power, Colonel Nolan, and several others; but--in
spite of his acceptance of the invitation--Mr. Parnell did not come.
Someone alluded to the "vacant chair," and laughingly defied me to
fill it; the rest of our guests took up the tale and vied with each
other in tales of the inaccessibility of Parnell, of how he ignored
even the invitations of the most important political hostesses in
London, and of his dislike of all social intercourse--though he had
mixed freely in society in America and Paris before he became a
politician for the sake of the Irish poor.  I then became determined
that I would get Parnell to come, and said, amid laughter and
applause: "The uncrowned King of Ireland shall sit in that chair at
the next dinner I give!"

One bright sunny day when the House was sitting I drove, accompanied
by my sister, Mrs. Steele (who had a house in Buckingham Gate), to
the House of Commons and sent in a card asking Mr. Parnell to come
out and speak to us in Palace Yard.

He came out, a tall, gaunt figure, thin and deadly pale.  He looked
straight at me smiling, and his curiously burning eyes looked into
mine with a wondering intentness that threw into my brain the sudden
thought: "This man is wonderful--and different."

I asked him why he had not answered my last invitation to dinner, and
if nothing would induce him to come.  He answered that he had not
opened his letters for days, but if I would let him, he would come to
dinner directly he returned from Paris, where he had to go for his
sister's wedding.

{59}

In leaning forward in the cab to say good-bye a rose I was wearing in
my bodice fell out on to my skirt.  He picked it up and, touching it
lightly with his lips, placed it in his button-hole.

This rose I found long years afterwards done up in an envelope, with
my name and the date, among his most private papers, and when he died
I laid it upon his heart.

This is the first letter I had from Mr. Parnell:--


  LONDON,
    _July_ 17, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--We have all been in such a "disturbed"
    condition lately that I have been quite unable to wander further
    from here than a radius of about one hundred _paces allons_.  And
    this notwithstanding the powerful attractions which have been
    tending to seduce me from my duty towards my country in the
    direction of Thomas's Hotel.

    I am going over to Paris on Monday evening or Tuesday morning to
    attend my sister's wedding, and on my return will write you again
    and ask for an opportunity of seeing you.--Yours very truly,
    CHAS. S. PARNELL.



On his return from Paris Mr. Parnell wrote to me, and again we asked
him to dinner, letting him name his own date.  We thought he would
like a quiet dinner, and invited only my sister, Mrs. Steele, my
nephew, Sir Matthew Wood, Mr. Justin McCarthy, and a couple of others
whose names I forget.  On receiving his reply accepting the
invitation for the following Friday, we engaged a box at the Gaiety
Theatre--where Marion Hood was acting (for whom I had a great
admiration)--as we thought it would be a relief to the "Leader" to
get away from politics for once.

On the day of the dinner I got this note:--


{60}


  HOUSE OF COMMONS,
    _Friday._

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I dined with the Blakes on Wednesday, and
    by the time dinner was over it was too late to go to the
    meeting--the Post Office is all right here.

    I cannot imagine who originated the paragraph.  I have certainly
    made no arrangements up to the present to go either to Ireland or
    America or announced any intention to anybody.--Yours, CHAS. S.
    PARNELL.



He arrived late, but apologetic, and was looking painfully ill and
white, the only life-light in his face being given by the fathomless
eyes of rich brown, varying to the brilliance of flame.  The depth of
expression and sudden fire of his eyes held me to the day of his
death.

We had a pleasant dinner, talking of small nothings, and, avoiding
the controversial subject of politics, Mr. Parnell directed most of
his conversation to my sister during dinner.  She could talk
brilliantly, and her quick, light handling of each subject as it came
up kept him interested and amused.  I was really anxious that he
should have an agreeable evening, and my relief was great when he
said that he was glad to go to the theatre with us, as the change of
thought it gave was a good rest for him.

On arrival at the theatre he and I seemed to fall naturally into our
places in the dark corner of the box facing the stage and screened
from the sight of the audience, while my sister and the others sat in
front.

After we had settled in our seats Mr. Parnell began to talk to me.  I
had a feeling of complete sympathy and companionship with him, as
though I had always known this strange, unusual man with the thin
face and pinched nostrils, who sat by my side staring with that
curious {61} intent gaze at the stage, and telling me in a low
monotone of his American tour and of his broken health.

Then, turning more to me, he paused; and, as the light from the stage
caught his eyes, they seemed like sudden flames.  I leaned a little
towards him, still with that odd feeling of his having always been
there by my side; and his eyes smiled into mine as he broke off his
theme and began to tell me of how he had met once more in America a
lady to whom he had been practically engaged some few years before.

Her father would not dower her to go to Ireland, and Parnell would
not think of giving up the Irish cause and settling in America.  The
engagement therefore hung fire; but on this last visit to America he
had sought her out and found himself cold and disillusioned.

She was a very pretty girl, he said, with golden hair, small features
and blue eyes.  One evening, on this last visit, he went to a ball
with her, and, as she was going up the stairs, she pressed into his
hand a paper on which was written the following verse:

  "Unless you can muse in a crowd all day
    On the absent face that fixed you,
  Unless you can dream that his faith is fast
    Through behoving and unbehoving,
  Unless you can die when the dream is past,
    Oh, never call it loving."

He asked me who had written the lines, and I answered that it sounded
like one of the Brownings (it is E. B. Browning's), and he said
simply: "Well, I could not do all that, so I went home."

I suggested that perhaps the lady had suffered in his desertion, but
he said that he had seen her, that same evening, suddenly much
attracted by a young advocate {62} named A----, who had just entered
the room, and decided in his own mind that his vacillation had lost
him the young lady.  The strenuous work he had then put his whole
heart into had driven out all traces of regret.

After this dinner-party I met him frequently in the Ladies' Gallery
of the House.  I did not tell him when I was going; but, whenever I
went, he came up for a few minutes; and, if the Wednesday sittings
were not very important or required his presence, he would ask me to
drive with him.  We drove many miles this way in a hansom cab out
into the country, to the river at Mortlake, or elsewhere.  We chiefly
discussed Willie's chances of being returned again for Clare, in case
another election was sprung upon us.  Both Willie and I were very
anxious to secure Mr. Parnell's promise about this, as The O'Gorman
Mahon was old, and we were desirous of making Willie's seat in
Parliament secure.

While he sat by my side in the meadows by the river he promised he
would do his best to keep Willie in Parliament, and to secure County
Clare for him should the occasion arise.  Thus we would sit there
through the summer afternoon, watching the gay traffic on the river,
in talk, or in the silence of tried friendship, till the growing
shadows warned us that it was time to drive back to London.

Soon after my first meeting with Mr. Parnell, my sister, Mrs. Steele,
invited Mr. Parnell, Mr. McCarthy and myself to luncheon.  We had a
very pleasant little party at her house.  During lunch Mr. Parnell
told us he was going to his place in Ireland for some shooting, and
Mr. McCarthy and my sister chaffed him for leaving us for the lesser
game of partridge shooting, but he observed {63} gravely, "I have the
partridges there, and here I cannot always have your society."

I had to leave early, as I was anxious to return to see my aunt; and
Mr. Parnell said he would accompany me to the station.  When we got
to Charing Cross the train had already gone; and Mr. Parnell picked
out a good horse from the cab rank, saying it would be much
pleasanter to drive down on such a beautiful afternoon.  We did so,
but I would not let him stay, as I was not sure what state of
confusion the house might be in, left in my absence in the possession
of the children and governess.  I told him I had to hurry over the
park to my aunt, as really was the case, and he reluctantly returned
to London.

On the next Wednesday evening Mr. Parnell was to dine with me at
Thomas's Hotel.  He met me at Cannon Street Station as the train came
in, and asked me to have some tea with him at the hotel there and go
on to Thomas's together.  We went to the Cannon Street Hotel
dining-rooms, but on looking in he saw some of the Irish members
there and said it would be more comfortable for us in his private
sitting-room.  I was under the impression that he lived at Keppel
Street, but he told me he had just taken rooms in the Cannon Street
Hotel.  We had tea in his sitting-room, and he talked politics to me
freely till I was interested and at ease, and then lapsed into one of
those long silences of his that I was already beginning to know were
dangerous in the complete sympathy they evoked between us.

Presently I said, "Come! we shall be late!"; and he rose without a
word and followed me downstairs.  There were some members of his
Party still standing about in the hall, but, as he always did
afterwards when I was {64} with him, he ignored them absolutely and
handed me into a waiting cab.

He and I dined at Thomas's Hotel that evening, and after dinner I
returned home to Eltham.  Mr. Parnell left for Ireland by the morning
mail.

From Dublin he wrote to me:--


  _September_ 9, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Just a line to say that I have arrived
    here, and go on to Avondale, Rathdrum, this evening, where I hope
    to hear from you before very long.

    I may tell you also in confidence that I don't feel quite so
    content at the prospect of ten days' absence from London amongst
    the hills and valleys of Wicklow as I should have done some three
    months since.

    The cause is mysterious, but perhaps you will help me to find it,
    or her, on my return.--Yours always, CHAS. S. PARNELL.


Then from his home:--


  AVONDALE, RATHDRUM,
    _September_ 11, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I take the opportunity which a few hours in
    Dublin gives me of letting you know that I am still in the land
    of the living, notwithstanding the real difficulty of either
    living or being, which every moment becomes more evident, in the
    absence of a certain kind and fair face.

    Probably you will not hear from me again for a few days, as I am
    going into the mountains for some shooting, removed from post
    offices and such like consolations for broken-hearted
    politicians, but if, as I hope, a letter from you should reach me
    even there, I shall try and send you an answer.--Yours very
    sincerely, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



{65}

CHAPTER IX

AT ELTHAM

  "_But then--I supposed you to be but a fellow guest?_"
  "_Ah, no" he answered, he in that cold, unshaken voice, "I
  have but come home._"--(THE BAGMAN) HONORA SHEE.


Whenever I went to town, or elsewhere, I always returned at night to
see that my children were all right and to be ready to go to my aunt
as usual every morning.  One day, on my return from a drive with my
aunt, I found that my old nurse Lucy, who still lived with me, was
very ill, having had a stroke of paralysis while I was away.  She
lingered only a couple of days before she died and left a great void
in my heart.  My children missed their admiring old confidante sadly.
She had always been devoted to me as the youngest of her "own
babies," as she called my mother's children, and had shared in all my
fortunes and misfortunes since I returned from Spain.  She was always
very proud, and so fearful of becoming a burden to anyone, that she
rented a room in her sister's house so that she should feel
independent.  So often, when "times were bad" with us, she would
press some of her savings into my hand and say that "The Captain must
want a little change, Dearie, going about as he does!"

In her earlier life she had had her romance, and had spent some years
in saving up to marry her "sweetheart," as she called him; but
shortly before the wedding her father's business failed, and she
immediately gave him {66} all her little nest-egg, with the result
that her lover refused to marry her.  So then, at the great age of
ninety, after her blameless life had been passed since the age of
sixteen in unselfish devotion to us all, we laid her to rest by the
side of my father and mother at Cressing, Willie taking her down to
Essex and attending the funeral.

As she lay dying I got this note from Mr. Parnell:--


  DUBLIN,
    _September_ 22, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I cannot keep myself away from you any
    longer, so shall leave to-night for London.

    Please wire me to 16, Keppel Street, Russell Square, if I may
    hope to see you to-morrow and where, after 4 p.m.--Yours always,
    C. S. P.


Owing to the piteous clinging to my fingers of my old Lucy I was
unable to go to London even for an hour to meet Mr. Parnell, so I
telegraphed to that effect, and received the following letter:--


  EUSTON STATION,
    _Friday evening, September_ 24, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--On arriving at Keppel Street yesterday I
    found that your wire had just arrived, and that the boy refused
    to leave it as I was not stopping there.  Going at once to the
    district postal office I asked for and received the wire, and
    to-day went to London Bridge Station at 12.15.

    The train from Eltham had just left, so I came on to Charing
    Cross and sent a note by messenger to you at Thomas's, with
    directions to bring it back if you were not there, which turned
    out to be the case.  I am very much troubled at not having seen
    you, especially as I must return to Ireland to-night--I came on
    purpose for you, and had no other business.  I think it possible,
    on reflection, that the telegraph people may have wired you that
    they were unable to deliver your message, and, if so, must
    reproach myself for not having written you last night.--Your very
    disappointed C. S. P.


{67}

From Dublin he wrote me:


  _Saturday morning, September_ 25, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--In my hurried note to you last night I had
    not time to sympathize with you in this troublesome time you have
    been going through recently; how I wish it might have been
    possible for me to have seen you even for a few minutes to tell
    you how very much I feel any trouble which comes to you.

    I am just starting for New Ross, where there is a meeting
    to-morrow.

    If you can spare time to write me to Avondale, the letters will
    reach me in due course.--Yours always, C. S. P.



  _September_ 29, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I have received your wire, but not the
    letter which you say you were writing me to Dublin for Monday.

    I suppose then you may have sent it to Rathdrum instead, whither
    I am going this evening, and that I may soon have the happiness
    of reading a few words written by you.

    I am due at Cork on Sunday, after which I propose to visit London
    again, and renew my attempt to gain a glimpse of you.  Shall
    probably arrive there on Tuesday if I hear from you in the
    meanwhile that you will see me.

    On Friday evening I shall be at Morrison's on my way to Kilkenny
    for Saturday, and shall be intensely delighted to have a wire
    from you to meet me there.--Yours always, CHAS. S. PARNELL.


Meanwhile Willie was in communication with Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Tintern
(one of the Liberal agents) and others, in reference to a meeting
held by him.

Mr. Tintern wrote from Tenby commenting with satisfaction on the
report of Willie's successful meeting, on Willie's kind mention of
the Government, and on the good the meeting must do by promoting
orderly progress and better feeling between one class and another.
But he {68} expressed surprise that Willie should think the
Government had not treated him and West Clare well.  He at least...!
Mr. Gladstone wrote from Downing Street on the 21st September about
the meeting in much the same terms.  He expressed himself as
gratified to think that the important local proceedings with regard
to the land question showed the union of people and pastors against
the extremists.

Life at Eltham went on in the same routine.  My aunt was well, and
would sit for long hours at the south door of her house--looking away
up "King John's Chase"--the ruins of King John's Palace were at
Eltham, and my aunt's park and grounds were part of the ancient Royal
demesne.  In these summer evenings she loved to sit at the top of the
broad flight of shallow steps with me, and tell my little girls
stories of her life of long ago.

Sometimes her favourite Dr. Bader would bring his zither down from
London and play to us; or my aunt and I would sit in the great
tapestry room with all of the seven windows open, listening to the
song of the æolian harp as the soft breeze touched its strings and
died away in harmony through the evening stillness.

Sometimes, too, she would sing in her soft, gentle old voice the
songs of her youth, to the accompaniment of her guitar.  "We met,
'twas in a crowd," was a favourite old song of hers, half forgotten
since she used to sing it to the music of her spinet seventy years
before, but Dr. Bader found the words in an old book, and the dear
old lady crooned it sentimentally to me as we sat waiting for the
hooting of the owls which signalled to her maid the time for shutting
her lady's windows.

And I was conscious of sudden gusts of unrest and revolt against
these leisured, peaceful days where the {69} chiming of the great
clock in the hall was the only indication of the flight of time, and
the outside world of another age called to me with the manifold
interests into which I had been so suddenly plunged with the power to
help in the making and marring of a destiny.

In the autumn of 1880 Mr. Parnell came to stay with us at Eltham,
only going to Dublin as occasion required.  Willie had invited him to
come, and I got in some flowers in pots and palms to make my
drawing-room look pretty for him.

Mr. Parnell, who was in very bad health at that time, a few days
later complained of sore throat, and looked, as I thought, mournfully
at my indoor garden, which I industriously watered every day.  It
then dawned upon me that he was accusing this of giving him sore
throat, and I taxed him with it.  He evidently feared to vex me, but
admitted that he did think it was so, and "wouldn't it do if they
were not watered so often?"  He was childishly touched when I at once
had them all removed, and he sank happily on to the sofa, saying that
"plants were such damp things!"

His throat became no better, and he looked so terribly ill when--as
he often did now--he fell asleep from sheer weakness on the sofa
before the fire, that I became very uneasy about him.  Once, on
awaking from one of these sleeps of exhaustion, he told me abruptly
that he believed it was the green in the carpet that gave him sore
throat.  There and then we cut a bit out, and sent it to London to be
analysed, but without result.  It was quite a harmless carpet.

During this time I nursed him assiduously, making him take
nourishment at regular intervals, seeing that these day-sleeps of his
were not disturbed, and forcing {70} him to take fresh air in long
drives through the country around us.  At length I had the
satisfaction of seeing his strength gradually return sufficiently to
enable him to take the exercise that finished the process of this
building-up, and he became stronger than he had been for some years.
I do not think anyone but we who saw him then at Eltham, without the
mask of reserve he always presented to the outside world, had any
idea of how near death's door his exertions on behalf of the
famine-stricken peasants of Ireland had brought him.

Once in that autumn, after he came to us, I took him for a long drive
in an open carriage through the hop-growing district of Kent.  I had
not thought of the fact that hundreds of the poorest of the Irish
came over for the hop-picking, and might recognize him.

After driving over Chislehurst Common and round by the lovely Grays,
we came right into a crowd of the Irish "hoppers"--men, women, and
children.  In a moment there was a wild surge towards the carriage,
with cries of "The Chief!  The Chief!" and "Parnell!  Parnell!
Parnell!"  The coachman jerked the horses on to their haunches for
fear of knocking down the enthusiastic men and women who were
crowding up--trying to kiss Parnell's hand, and calling for "a few
words."

He lifted his cap with that grave, aloof smile of his, and said no,
he was not well enough to make the smallest of speeches, but he was
glad to see them, and would talk to them when they went home to
Ireland.  Then, bidding them to "mind the little ones," who were
scrambling about the horses' legs, to the manifest anxiety of the
coachman, he waved them away, and we drove off amid fervent "God keep
your honours!" and cheers.

These Irish hop-pickers were so inured to privation {71} in their own
country that they were very popular among the Kentish hop-farmers, as
they did not grumble so much as did the English pickers at the
scandalously inefficient accommodation provided for them.

Often before Parnell became really strong I used to watch for hours
beside him as he slept before the drawing-room fire, till I had to
rouse him in time to go to the House.  Once, when he was moving
restlessly, I heard him murmur in his sleep, as I pulled the light
rug better over him: "Steer carefully out of the harbour--there are
breakers ahead."

He now had all the parcels and letters he received sent on to me, so
that I might open them and give him only those it was necessary for
him to deal with.  There were hundreds of letters to go through every
week, though, as he calmly explained, "If you get tired with them,
leave them and they'll answer themselves."

Often among the parcels there were comestibles, and among these every
week came a box of eggs without the name and address of the sender.
I was glad to see these eggs as the winter came on and with it the
usual reluctance of our hens to provide us with sufficient eggs, but
Mr. Parnell would not allow me to use them, for he said: "They might
be eggs, but then again they might not," and I had to send them a
good distance down the garden and have them broken to make sure of
their genuineness, and then he would worry lest our dogs should find
them and poison themselves.

On his visits to Ireland he wrote to me continually:--


  DUBLIN,
    _Tuesday._

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I have just a moment on my return from
    Ennis to catch the late post and reply to your wire.

    {72}

    I received your two letters quite safely, and you may write me
    even nicer ones with perfect confidence.  I blame myself very
    much for not having written you on my way through Dublin on
    Saturday, as you were evidently anxious about your notes, but I
    hope you will forgive me as there were only a few minutes to
    spare.

    I trust to see you in London on Tuesday next.  Is it true that
    Captain O'Shea is in Paris, and, if so, when do you expect his
    return? ... I have had no shooting, weather too wet, but shall
    try to-morrow, when you may expect some heather.



  DUBLIN,
    _Friday evening, October_ 2, 1880.

    Have just received your wire; somehow or other something from you
    seems a necessary part of my daily existence, and if I have to go
    a day or two without even a telegram it seems dreadful.

    I want to know how you intend to excuse yourself for telling me
    not to come on purpose if I must return.  (To Ireland.)  Of
    course, I am going on purpose to see you; and it is also
    unhappily true that I cannot remain long.

    Shall cross Monday evening, and shall call at Morrison's for a
    message.

    Please write or wire me in London to 16 Keppel Street, Russell
    Square, where I shall call on Tuesday.



  DUBLIN,
    _Monday night, October_ 4, 1880.

    Just arrived....  I write you on the only bit of paper to be
    found at this late hour (a scrap taken from one of your own
    notes), to say that I hope to reach London to-morrow (Tuesday)
    evening and to see you on Wednesday when and where you wish.
    Please write or wire me to Keppel Street.  This envelope will
    present the appearance of having been tampered with, but it has
    not.



  DUBLIN,
    _Tuesday evening, October_ 5, 1880.

    A frightful gale has been blowing all day in Channel and still
    continues.

    {73}

    Under these circumstances shall postpone crossing till to-morrow
    evening.

    Can meet you in London at 9 to-morrow evening anywhere you say.



  DUBLIN,
    _Monday evening, October_ 17, 1880.

    MY OWN LOVE,--You cannot imagine how much you have occupied my
    thoughts all day and how very greatly the prospect of seeing you
    again very soon comforts me.

    On Monday evening I think it will be necessary for me to go to
    Avondale; afterwards I trust, if things are propitious on your
    side, to return to London on Tuesday or Wednesday.--Yours always,
    C.



  AVONDALE, RATHDRUM,
    _October_ 22, 1880.

    I was very much pleased to receive your wire this morning,
    forwarded from Dublin, that you had received my note of last
    Saturday.  I was beginning to fear that it had gone wrong.

    After I had finished at Roscommon and received your message in
    Dublin on Monday I decided upon coming here where I have been
    unexpectedly detained.

    If all goes well you will see me in London on Monday evening
    next....  I send you enclosed one or two poor sprigs of heather,
    which I plucked for you three weeks ago, also my best love, and
    hope you will believe that I always think of you as the one dear
    object whose presence has ever been a great happiness to me.


Meanwhile the Government had been temporizing with the land question.
They had brought in a very feeble Compensation for Disturbances Bill
and they had allowed it to be further weakened by amendments.  This
Bill was rejected by the House of Lords, with the result that the
number of evictions in Ireland grew hourly greater and the agitation
of the Land League against them; outrages, too, were of common
occurrence and increased in intensity.

{74}

Speaking at Ennis on September 19th Mr. Parnell enunciated the
principle which has since gone by the name of "The Boycott."

"What are you to do," he asked, "to a tenant who bids for a farm from
which another tenant has been evicted?"

Several voices cried: "Shoot him!"

"I think," went on Mr. Parnell, "I heard somebody say 'Shoot him!'  I
wish to point out to you a very much better way--a more Christian and
charitable way, which will give the lost man an opportunity of
repenting.  When a man takes a farm from which another has been
unjustly evicted, you must shun him on the roadside when you meet
him; you must shun him in the shop; you must shun him on the
fair-green and in the market-place, and even in the place of worship,
by leaving him alone; by putting him into a sort of moral Coventry;
by isolating him from the rest of the country, as if he were a leper
of old--you must show him your detestation of the crime he has
committed."

Forster, the Irish Secretary, who had some amount of sympathy for the
tenants, was, however, a Quaker, and the outrages horrified him more
than the evictions.  Nor, strangely, was he able to connect the one
with the other.  Undoubtedly the evictions almost ceased, but, said
he, they have ceased because of the outrages, and the outrages were
the work of the Land League; and he pressed for the arrest of its
leaders.  This was unwise, considering that it was Parnell who had
advocated the abandonment of violence for the moral suasion of the
boycott.

On November 3rd Forster decided to prosecute the leaders of the Land
League, and among them Parnell, Dillon, Biggar, Sexton and T. D.
Sullivan.  Two days {75} later, in a speech at Dublin, Parnell
expressed his regret that Forster was degenerating from a statesman
to a tool of the landlords.  Biggar when he heard the news exclaimed,
"Damned lawyers, sir, damned lawyers!  Wasting the public money!
Wasting the public money!  Whigs damned rogues!  Forster damned fool!"


  DUBLIN,[1]
    _November_ 4, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I take advantage of almost the first moment
    I have had to myself since leaving you to write a few hasty
    lines.  And first I must again thank you for all your kindness,
    which made my stay at Eltham so happy and pleasant.

    The thunderbolt, as you will have seen, has at last fallen, and
    we are in the midst of loyal preparations of a most appalling
    character.

    I do not suppose I shall have an opportunity of being in London
    again before next Thursday, but trust to be more fortunate in
    seeing Captain O'Shea then than the last time.--Yours very truly,
    CHAS. S. PARNELL.



  DUBLIN,[1]
    _Saturday._

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I hope to arrive in London on Tuesday
    morning, and trust to have the pleasure of seeing you before I
    leave.  Do you think you shall be in town on Tuesday?

    Kindly address 16, Keppel Street.--Yours very truly, CHAS. S.
    PARNELL.


On November 5th that year the village was great on the subject of
"gunpowder, treason, and plot," and during dinner that evening there
was such a noise and shouting outside my house that I asked the maid
who was waiting what all the excitement was about.

She answered breathlessly that "the procession, ma'am, {76} have got
Miss Anna Parnell in a effigy 'longside of the Pope, and was waiting
outside for us to see before they burnt 'em in the village."

This electrifying intelligence was received with grave indifference
by Mr. Parnell till the disappointed maid left the room; then with a
sudden bubble of laughter--"Poor Anna!  Her pride in being burnt, as
a menace to England, would be so drowned in horror at her company
that it would put the fire out!"

The cheering and hooting went on for some time outside the house,
but, finding we were not to be drawn, the crowd at last escorted the
effigies down to the village and burnt them, though with less
amusement than they had anticipated.


  DUBLIN,[2]
    _November_ 6, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--You can have very little idea how
    dreadfully disappointed I felt on arriving here this evening not
    to find a letter from either you or Captain O'Shea.  I send this
    in hope that it may induce you to write in reply to my last
    letter and telegram, which would appear not to have reached
    you.--Yours very sincerely, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



  AVONDALE,
    _Monday._

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I enclose keys, which I took away by
    mistake.  Will you kindly hand enclosed letter to the proper
    person[3] and oblige,--Yours very truly, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



  DUBLIN,
    _Wednesday night, November_ 11, 1880.

    MY DEAREST LOVE,--I have made all arrangements to be in London on
    Saturday morning, and shall call at Keppel Street for a letter
    from you.  It is quite impossible for me to {77} tell you just
    how very much you have changed my life, what a small interest I
    take in what is going on about me, and how I detest everything
    which has happened during the last few days to keep me away from
    you--I think of you always, and you must never believe there is
    to be any "fading."  By the way, you must not send me any more
    artificial letters.  I want as much of your own self as you can
    transfer into written words, or else none at all.--Your always,
    C. S. P.

    A telegram goes to you, and one to W.,[4] to-morrow, which are by
    no means strictly accurate.



  DUBLIN,
    _December_ 2, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I succeeded in getting the train at Euston
    with just ten minutes to spare, and, arriving here this morning,
    found that my presence to-day was indispensable.

    I need not tell you how much I regretted leaving Eltham so
    suddenly; but we cannot always do as we wish in this world.

    My stay with you has been so pleasant and charming that I was
    almost beginning to forget my other duties; but Ireland seems to
    have gotten on very well without me in the interval.

    Trusting to see you again next week on my way to Paris.--Yours
    very sincerely, CHAS. S. PARNELL.

    I have been exceedingly anxious all day at not receiving your
    promised telegram to hear how you got home.



[1] These letters were really written from London.

[2] Sent to Dublin to be posted.

[3] Myself.

[4] Captain O'Shea.



{78}

CHAPTER X

THE LAND LEAGUE TRIALS

"_The surest way to prevent seditions is to take away the matter of
them._"--LORD BACON.


Through the whole of 1880 Parnell was determinedly organizing the
Land League throughout Ireland, and during the winter, doubtless
encouraged by the enormous distress that prevailed over the whole
country, the force and power of the League grew with a rapidity that
surpassed even the expectations of Parnell and his party.  All
through the vacation Parnell and his followers held meetings in
carefully calculated areas of Ireland, and in his speeches Parnell
explained the meaning and wide-reaching scope of the League's
agitation, i.e. that tenant farmers were to trust in their own
combination alone and "should give no faith to the promises of the
English Ministers."

During the early session that year Parnell had introduced a Bill
called "Suspension of Ejectments Bill," and this first pressed upon
the House the necessity of dealing with the Irish landlord troubles.
Parnell's party urged this Bill with so united a front that Mr.
Gladstone was obliged to consider the main substance of it, and he
agreed to insert a clause in the "Relief of Distress Bill" which
would deal with impending evictions of Irish tenants.  But the
Speaker of the House held that the interpolation of such a clause
would not be "in order," and the Chief Secretary for Ireland (Mr.
Forster) then, by Mr. Gladstone's direction, brought in his
"Disturbances Bill," {79} which was to all practical purposes
Parnell's Bill under another name.

In the course of the debate on this Bill Mr. Gladstone himself said
that "in the circumstances of distress prevalent in Ireland (at that
time) a sentence of eviction is the equivalent of a sentence of
death."  These absolutely true words of Gladstone's were used by
Parnell very many times during his Land League tours both in speeches
and privately, and many times he added--as so often he did to me at
home--bitter comment upon the apathy of the English Government, upon
the curious insensibility of the English law-makers, who knew these
things to be true in Ireland and yet were content to go on in their
policy of drift, unless forced into action by those who saw the
appalling reality of the distress among the Irish poor that was so
comfortably deplored in London.

In this connexion Parnell used to say that the fundamental failure in
the English government of Ireland was: First, the complete inability
of the Ministers in power to realize anything that was not before
their eyes; and, secondly, their cast-iron conviction that Ireland
was the one country of the world that was to be understood and
governed by those to whom she was little but a name.

In all this time of trouble and eviction Parnell went backwards and
forwards between England (Eltham) and Ireland as occasion required,
and so successful were his efforts in spreading the agitation and
linking up the League that the Government became uneasy as to the
outcome of this new menace to landlordism.  Finally Parnell and
fourteen of his followers were put on trial, charged with "conspiracy
to impoverish landlords."  Parnell, of course, went over to Ireland
for these "State trials," but he considered the whole thing such a
farce, in that it was {80} an impotent effort of the Government to
intimidate him, that he could not take it seriously in any way.  No
jury (in Ireland) would agree to convict him he was well aware, and
he attended the trials chiefly, he said, for the "look of the thing,"
and to give the support of his presence to his colleagues.
Incidentally he told me on one occasion that he had considerably
hurried the jury when he was very anxious to catch a train in time
for the night mail to England (Eltham) by "willing" them to agree (to
disagree) without the long discussion of local politics with which
all self-respecting Irish jurors beguile the weary ways of law.  He
observed that here, in the question of how far an unconscious agent
can be "willed" into a desired action, he had discovered another and
most entrancing study for us when we had more time to go into it
thoroughly.

Talking of the Land League's procedure against the interests of the
Irish landlords, I may, I think, here pertinently remind those who
have, among so many other accusations, brought against Parnell the
charge of self-seeking in regard to money matters, that Parnell
himself was an Irish landlord and of very considerable estates, and
that this land campaign (really, of course, directed against
eviction), meant, to all practical purposes, the loss of his rents,
and that not only for a time, as in other cases, but, with the very
generous interpretation put upon his wishes by the "Chief's" tenants,
for all time--or rather for all his lifetime.  Captain O'Shea also
had certain estates in Ireland, and naturally, not being in sympathy
with Parnell's policy, but being at heart a thorough Whig and a
strong advocate for Mr. Shaw, the ex-leader of the Irish party, he
was furious at the League's anti-landlord work, and refused to have
any hand in it.  He considered {81} that hapless as was the plight of
those who had to pay in rent the money they did not possess, that of
the landlord whose rent was his all was but little to be preferred.

During this period the stories of the evictions brought home to me by
Parnell himself made my heart sick, and often he sat far into the
night at Eltham speaking in that low, broken monotone, that with him
always betokened intense feeling strongly held in check, of the
terrible cruelty of some of the things done in the name of justice in
unhappy Ireland.  How old people, and sometimes those sick beyond
recovery, women with the children they had borne but a few hours
before, little children naked as they had come into the world, all
thrust out from the little squalid cabins which were all they had for
home, thrust out on the roadside to perish, or to live as they could.
I in my English ignorance used to say: "Why did they not go into the
workhouse or to neighbours?" and Parnell would look wonderingly at me
as he told me that for the most part such places were few and far
between in Ireland, and "neighbours," good as they were to each
other, were in the same trouble.  There were instances where a wife
would beg, and with none effect, that the bailiffs and police should
wait but the little half-hour that her dying husband drew his last
breath; and where a husband carried his wife from her bed to the
"shelter" of the rainswept moor that their child might be born out of
the sight of the soldiers deputed to guard the officials who had been
sent to pull their home about their ears.  And, remembering these and
so many other tales of some of the 50,000 evictions that he
afterwards calculated had taken place in Ireland, I have never
wondered at the implacable hatred of England that can never really
die out of the Irish heart.

{82}

On December 4th, 1880, he wrote to me from Dublin:


    I was exceedingly pleased to receive your letters; to say the
    truth, I have been quite homesick since leaving Eltham, and news
    from you seems like news from home.

    The Court refused our application to-day for a postponement of
    the trial (of the Land League), but this we expected, and it does
    not much signify, as it turns out that we need not necessarily
    attend the trial unless absolutely directed to do so by the Court.

    You will also be pleased to hear that the special jury panel, of
    which we obtained a copy last night, is of such a character as in
    the opinion of competent judges to give us every chance of a
    disagreement by the jury in their verdict, but we cannot, of
    course, form an absolute conclusion until the jury has been
    sworn, when we shall be able to tell pretty certainly one way or
    the other.

    Since writing Captain O'Shea it does not look as if I could get
    further away from Ireland than London, as Paris is inconvenient
    from its distance.

    I have no letter from him yet in reply to mine.


And again on the 9th:--


    I returned from Waterford last night, and shall probably get
    through all necessary work here by Saturday evening so as to
    enable me to start for London on Sunday morning.  I do not know
    how long I can remain in London, but shall run down and see you
    on Monday, and perhaps my plans will be more fixed by that time.

    I have decided not to attend any more meetings until after the
    opening of Parliament, as everything now can go on without me.

    Kindly inform Captain O'Shea that the meeting of Irish members
    will be in Dublin on the 4th January.


On December 12th of that year Mr. Parnell wrote from Avondale to say
that the jury panel was to be struck on the following Monday for the
prosecution of the Land League.

{83}


    ... And it will be necessary for me to see it before giving final
    directions.

    I have consequently postponed my departure till Monday evening.

    I have come here to arrange my papers and find a number which I
    should not like to destroy, and which I should not like the
    Government to get hold of in the event of their searching my
    house in the troublous times which appear before us.  May I leave
    them at Eltham?


And the next day:--


    I have just received a note from Healy, who is to be tried at
    Cork on Thursday, saying that his counsel thinks it of the utmost
    importance I should be present.

    This is very hard lines on me, as I had looked forward to a
    little rest in London before my own trial commences; but I do not
    see how it can be helped, as Healy's is the first of the State
    trials, and it is of the utmost importance to secure an acquittal
    and not merely a disagreement.  I shall leave Cork on Thursday
    night and arrive in London Friday evening, and shall call to see
    you at Eltham Saturday.  Your letters, one directed here and the
    others to Morrison's, reached me in due course, and I hope to
    hear from you again very soon.


Parnell, now, always made my house his headquarters in England, and
on his return from Ireland after the trials came down at once as soon
as he had ascertained that I was alone.

There were times when he wished to keep quiet and let no one know
where he was; and, as it became known to the Government that Mr.
Parnell frequented my house a good deal, it was somewhat difficult to
avoid the detectives who were employed to watch his comings and
goings.

On one occasion in 1880 he was informed privately that his arrest for
"sedition" was being urged upon the Government, and that it would be
well to go abroad for a short time.  I think his enigmatic reply, "I
will {84} disappear for a few weeks," must have puzzled his
informant.  He came down to me at night, and when I answered his
signal at my sitting-room window, and let him in, he told me with a
deprecating smile that I must hide him for a few weeks.  As I sat
watching him eat the supper I always had ready for him at 3 a.m. I
felt rather hopeless, as he was a big man, and I did not see how he
could be hidden from the servants.  He said the latter must not know
he was there, as they would talk to the tradespeople, and they to the
Government men.  He did not wish to be arrested until later on, when
it might be more useful than not.

Then he awaited suggestions, and at length we decided that a little
room opening out of my own must be utilized for him, as I always kept
it locked and never allowed a servant into it--except very
occasionally to "turn it out."  It was a little boudoir
dressing-room, and had a sofa in it.

Mr. Parnell was then still feeling ill and run down, and enjoyed his
fortnight's absolute rest in this room.  None of the servants knew
that he was there, and I took all his food up at night, cooking
little dainty dishes for him at the open fire, much to his pleasure
and amusement.  He spent the time very happily, resting, writing
"seditious" speeches for future use, and reading "Alice in
Wonderland."  This book was a favourite of his, and I gave it to him
with the solemnity that befitted his grave reading of it.  I do not
think he ever thought it in the least amusing, but he would read it
earnestly from cover to cover, and, without a smile, remark that it
was a "curious book."

In all this fortnight no one had the least idea that he was in the
house, and the only comment I ever heard upon {85} my prisoner's diet
was that "the mistress ate much more when she had her meals served in
her sitting-room."

At the end of this fortnight he had arranged to go to Paris on some
Land League business, and wanted me to go to see him off.  He had
brought certain political correspondence from Avondale and London and
placed it in my charge, and this I kept in a box in this little
private room, where I hid them.  But there were two papers that he
did not wish left even here, and, fearing arrest, could not carry on
him.  For these he had a wide, hollow gold bracelet made in Paris,
and after inserting the papers he screwed the bracelet safely on my
arm; there it remained for three years, and was then unscrewed by him
and the contents destroyed.

The winter of 1880 was terribly cold, and as I let him out of the
house in the bitterly cold morning I wished he did not consider it
necessary to go to Paris by such a roundabout route as he had chosen.

However, we drove off to Lewisham that morning, quite unobserved;
from thence we went by train to New Cross, and drove by cab to London
Bridge.  At Vauxhall we started for Lowestoft; for Mr. Parnell had
arranged to go to Paris via Harwich.  I was anxious about him, for
the cold was intense, and the deep snow over the large dreary waste
of salt marshes seemed reflected in his pallor.  Our train slowly
passed through the dreary tract of country, feet deep in its white
covering, and we could see no sign of life but an occasional seagull
vainly seeking for food, and sending a weird call through the lonely
silences.

I wrapped Parnell up in his rugs as he tried to sleep.  I loathed the
great white expanse that made him look so ill, and I wished I had him
at home again, where I could {86} better fight the great fear that so
often beset my heart: that I could not long keep off the death that
hovered near him.  A lady and gentleman in the carriage remarked to
me--thinking he slept--that my husband looked terribly ill, could
they do anything?  And I noticed the little smile of content that
flitted over his face as he heard me briskly reply that, No, he had
been ill, but was so much better and stronger that I was not at all
uneasy.  It was the cold glare of the snow that made him look so
delicate, but he was really quite strong.  He hated to be thought
ill, and did not see the doubt in their faces at my reply.

Arrived at Lowestoft I insisted upon his resting and having a good
meal, after which he felt so cheered up that he decided to return to
London with me, and go to Paris by the usual route the next day!

We had a new Irish cook at this time, from County Tipperary, and her
joy exceeded all bounds when she learnt that the Irish leader was
really in the house and she was to cook for him.  I had to ask Mr.
Parnell to see her for a moment, as she was too excited to settle to
her cooking.  Directly she got into the room Ellen fell down on her
knees and kissed his hands, much to his horror, for, although used to
such homage in Ireland, he disliked it extremely, and he told me with
some reproach that he had expected to be quite free from that sort of
thing in my house.

At Christmas he tipped my servants generously, and indeed Ellen and
the parlourmaid Mary vied with each other in their attention to his
comfort.  The enthusiasm of the cook was so great that she bought an
enormous gold locket, and, having inserted a portrait of Mr. Parnell
in it, wore it constantly.  Mary, not to be outdone, thereupon bought
a locket of identically the same design, and {87} wore it with an air
of defiance, when bringing in tea, on New Year's Day.

This was against all regulations, and I said laughingly to Mr.
Parnell that he was introducing lawlessness into my household.  He
answered, "Leave it to me," and when Mary appeared again he said
gently to her, "Mary, that is a magnificent locket, and I see you are
kind enough to wear my portrait in it.  Mrs. O'Shea tells me that
Ellen has bought one also, but I just want you and Ellen not to wear
them outside like that, for Mrs. O'Shea lets me come down here for a
rest, and if people know I'm here I shall be worried to death with
politics and people calling."  So Mary promised faithfully, and Ellen
came running in to promise too, and to threaten vengeance on "the
others" if absolute silence was not observed.  The lockets went
"inside," and only a tiny bit of chain was allowed to show at the
throat in evidence of homage continued, though hidden.

Meanwhile, events were fusing in Ireland.  Parnell had gone over
there immediately after Christmas.  From Dublin he wrote:--


  DUBLIN,
    _Monday evening, December_ 27, 1880.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I have been exceedingly anxious all day at
    not receiving your promised telegram to hear how you got home;
    trust I may have something to-morrow morning that it is all
    right.[1]--Yours in haste, C. S. P.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL,
    _Tuesday, December_ 28, 1880.

    MY DEAREST WIFE,--You will be delighted to learn that everything
    is proceeding first-rate so far.

    The jury sworn to-day cannot possibly convict us, and there is a
    very fair chance of an acquittal.  I do not think {88} the
    Government will attempt to prevent me from being present at the
    opening of Parliament, though I am not quite sure yet whether it
    will be prudent for me to leave until Wednesday evening.  So far
    as I can see there is no necessity for the presence of any of the
    Traversers; one of them, Gordon, who has broken his leg, has not
    appeared at all, and his absence has not been even mentioned or
    noticed.

    I was immensely relieved by your letter this morning.  You must
    take great care of yourself for my sake and your and my
    future.--Yours always, C. S. P.

    I have wired and written to Madrid[2] explaining situation lest
    my observations at yesterday's meeting as to doubt of my being in
    Parliament, intended to throw dust in eyes of Government, might
    be literally interpreted.



  DUBLIN,
    _Thursday, December_ 30, 1880.

    MY DEAREST LOVE,--Your letters have reached me quite safely, and
    you cannot tell how much pleasure they give me.  I fear I was
    very foolish to allow you to come with me the day of my
    departure; I felt sure it would do much harm, and until your
    first letter arrived I was in a continual panic lest some
    dreadful disaster had happened.

    That my poor love should have suffered so much makes my heart
    very sore, and she must take great care of herself for the sake
    of our future....

    I enclose letter from W.S.[3]--Yours always affectionately, C. S.
    P.

    Will send you photo to-morrow.



  DUBLIN,
    _January_ 3, 1881.

    MY DEAREST WIFIE,--Was most delighted on return this morning from
    Avondale to find your three letters and telegrams.  I think it
    would make you happy and more contented during my absence if you
    knew how I watched for your letters, and how often I read and
    re-read them.

    I felt very much tempted to run over and spend the New Year and
    Sunday with you, but feared you might not be alone.

    {89}

    It pains me very much that my own love was unhappy about that
    stupid thing in the _Freeman_ on Thursday.  An old and ugly woman
    with whom I was very slightly acquainted, but who wanted to put
    herself _en evidence_, perched herself just behind me, and got a
    gentleman sitting next to her to hand me down a slip of paper, on
    which was written some message of congratulation.  I only
    rewarded her with a stare, did not even bow or smile, and
    certainly sent no communication of any kind in reply.  That was
    all.  I will ask my own dearest to believe in me while I am away,
    and never again to feel unhappiness from want of confidence.

    I have made all arrangements to leave by mail on Wednesday
    morning, and shall be with my own wifie on Wednesday evening
    about eight.--Yours, C. S. P.


Mr. Parnell held the Party meeting in Dublin on January 4th, and
returned to me on January 5th, in time for the meeting of the House
(on 6th January, 1881), not having thought it necessary to remain in
Ireland till the termination of the trials--a circumstance which,
curiously enough, was not publicly remarked upon.  We spent some days
together at Eltham, and I took Mr. Parnell to see my aunt, who was
much charmed with him.  His quiet manners and soft, clear voice
pleased her greatly, as also did his personal appearance.  She took
his arm, and paced up and down the tapestry room with him, while she
told him how she was introduced to O'Connell in the old days, when
her husband, Benjamin Wood, was M.P. for Southwark.  She had met
O'Connell at the House, and heard what was said to have been one of
his greatest speeches.  She said, "I much prefer your voice, Mr.
Parnell, for Daniel O'Connell's enunciation was startling to me."

Though such a great age, my aunt had still a very pretty round arm,
and as she always wore the net sleeves of her youth, fastened with
old-fashioned bracelets, Mr. Parnell noticed this, and commented upon
the fact to me.  {90} The old lady was much gratified when I told her
of this.  She enlisted his sympathy by telling him that she had to
pay £500 a year in order to keep her beautiful old grounds intact, as
the Crown desired to sell the place for building lots, and she was
determined to die in the old house she had lived in for over fifty
years.

The State trial ended on January 25th, 1881, the foreman of the jury
stating: "We are unanimous that we cannot agree," as Mr. Parnell had
assured me they would.  He was in Court and loudly cheered as he
hastened off to catch the boat to England.



[1] That Captain O'Shea had left Eltham for Madrid.

[2] To Captain O'Shea.

[3] Captain O'Shea.



{91}

CHAPTER XI

PARLIAMENTARY ASSOCIATIONS

"_Live to-day--the past is registered--the future is unguessed--the
instant ours._"--MORTIMER COLLINS.


Forster's Coercion Bill was introduced on January 24th, 1881, and on
the 25th Mr. Gladstone moved that it should have precedence of all
other business before the House.  Mr. Parnell fiercely opposed this
motion, and kept his followers hard at work in opposition--thus
forcing the House to sit from 4 p.m. on Tuesday until 2 p.m. of the
next day.  The details of these sittings have been recounted ad
nauseam, and I need not repeat them here, but only record Parnell's
fierce joy in these political fights, and my pride in him as I
watched him from the Ladies' Gallery.  Sometimes Willie would wish to
give the seats he secured in the Ladies' Gallery to friends of his,
and on such occasions I always knew that Mr. Parnell would ballot one
for me.  Of course, later on I could always secure a seat without
ballot, if one was vacant, as I had to wait to receive messages from
Mr. Parnell and Mr. Gladstone, and it was made known to the
attendants that on any important occasion I held priority of place.

As a rule, after an all-night sitting he used to drive down to Eltham
in order not to become well known on the Eltham railway, and come
through the conservatory into my sitting-room, where I would have
supper ready for him before the fire, with his smoking-jacket and
slippers ready to put on.  He seldom spoke after his first {92}
greeting.  He would take off his frock-coat and boots, and, when I
slipped on the others for him, he would eat his supper quite
silently, thinking over the events of the night.  I never worried him
to talk.  Supper finished, he would light a cigar and sit down in his
own arm-chair, saying, "Well, Queenie, the Old Man spoke to-night,"
or "So-and-so spoke," and then slowly tell me of all that had passed
during the sitting, and his opinion of the present and future, so far
as politics were concerned.

Sometimes when he had spoken himself he would say: "I did not speak
well to-night," and sometimes it was: "I lost that quotation you gave
me and brought it out sideways, and there it was all the time crushed
up in my hand!  Then I forgot the fellow's name and called him 'the
poet.'"

"Well, Shakespeare can be called 'the poet,'" I would return
soothingly.

"Yes?  Is that so?  It seemed to worry some of the reporters; one
came and asked me what I meant!  You must make me learn it better
next time."

Once he began to talk he confided all his thoughts to me
unreservedly, and the more freely that he had not been worried to
talk when he came in cold or tired.  He used to say that it was such
a relief to get right away from the House when a sitting was over,
and he enjoyed the drive down to Eltham in a hansom cab every night
or early morning.  It was only an eight-miles drive, but part of it
was then very pleasant, through country lanes and over a common.  Now
London has swallowed up most of these pretty bits.

After relieving his mind of all political affairs of the day he would
talk of things that were of home interest to us--of his stone
quarries at Arklow, his saw-mills, etc., {93} of what Kerr, his Irish
agent, was doing at Avondale; or of some of his hobbies at home.  So
we would talk till daylight sent pale gleams of light under the
window curtains, and he would say: "I am really sleepy, Queenie; I'll
go to bed," and as a rule he would sleep soundly until about four
o'clock in the afternoon, when he would come down to breakfast in my
sitting-room.

Parnell was always generous in letting any members of his Party speak
when they had a chance of distinguishing themselves, and he would at
once give way when he thought any member could speak better on any
subject than himself.  This most of his Party, if not all,
acknowledged at one time.  I mention the characteristic because I
have noticed in more than one of the so-called "Lives" written by
those strangely ignorant of the man's real character, that
considerable stress is laid upon Parnell's jealousy.  He was jealous,
abnormally so where his affections were concerned, but not in
political life.

Gladstone once said that "Parnell always knew what he wanted to say,
and said it," but he was not a ready speaker, and his constitutional
nervousness, hidden though it was under the iron mask of reserve he
always wore in public, rendered public speaking very painful work to
him.  He was extremely modest about his own speeches, and frequently
would say to me that So-and-so "would have put that much better to
the House, but I could not have trusted him to say it and leave it."
He considered that most Irishmen spoilt things by over-elaboration.
Here also I may record a protest at the tales of gross discourtesies,
spoken utterly without motive, recorded in some of these "Lives."

The Parnell I knew--and I may claim to have known him more intimately
than anyone else on earth, both in {94} public and private life--was
incapable of such motiveless brusqueries.  That Parnell could crush
utterly and without remorse I know; that he could deal harshly, even
brutally, with anyone or anything that stood against him in the path
he meant to tread, I admit; but that he would ever go out of his way
to say a grossly rude thing or make an unprovoked attack, whether
upon the personal appearance, morals, or character of another man, I
absolutely deny.  Parnell was ruthless in all his dealings with those
who thwarted his will, but--he was never petty.

Parnell had a most beautiful and harmonious voice when speaking in
public.  Very clear it was, even in moments of passion against his
own and his country's foes--passion modulated and suppressed until I
have seen, from the Ladies' Gallery, his hand clenched until the
"Orders of the Day" which he held were crushed into pulp, and only
that prevented his nails piercing his hand.  Often I have taken the
"Orders" out of his pocket, twisted into shreds--a fate that also
overtook the slips of notes and the occasional quotations he had got
me to look out for him.

Sometimes when he was going to speak I could not leave my aunt long
enough to be sure of getting to the Ladies' Gallery in time to hear
him; or we might think it inexpedient that I should be seen to arrive
so soon after him at the House.  On these occasions, when I was able,
I would arrive perhaps in the middle of his speech and look down upon
him, saying in my heart, "I have come!"; and invariably I would see
the answering signal--the lift of the head and lingering touch of the
white rose in his coat, which told me, "I know, my Queen!"

This telepathy of the soul, intuition, or what you will, was so
strong between us that, whatever the business {95} before the House,
whether Parnell was speaking or not, in spite of the absolute
impossibility of distinguishing any face or form behind the grille of
the Ladies' Gallery, Parnell was aware of my presence, even though
often he did not expect me, as soon as I came in, and answered my
wordless message by the signal that I knew.

Sometimes he would wish to speak to me before I went home, and would
signal by certain manipulations of his handkerchief to me to go and
await him at Charing Cross, or another of our meeting-places, and
there he would come to me to tell me how things were going, or to
chat for a few minutes, or get from me the replies to messages sent
through me to Mr. Gladstone.

* * * * * *


  DOVER,
    _Wednesday, February_ 23, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Am just starting for Calais.

    Kindly send on my portmanteau with my letters and other things in
    my room or in the wardrobe to me at Hotel Brighton, Rue de
    Rivoli, Paris.--Yours always, C. S. P.



  _February_ 25, 1881.

    MY DEAREST KATIE,--I have just received your three letters, and
    am so delighted to read them hurriedly before sending you this
    line in time for post.

    I never had the slightest doubt of my darling, and cannot imagine
    why she should think so.

    Did not know I was going when leaving here, but was induced to
    leave by private information, the nature of which I will send you
    in my next.

    Am not yet sure whether I shall return, but shall manage to see
    you in any case.--Yours, C.



  HOTEL BRIGHTON, 218 RUE DE RIVOLI, PARIS,
    _Sunday evening, February_ 27, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I cannot understand your {96} telegram
    received to-day at all, although I have been thinking it over all
    the evening.  I wired back as you appeared to request in it, "All
    right."

    There was no letter for me from you at the usual address, so I
    enclose another, as I fear something may have gone wrong.  You
    can write me freely in my own name under cover to this address:
    Thomas Adams and Co., Limited, 33 Rue d'Hauteville, Paris, and
    they will forward the letters safely to me.

    I have been warned from Dublin that there is some plot on foot
    against us which has been originated by information received from
    Cork, and you will guess the original source.

    I am expecting further information to-morrow in reference to it.
    I have received five letters in all from you since my arrival in
    Paris.  Best not post your letters at Eltham.

    I did not know when leaving you that I was going my departure was
    influenced by information of reliable kind that my arrest was
    intended for passage in Clare speech, and that bail would be
    refused, and I should be left in jail until Habeas Corpus was
    suspended, when I could have been again arrested.  I think,
    however, they have now abandoned this intention, but will make
    sure before I return.

    This is my third letter to you since my arrival here.--Yours, C.
    S. P.



  HOTEL BRIGHTON, 218 RUE DE RIVOLI, PARIS,
    _Tuesday, March_ 1, 1881.

    MY DEAREST LOVE,--To-day I have received your four letters, the
    earliest of which was written on Saturday.  You do not seem to
    have written on Friday, as there was nothing for me on Saturday
    or Sunday.

    I propose returning to London on Thursday morning, leaving here
    Wednesday evening, but it is just possible I may not leave till
    Thursday morning, in which case I shall not be able to see my
    Katie until Friday.

    If I return Thursday morning, my Queen may expect to see me about
    one o'clock.

    Your letters make me both happy and sad, happy to hear from my
    own, but sad when I see how troubled you are.--Always yours,
    CHARLES.


{97}


  GLASGOW,
    _Tuesday, April_ 19, 1881.

    DEAREST KATIE,--I send you authority for letters.  They are in
    two forms, one authorising delivery to you, and the other to'
    bearer.

    To-night I leave by boat for Dublin, arriving to-morrow morning.
    I trust my own wifie has not permitted herself to be too unhappy,
    and that she has not been worried.  I am writing with her own
    beautiful face before me, and have just kissed it.--Always your
    husband.

    Please write me to Morrison's.



{98}

CHAPTER XII

HOBBIES AND A CHALLENGE

  "_Admire, exult--despise--laugh, weep--for here
  There is much matter for all feeling: Man!
  Thou Pendulum betwixt a smile and tear._"
                                            --BYRON.


In the early summer of 1881 my aunt had one of her old friends to
stay with her, and I seized the opportunity of freedom to take my
children to Brighton for a month, after settling the old ladies
together.  I had gone down before the children to take rooms for
them, and was walking across Brighton Station when I was suddenly
joined by a tall man whom I did not recognize for a moment until he
said quietly, "Don't you know me?"  It was Mr. Parnell, who had
slipped into the train at Clapham Junction, knowing that I was going
to Brighton, and had cut off his beard with his pocket scissors in
the train in order to avoid being recognized at Brighton.  He had
wrapped a white muffler round his throat, and pulled it as high as
possible over the lower part of his face, with the result that the
manageress of the hotel he stayed at was certain that he had an
infectious illness of the throat, and rather demurred at letting him
in.  It was only by the expedient of complaining loudly at being kept
waiting in the draught with his "raging toothache" that "Mr. Stewart"
was reluctantly admitted.  I could not bear his appearance neither
bearded nor shaven--so he went off soon after arrival, was properly
shaved, and relieved the {99} hotel staff by discarding the muffler
and assuring them that he was free from pain now his "tooth" was out.

He went to Cork soon after this and, to please me, was photographed
without his beard and with the ring I had given him on his finger.
We had had a little quarrel, and were very unhappy until we had made
it up again, and he had this photograph done to remind me that he
wore my ring.  He also gave sittings to Henry O'Shea (no relation of
Captain O'Shea) for a portrait (pencil) at this time, and this was
sent to him while he was in Kilmainham.  He liked this sketch much,
and wrote to the paper for which it was done to this effect.  When he
left the prison he brought this sketch home to me, and I have it now.
It hung in our dining-room till he died, and he always liked it, but
I still think it a little hard and expressionless; the eyes are too
large and empty.  There was a painting done of Parnell years
afterwards, and here also the artist failed with the eyes.  This
latter portrait was not, I think, done from life, but from
photographs, so there was reason for the failure in this respect,
photographs making unsatisfactory studies.  The artist who painted
this last picture gave Parnell blue eyes; presumably following the
idea that Parnell was an Irishman, and must therefore have blue eyes,
whereas the facts were that Parnell was not an Irishman, but the son
of an Englishman resident in Ireland and his American wife, and had
brown eyes, not large, but with the smouldering fires in them that
gave character to his cold, high-bred face.

Parnell had so many hobbies and interests in his home life that it is
difficult to enumerate them all.  He once said rather wearily that if
he had not "taken off his coat" in the Irish cause and for the Irish
people he could have been {100} always happy at home working at
things so much more congenial to him.

At one time he took up all the intricacies of bookkeeping in order
that he might check his Irish agent's accounts, and many weeks he sat
immersed in double entry, estate accounts keeping, commercial
booking, etc., in the evening, while I sat near him typing replies to
his letters ready for his signature.  He used to threaten me with
lessons in book-keeping, so that I might be ready to help him with
the estate management at Avondale when we went to live there; but I
felt that my duties as his extra and most private secretary were
sufficiently arduous, and declined instruction in account-keeping.

Many hours were also spent in architectural drawings, which
interested him greatly.  At that time Brighton Station was being
rebuilt, and Parnell was intensely interested in getting the "span"
of the roof.  He spent hours at odd times pacing the station,
measuring distances, heights, depth of roof, etc., etc., and in
drawing up plans in order that he might build a cattle shed on the
same lines at Avondale.  These plans he afterwards submitted to a
well-known architect for his opinion on them, and they were returned
as absolutely correct in every detail.  He then reduced the whole
thing to scale and had the cattle shed made from these plans at
Avondale.

I well remember his look of reproach at me when I laughed while
reading him a letter from his agent at Avondale the following winter.
The agent said that Mrs. Delia Parnell (Parnell's mother) had arrived
unexpectedly at Avondale, and, after seeing the new cattle shed, had
at once decided to give an entertainment in it.  This she had done,
having the cattle shifted from their comfortable {101} quarters, the
place boarded in, and a temporary floor laid down.

Parnell did not see that this expensive and troublesome eviction of
his cattle for so frivolous a reason was in the least funny, and was
very greatly annoyed at the whole proceeding.  He was always most
chivalrously kind to his mother, however, and his protest on this
occasion was very gentle, though coupled with firm insistence, on the
instant restoration of the cattle-house to its tenants.

Another of his hobbies was the "assaying" of small pieces of quartz
from the stream at Wicklow, and I used to help him for hours at this,
keeping his blow-pipe constantly at work, while he, silent and
absorbed, manipulated the crucibles.  When we went to live at
Brighton, after my aunt's death, he had a furnace fitted up in one of
the rooms so that he could work on a larger scale.  His endeavour to
obtain gold from this quartz was rewarded to a certain extent; but
the working was, of course, far too laborious and expensive to be
profitable otherwise than as a hobby.  However, Parnell for five
years worked at it in various odd hours till he had extracted
sufficient gold to line my wedding ring, even though his hope of
getting enough for the whole ring was not fulfilled.

When working at these things Parnell was absolutely oblivious to the
passing of time, and it was with difficulty that I prevailed upon him
to take sufficient exercise, or even to take his meals before they
were spoiled by waiting.  He would order his horse, "President," to
be taken to a certain place about a half-mile from the house, at the
hour he wished to ride, and then become so absorbed in the particular
hobby of the moment that even I could get nothing from him but an
abstracted smile and a gentle {102} "Is that so?" in answer to the
intimation that his horse had been waiting some two hours or more for
him.

Many a day I have let him work up to the last possible moment, and
then literally pulled off the old "cardigan" jacket he worked in, and
forced him into his frock-coat for the House; and it happened more
than once that he was due to attend a meeting in Ireland, and when I
had packed his things and had the carriage at the door ready for him
he would throw himself into a chair and with his slow, grave smile
say, "You are in a hurry to get rid of me; I will not go yet.  Sit
down and let me look at you a bit, my Queen."  I would protest that
he must go, that he would lose the mail train.  "Then I'll be no use
at the meeting, for it will be over!" he would mockingly reply; and
so, when the last possible chance of his being in time had vanished,
he would sit opposite me through the evening talking of politics,
Avondale, the assaying--of anything that came into his head always
watching me with that intent, considering gaze that was my
bewilderment and my joy.

When he failed a meeting like this, where hundreds of people were
waiting for him--or other appointments, private or public--I
sometimes would want him to telegraph, or write, apologizing or
excusing his non-attendance, but this he would never do, saying, "You
do not learn the ethics of kingship, Queenie.  Never explain, never
apologize"; adding, with his rare laugh: "I could never keep my
rabble together if I were not above the human weakness of apology."

When Parnell came home from Ireland after these meetings he would sit
smoking and watching me as I went through the pockets of the coats he
had worn while away.  It was a most interesting game, and he enjoyed
it {103} as much as I when I brought out a new trophy from the depths
of the deepest and most obvious side pocket.  It was a point of
honour that he should not "feel or look" till he got home to me, and
I have a dear little collection of souvenirs now from these
pockets--little medals with the images of various saints, scapulars
and badges, slipped in by the deft, modest fingers of sweet-faced
nuns, in the crowds, whose startled, deprecating blushes when he
turned and caught the delinquent in the act always won a courteous
bow and smile from the heretic "Chief" whose conversion their
patriotic hearts so ardently desired.  I found also odds and ends
pressed upon him by the hero-worshipping peasants, some gruesome
scrap of the rope that had hanged some unknown scamp and hero, so
"aising to the bone-pains, an' his riv'rance not looking, a bit of a
twisht roun' yer honour's arrm!" or perhaps a flattened old bullet
that had gained some fancied power in its evil journey through a
man's heart.  Then there were the brand-new kerchiefs of most vivid
green, most beautifully embroidered by the clever fingers of
"herself," and so many four-leaved, and therefore "lucky," shamrocks
from the "colleens," who went singing all the year if they thereby
earned a smile from the Chief.  Even the little children used to make
sudden, shy offerings to their hero; a "quare bit ave a stone," a
"farden me mither giv me," or some uneasy looking fragment of what
might once have been a bird's egg.  Of sticks, blackthorns and
others, I once had an enormous collection brought back to me at
various times by Parnell, but these, together with the two
riding-whips I had myself given him, were stolen from me some ten
years ago, when I was moving from one house to another.  The two
riding-whips I prized very highly, for Parnell was so pleased {104}
when I gave them to him.  One was gold-mounted, the other
silver-mounted, and each had "C.S.P." engraved upon it.

Among my stick collection was one made of horn--a curious thing,
carved and inlaid with ivory, sent him by some unknown American
admirer.  He used this stick on his last journey upstairs from the
sitting-room to the bed where he died.

In January of 1881, Willie, who had rooms then in Charles Street,
Haymarket, came down to Eltham suddenly, very angry indeed with me
because he had seen some men watching his lodgings, and imagined that
I had engaged a detective to do so.  As I had never had an idea of
doing anything of the sort I was extremely annoyed, and a violent
quarrel was the result.  As a matter of fact, the men were watching
the upper floor, where a friend of Willie's lived, and this friend's
wife afterwards divorced him.

All these months, since my first meeting with Mr. Parnell, Willie
knew at least that I frequently met him at the House.  He had invited
him to Eltham himself, though when the visit was first proposed I
said my house was too shabby, the children would worry so nervous a
man and we had better not break the routine of our (Willie's and my)
life (which by then was tacitly accepted as a formal separation of a
friendly sort) giving any and every excuse, because of the danger I
knew I was not able to withstand.

But Willie was blind to the existence of the fierce, bewildering
force that was rising within me in answer to call of those
passion-haunted eyes, that waking or sleeping never left me.  Willie
then, as always, was content that what was his, was his for good or
ill.  He knew {105} that men, in our past life together, had admired
me, even that some had loved me; but that was to their own undoing,
an impertinence that had very properly recoiled upon their own heads.
His wife could not love anyone but himself; perhaps unfortunately she
did not even do that, but after all "love" was only a relative
term--a little vulgar even, after girlhood had passed, and the mild
affection of his own feelings towards her were no doubt reciprocated,
in spite of the unfortunate temperamental differences that made
constant companionship impossible.

So Parnell came, having in his gentle, insistent way urged his
invitation, and from Willie.  And now Willie and I were quarrelling
because he, my lawful husband, had come down without the invitation
that was now (for some years) understood as due to the courtesy of
friends, and because he had become vaguely suspicious.  Flying
rumours had perhaps reached his ears; and now it was too late, for he
dared not formulate them, they were too vague; too late, for I had
been swept into the avalanche of Parnell's love; too late, for I
possessed the husband of my heart for all eternity.

I had fought against our love; but Parnell would not fight, and I was
alone.  I had urged my children and his work; but he answered me:
"For good or ill, I am your husband, your lover, your children, your
all.  And I will give my life to Ireland, but to you I give my love,
whether it be your heaven or your hell.  It is destiny.  When I first
looked into your eyes I knew."

When Willie arrived so suddenly at Eltham Mr. Parnell was not there,
but Willie went into his room, and finding his portmanteau, sent it
to London, and left my house, declaring he would challenge Parnell to
fight a duel and would shoot him.

{106}

"My dear Mrs. O'Shea," wrote Parnell from London on the 7th of
January, "will you kindly ask Captain O'Shea where he left my
luggage?  I inquired at both parcel office, cloak-room, and this
hotel at Charing Cross to-day, and they were not to be found."

Willie later challenged Parnell, sending The O'Gorman Mahon to him as
his second; but the duel was not fought.  My sister, Mrs. Steele,
came down to see me, and patched up a peace between myself and
Willie; and Mr. Parnell, while making arrangements to go abroad to
meet Willie, explained to him that he (Parnell) must have a medium of
communication between the Government and himself, that Mrs. O'Shea
had kindly undertaken the office for him, and, as this would render
negotiations possible and safe, he trusted that Willie would make no
objection to his meeting her after the duel.

"I replied to Captain O'Shea's note yesterday," writes Parnell, "and
sent my reply by a careful messenger to the Salisbury Club; and it
must be waiting him there.

"He has just written me a very insulting letter, and I shall be
obliged to send a friend to him if I do not have a satisfactory reply
to a second note I have just sent him."

Willie then thought he had been too hasty in his action, and, knowing
I had become immersed in the Irish cause, merely made the condition
that Mr. Parnell should not stay at Eltham.

From the date of this bitter quarrel Parnell and I were one, without
further scruple, without fear, and without remorse.

The following are "cypher" letters of private messages to me bearing
upon the matter of the threatened duel:--

{107}


    _July_ 20, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Just a line to say that I am very well and
    wondering when I shall see you again.

    I hope that your cold is better.--Your very truly, CHAS. S.
    PARNELL.



  HOUSE OF COMMONS,
    _Thursday night, July_ 22, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I have received both your very kind letters
    quite safely, and am looking forward to seeing you somewhere or
    somehow to-morrow.

    I am very much troubled at everything you have to undergo, and
    trust that it will not last long.--Yours always, CHAS. S. PARNELL.

    I am still quite well.  Thank you very much, for enclosure.



  WESTMINSTER PALACE HOTEL,
    VICTORIA STREET, LONDON, S.W.
      _Sunday evening, July_ 25, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,---I write to ask you to send my travelling
    cap, if it is at Eltham, to me here, as I may have to go over to
    Paris or Boulogne some day this week.

    I hope your eyes are quite well again and that you are enjoying
    these cool times.

    I have been very lonely all to-day and yesterday.  Have not seen
    anyone that I know.--Yours always, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



    _July_ 26, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I am still staying at the same address, and
    have postponed going to France, so you need not send my
    cap.--Yours always, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



{108}

CHAPTER XIII

ASTRONOMY, "SEDITION," AND ARREST

"_--and there is one stirring hour ... when a wakeful influence goes
abroad over the sleeping hemisphere....  Do the stars rain down an
influence?_"--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.


During his leisure moments at Eltham Mr. Parnell took up the study of
astronomy with the vigour that always characterized him when he was
interested in a subject.  He had picked out from my bookshelf a book
of stars--one of Sir Robert Ball's, I believe, that I had bought at
random one day, and became at once interested.  From the teaching of
an old friend of my father's I had a fairly good knowledge of
astronomy, and, though by no means well up in the latest research and
discoveries, I was able to tell him much of the stellar systems that
was new to him.  Finding how he devoured the little book of Sir
Robert Ball's, I got several of the latter's interesting works for
him, besides Herschel's.

Then Mr. Parnell told me of a magnificent telescope he had at
Avondale, and sent for it.  When this arrived he sent for a few sacks
of Portland cement, with which he made a pedestal in my garden, and
himself mounted the telescope upon it.  He made an ingenious
arrangement whereby the slightest touch would tilt the telescope to
the desired angle, and we spent many nights, he and I, watching the
stars and following the courses of the planets till they faded in the
dawn.  Then he thought of how near to us was the Observatory at
Greenwich, and got a permit to {109} go over the Observatory.  After
that, on the days when my aunt had her readers with her, I used to
accompany him to the Observatory, where we spent many hours.

He could always absorb very quickly any knowledge that appealed to
him, and he soon had the pleasure of teaching me much about the
latest discoveries, and about a subject intensely interesting to
him--the wonderful way in which the telescopes used in the great
observatories of the world are made.

In time this study of the stars began to worry him too much, and he
reluctantly gave up all serious work on the subject.  He said it was
all too immense and absorbing to think about in a life that was
primarily concerned with politics.  But the pedestal remained, and
still we occasionally mounted the telescope and kept vigil with the
stars through the summer night.


On April 7, 1881, Mr. Gladstone had introduced his Land Bill into the
House of Commons.  It was a better Bill than the Irish Party had
reason to expect, but it had grave defects, and the Irish had not
been consulted; while the Government's policy of coercion and
Forster's attitude towards Parnell and his followers made
co-operation between the Liberals and the Irish impossible.
Parnell's policy was to hold aloof and press for amendments.  After
being crippled in the House of Lords the Bill became law.  At a Land
League Convention held in Dublin on September 14 a resolution was
adopted, on the suggestion of Parnell, that the Act should be tested
by selected cases.  "Nothing," said Parnell, "could be more
disastrous to our cause or our organization, and to your hopes of
getting your rents reduced, than an indiscriminate rush of the
tenantry into the Land Courts."

{110}

A few days later Parnell was drawn in triumph through the streets of
Dublin.  The same day Forster wrote to Gladstone suggesting that
Parnell should be arrested under the Coercion Act.

He suggested, moreover, that in his next speech at Leeds, on October
7, Mr. Gladstone should impeach Parnell and his policy.  Gladstone
obeyed.  The people of Ireland, he cried, wished to use the Land Act
and Parnell would not let them, but "the resources of civilisation
were not yet exhausted."

Parnell retorted with passion and scorn in his famous Wexford speech
delivered on October 9.[1]

"Suppose they arrest you, Mr. Parnell," asked an Irish member, who
dined with the Leader on the evening of the speech, "have you any
instructions to give us?  Who will take your place?"  "Ah!" he said,
deliberately, looking through a glass of champagne which he had just
raised to his lips.  "Ah, if I am arrested Captain Moonlight will
take my place."[2]

All through 1881 Parnell was constantly paying flying visits to
Ireland, and also to various parts of England, working up the
"League," addressing meetings and privately ascertaining for himself
how far the temper of the "reactionaries" could be trusted to do the
work he wished without becoming too greatly involved in the tactics
of the "Invincibles" proper.  He came home to me now always between
the times of his journeyings up and down {111} the country, and if it
was not certain that I should be alone he would write me a formal
though friendly note or letter that anyone could have been shown, in
which was given some word or sign that let me know a place or time of
meeting him, either in London or nearer my home.  On some of these
occasions my duties to my aunt would keep me, so that I might be an
hour or more late in arriving at the place where he awaited me; but
never once in all those years did he once fail me or leave the place
of appointment before I came, even though it might be at the loss of
the mail train to Ireland, and leaving some thousands of people
waiting in vain for the speech he was too far away to make.
Sometimes I would become conscience-stricken on such an occasion, but
he would only comment that one speech more or less was a little
matter, and what was lost by a speech not made was amply compensated
for by the deepened impression of his mystery and power gained by the
people.  "For it is the strange thing I found out early in political
life," he would say, "they think I'm much more wonderful when I do
nothing than when I'm working hard."


  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _September_ 10, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Will you kindly address and post enclosed.

    I am quite recovered from my attack, and the doctor says that I
    shall be able to travel in a few days.--Yours very truly, CHAS.
    S. PARNELL.


The enclosure was the following letter:--


  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _September_ 10, 1881.

    MY OWN WIFIE,--I know that you must have been much {112} worried
    yesterday by my failure to send you a few words, but my Beauty
    will forgive her own husband.

    Your wire has been put into my hand as I write, and shall have an
    instant answer.

    It gives me so much pleasure to know that your trouble has not
    returned since I left, and that my wires give you pleasure.  Your
    King thinks very very often of his dearest Queen, and wishes her
    not to be sad, but to try and be happy for his sake.  Everything
    is going on very well here, and your King is much satisfied.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _September_ 25, 1881.

    MY OWN LOVELIEST,--I send you these few words to assure Wifie
    that her husband always thinks of her and hopes that she is well
    and happy.  YOUR OWN KING.



  _October_ 4, 1881.

    MY OWN WIFIE,--I have satisfied myself, by two separate tests
    to-day, that there is a good deal of silver in the dark stone of
    which there is so much in the old mine.  In fact nearly the whole
    lode consists of this (the miners are working in it in the North
    Level).  I cannot say how many ounces there will be to the ton
    until I get it assayed, but if there should be six or eight
    ounces to the ton it ought to pay to work.

    YOUR OWN KING.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _October_ 7, 1881.

    MY OWN WIFE,--I called to-day to see him[3] on my return from
    Dungarvan, but he was out, and I waited for him three hours.
    Calling again at eleven to-night, he was again out, but returned
    just as I was writing to make an appointment for the morning.  He
    says that he leaves to-morrow (Friday) evening, and stops to
    shoot on Saturday in Wales, and goes on Tuesday to Paris to see
    the Papal Nuncio, who he says has requested him to come.  This,
    then, is the last letter I can send you for the present through
    Eltham, so I hope to have the other address from you to-morrow
    morning.

    My dearest Katie must have been very lonely ever since.  {113}
    Did she get my three letters?  Her husband has been so busy he
    has not even had time to sleep, but he has never been too busy to
    think of her.

    I can go over to London early next week if I may see you.  Should
    I remain in London or go down to you?

    With numerous kisses to my beautiful Queenie.

    C. S. P.



    _October_ 8, 1881.

    MY DEAREST LITTLE WIFIE,--Your husband has been very good since
    he left you, and is longing to see you again.  He has kept his
    eyes, thought, and love all for you, and my sweetest love may be
    assured that he always will.

    To-morrow I go to Avondale, thence to Wexford on Sunday, whence I
    return Monday morning and hope to be with my Queenie on Tuesday
    or Wednesday at latest.

    Everything in Dublin has been settled up pretty satisfactorily,
    and I trust only to have to make an occasional appearance in
    Ireland during the rest of the autumn and winter.  ALWAYS YOUR
    KING.


On October 11th, Forster crossed to England, having first arranged
with Sir Thomas Steele, Commander-in-Chief in Ireland, that, should
the Cabinet agree to arrest Parnell, Forster would wire the one word
"Proceed."

The same day Parnell returned to Avondale, and on the next night was
back in Dublin.


  MORRISON'S HOTEL,
    _October_ 11, 1881.

    MY OWN KATIE,--I found two letters and two wires from your King's
    Queen here on my arrival an hour ago.  Your telegram this morning
    took a great weight off my mind, as your silence made me almost
    panic-stricken lest you had been hurt by that ---- and had not
    been able to get to town.

    To-morrow I go to Kildare,[4] and shall try and start for London
    Friday morning; but I cannot be sure of this, as "something"[5]
    may turn up at last moment, and there is {114} also a meeting of
    the Executive on Saturday, which they want me to stay for.

    However, Wifie knows I will do the best I can, and she will get a
    wire from me on Friday, soon after or as soon as she receives
    this, telling her what I have done.  If I arrive London Friday
    night shall go to same hotel and shall wait for my darling.

    Will she mind asking for my number?

    ALWAYS YOUR OWN KING.



On October 12th, 1881, I was in London on Mr. Parnell's business--to
ascertain the movements of the Government.  He, of course, was in
Ireland and had warned me that it would be impossible for him to keep
out of prison much longer, and that any further effort to avoid
arrest would be inexpedient on all counts.  I was much depressed
about this and urged him to put it off as long as possible.

My health was then delicate, and I felt an unreasonable fear and
loneliness when he was away from me.  He was very tender and
considerate to me, but pointed out that the turmoil and rebellion he
had brought to a head in Ireland must be very carefully handled to be
productive of ultimate good, and that he could "mark time" with the
Land League better in Kilmainham than out, thus rendering this force
more useful to the Home Rule campaign and less wanton in destruction.
Parnell used, but never abused, the weapons of political strife he
forged.

He desired immediate information of the decision of the Government to
arrest him, that he might destroy any papers that, found on him,
might frustrate his plans and cause unnecessary difficulty to those
working with him.  So when on October 12th information was sent to
me, at the house where I waited in London in the neighbourhood of
Piccadilly, that a Cabinet Council had been hurriedly {115} summoned,
I wired in code to Parnell and directly after the Cabinet Council I
was able to inform him that Forster had left for Ireland with the
warrant for his arrest.

I could not bear the thought of his arrest, and after writing to him
under cover to a person in Ireland who would, I knew, get my letter
to him, whether in or out of prison, I telegraphed to Parnell again
to know if he could meet me at Holyhead if I started at once.  I had
so much of his business in hand now, and he had expected to see me at
least once more before the inevitable separation of his imprisonment.
I felt almost unable to cope with the situation; I was not strong and
I was full of anxiety as to the probable effects upon Parnell's
health of life in Kilmainham Gaol.  In addition to my anxiety, the
deception I had to practise towards Captain O'Shea, seldom as I saw
him, told upon my nerves just now.  However, Parnell's message in
reply, written in our private code, reassured me.  While he still
thought it better to suffer arrest at once, he would not go out of
his way to meet it, and would be careful when in Kilmainham so that
his imprisonment should be of short duration.  He would not allow me
to go to the fatigue of a journey to Holyhead, nor would he go abroad
to avoid arrest, and I went home comforting myself as I could with
his confident spirit and loving messages.

On October 13th there was a terrible gale throughout the South of
England, and at Eltham, after a sleepless night, I was up early--far
too early to disturb my old aunt--and wandered out through her park
in the gale.  The battling with the wind lifted a little the load of
restlessness and anxiety as to what was happening in Ireland from my
heart.

I was with my aunt as usual all that day, and was {116} glad of the
quiet and rest.  The old lady gazed out at the still raging storm and
told me tales of her youth, while I listened to the voice I loved in
the wind outside, saying to me again and again what he had said
before he left me, "Be brave, Queenie.  I cannot stay outside while
all these others are arrested, and it is bound to be soon now."

Towards evening, when the storm had cleared a little, and my aunt had
fallen asleep before the fire, I went home to get the evening papers
I always had sent over from Blackheath before Willie came down from
London to dinner, as he had written to say he would do.  However, on
my return home I found Willie already there, extremely pleased to be
able to announce to me that Parnell had been arrested that morning.
I knew his news directly I saw his face, and as I was really prepared
for it I did not flinch, but replied languidly that I had thought
Parnell "couldn't keep out of gaol much longer, didn't you?"

But Willie was so fiercely and openly joyful that my maids, who were
ardent Parnellites, were much shocked, and I, being terribly
overwrought, laughed at their disgusted faces as I went to dress for
dinner.  It was really the laugh of tears, but that laugh of jangled
nerves and misery did me good service with Willie, and we got through
dinner amicably enough, while he descanted upon the wickedness and
folly of Parnell's policy and the way the Irish question should
really be settled, and would be if it could be left to him and those
who thought with him.  He observed me closely, as he criticised
Parnell and his policy, and reiterated his pleasure in knowing he was
"laid by the heels."

I was now quite calm again, and smiled at him as I reminded him that
I was now as ardent a Parnellite as {117} Parnell himself, and had
already done so much hard work for "the cause" that my politics were
far more reactionary that when he had introduced Parnell to me:
unlike his (Willie's) own, which were less so.  My heart being in
Kilmainham Gaol with my lover, I was momentarily at peace, and could
ask Willie questions as to the mode of life and prison discipline of
political prisoners.  Willie, as are so many men, was never so happy
as when giving information.

The next day I received my King's letter, written as he was
arrested:--


  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _October 13_, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I have just been arrested by two fine-looking
    detectives, and write these words to wifie to tell her that she
    must be a brave little woman and not fret after her husband.

    The only thing that makes me worried and unhappy is that it may
    hurt you and our child.

    You know, darling, that on this account it will be wicked of you
    to grieve, as I can never have any other wife but you, and if
    anything happens to you I must die childless.  Be good and brave,
    dear little wifie, then.  YOUR OWN HUSBAND.

    Politically it is a fortunate thing for me that I have been
    arrested, as the movement is breaking fast, and all will be quiet
    in a few months, when I shall be released.


Speaking at the Guildhall on the day of Parnell's arrest Mr.
Gladstone said: "Within these few minutes I have been informed that
towards the vindication of the law, of order, of the rights of
property, and the freedom of the land, of the first elements of
political life and civilization, the first step has been taken in the
arrest of the man who has made himself pre-eminent in the attempt to
destroy the authority of the law, and substitute what {118} would end
in being nothing more than anarchical oppression exercised upon the
people of Ireland."

When he uttered the word "arrest" he was stopped by the audience
rising en masse and cheering frantically.  "Parnell's arrest"--I
quote from the "Life of Forster"--"was hailed almost as though it had
been the news of a signal victory gained by England over a hated and
formidable enemy."

Sexton, O'Kelly, Dillon, O'Brien, and J. P. Quinn, secretary of the
League, were quickly arrested, while warrants were issued for Biggar,
Healy, and Arthur O'Connor.  Healy was in England, and Biggar and
O'Connor managed to join him there.



[1] Parnell in this speech vigorously attacked Gladstone's policy,
calling him a "masquerading knight-errant" and a champion of the
liberties of every nation except Ireland.  He pointed out that
Gladstone had a good word for the late Isaac Butt, and added
scornfully that "in the opinion of an English statesman no man was
good in Ireland until he was buried."  By implication he challenged
the Government to arrest him under the Coercion Act.

[2] "The Life of Parnell," by Barry O'Brien.

[3] Captain O'Shea.

[4] He was to have addressed a meeting at Naas.

[5] Possibility of arrest.



{119}

CHAPTER XIV

KILMAINHAM DAYS

  "_Love is not a flower that grows on the dull earth;
    Springs by the calendar; must wait for the sun.
      * * * * * * *
  E'en while you look the peerless flower is up
    Consummate in the birth._"--J. S. KNOWLES.


At the news of the arrest a wave of indignation swept through
Ireland.  In Dublin there were riots.  In many places shops were
closed and towns and villages went into mourning as if for the death
of a king.

Five days later the Land League countered the arrest by issuing the
No Rent manifesto.

Parnell was really opposed to it.  Dillon openly so, but the majority
of the leaders then in Kilmainham Gaol approved of it, and it was
signed and published in _United Ireland_ on October 17th.  The
signature is interesting, it runs thus:--


"Charles S. Parnell, President, Kilmainham Gaol; A. J. Kettle,
Honorary Secretary, Kilmainham Gaol; Michael Davitt, Honorary
Secretary, Portland Prison; Thomas Brennan, Honorary Secretary,
Kilmainham Gaol; Thomas Geston, Head Organizer, Kilmainham Gaol;
Patrick Egan, Treasurer, Paris."


Meanwhile arrests and evictions went on all over Ireland, and the
Coercion Act was used mercilessly and unscrupulously on behalf of the
landlords.  The Ladies' Land League and its president, Miss Anna
Parnell, became very busy.

* * * * * *

{120}

From the time of Parnell's arrest onward until the birth of his child
in the following February I lived a curiously subconscious existence;
pursuing the usual routine of my life at home and with my aunt, but
feeling that all that was of life in me had gone with my lover to
prison, and only came back to me in the letters that were my only
mark of time.  I had to be careful now; Willie became solicitous for
my health, and wished to come to Eltham more frequently than I would
allow.  He thought February would seal our reconciliation, whereas I
knew it would cement the cold hatred I felt towards him, and
consummate the love I bore my child's father.


    _October_ 14, 1881.

    My OWN DEAREST WIFIE,--I have found a means of communicating with
    you, and of your communicating in return.

    Please put your letters into enclosed envelope, first putting
    them into an inner envelope, on the joining of which you can
    write your initials with a similar pencil to mine, and they will
    reach me all right.

    I am very comfortable here, and have a beautiful room facing the
    sun--the best in the prison.  There are three or four of the best
    of the men in adjoining rooms with whom I can associate all day
    long, so that time does not hang heavy nor do I feel lonely.  My
    only fear is about my darling Queenie.  I have been racked with
    torture all to-day, last night, and yesterday, lest the shock may
    have hurt you or our child.  Oh, darling, write or wire me as
    soon as you get this that you are well and will try not to be
    unhappy until you see your husband again.  You may wire me here.

    I have your beautiful face with me here; it is such a comfort.  I
    kiss it every morning.  YOUR KING.



  KILMAINHAM,
    _October_ 17, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I was very much pleased to receive your two
    letters, which reached me safely after having {121} been duly
    perused by the Governor.  I am also writing to Captain O'Shea's
    Paris address to acknowledge his.

    The last letter which you directed to Morrison's also reached me.

    If you have not done so already, please inquire in London about
    the messages you were expecting, and about any others that may
    arrive in future, and let me know in your next whether you have
    received them.

    This prison is not at all damp, although the air on the north
    side is rather so, but I am on the south side, and am so far
    exceedingly comfortable and not in the slightest degree dull.  We
    are allowed to play ball, and you will be glad to hear that I won
    my first game against one of the best and most practised players
    in the place, although I have not played for twenty years.

    I have received the _Times, Engineer, Engineering, Mining
    Journal, Pall Mall Gazette, Universe_, from a London office, also
    the _Engineer_ directed in your handwriting.

    Shall be delighted to hear from you as often as you care to
    write.--Yours always, C. S. P.

    When you write again, please let me know how you are.  I have
    been very anxious for news on that point.



    _October_ 19, 1881.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--I have just received your charming
    little letter of Tuesday, which I have been anxiously expecting
    for the last week.  It has taken an enormous load off my mind.  I
    shall send you a long letter to-morrow or next day, but for the
    present you had better not come over, as there are five or six
    other men in rooms adjacent to mine who find out about everybody
    who visits me.  Besides, you would not be permitted to see me
    except in presence of two warders, and it might only make you
    more unhappy.

    You must not be alarmed about rumours that the Government have
    evidence that we are involved in a treasonable conspiracy.  There
    is absolutely no foundation whatever for such a statement, and it
    is only made to defend their own proceedings.

    Dearest little Queenie, keep up your spirits.  I am very {122}
    comfortable and very well, and expect to see my darling before
    the New Year.

    Don't put my name in inner envelope in future, as if opened it
    might implicate others.



    _October_ 21, 1881.

    MY OWN DARLING WIFIE,--I wrote you a short note this afternoon,
    which I succeeded in getting off safely.  Now after we have been
    all locked up safely for the night, and when everything is quiet
    and I am alone, I am going to send my own Queenie some news.  But
    first I must tell you that I sleep exceedingly well, and am
    allowed to read the newspapers in bed in the morning, and
    breakfast there also, if I wish.

    I want, however, to give you a little history from the
    commencement of my stay here.

    When I heard that the detectives were asking for me a terror--one
    which has often been present with me in anticipation--fell upon
    me, for I remembered that my darling had told me that she feared
    it would kill her; and I kept the men out of my room while I was
    writing you a few hasty words of comfort and of hope, for I knew
    the shock would be very terrible to my sweet love.

    I feared that I could not post it, but they stopped the cab just
    before reaching the prison and allowed me to drop the letter into
    a pillar-box.  My only torture during those first few days was
    the unhappiness of my queen.  I wired Mrs. S. to know how you
    were, but the wire was sent back with a note that it could not be
    delivered as she had gone to R.  Finally your first letter came,
    and then I knew for the first time that you were safe.  You must
    not mind my being in the infirmary.  I am only there because it
    is more comfortable than being in a cell, and you have longer
    hours of association, from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., instead of being
    locked up at 6 and obliged to eat by yourself.  The infirmary is
    a collection of rooms, and each has a room to himself--Dillon is
    in a cell, but he is allowed as a special privilege to come over
    and associate with us during the daytime.  I am obliged to invent
    little maladies for myself from day to day in order to give Dr.
    Kenny an excuse for keeping me in the infirmary, but I have never
    felt better in {123} my life.  Have quite forgotten that I am in
    prison, and should very much miss the rattle of the keys and the
    slam of the doors.  The latest discovery is heart affection.

    The only thing I don't like is that the Government insist upon
    sending a lot of police into the gaol every night, two of whom
    sleep against my door and two more under my window.  Just at
    present we are all in great disgrace on account of the manifesto,
    and the poor warders have been most of them dismissed and fresh
    ones brought in.  A very strict watch is kept, and I have been
    obliged to exert my ingenuity to get letters out to you and to
    get yours in return.  If Wifie is very good and becomes strong
    and happy again I may let her come over and see me after a time,
    but for five days more I am not to be allowed to see any visitor,
    but I will write you again about your coming.  They have let us
    off very easily.  I fully expected that we should have been
    scattered in different gaols through the country as a punishment,
    but they evidently think no other place safe enough for me.
    Indeed, this place is not safe, and I can get out whenever I
    like, but it is probably the best policy to wait to be released.
    And now good-night, my own dear little Wifie.  Promise your
    husband that you will sleep well and look as beautiful when we
    meet again as the last time I pressed your sweet lips.  YOUR OWN
    HUSBAND.



    _October_ 26, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Many thanks for your kind letter.  I am
    anxiously waiting for another note from you to say that you have
    quite recovered from the indisposition you speak of.

    I was in hopes that time would pass mote slowly in prison than
    outside, but it seems to pass quite as quickly as anywhere else
    except those hours at Eltham.--Yours always, C. S. P.



    _October_ 28, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Not having heard from you this week, I
    write this to say that I hope you are better, and that the
    absence of a letter from you is not to be attributed to any
    increase in the indisposition of which you spoke in your last.
    {124}

    I am glad to be able to tell you that I am exceedingly well.
    Health and spirits never better.--Yours very truly, CHAS. S.
    PARNELL.



    _November_ 1, 1881.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Thanks very much for your letters and
    telegram.

    I was rather indisposed yesterday, but am very much better
    to-day.  I am told that everybody gets a turn after they have
    been here for three or four weeks, but that they then become all
    right.  I write you this lest you and other friends should be
    troubled by exaggerated reports in the newspapers.

    My esteemed friend Mr. Forster has become very disagreeable
    lately.  He refuses to allow me to see my solicitor except in
    presence and hearing of two warders, so I have declined to see
    him at all.  He also refuses to allow me to see visitors except
    in the cage, which I have also declined to do, but probably
    things may be relaxed again after a time.--Yours very truly, C.
    S. P.


Parnell had a certain visitor who was permitted to see him in
Kilmainham on his "necessary and private" business, though not alone,
and this gentleman was able to take his letters out, and bring them
to him, unobserved, and after putting them into another outer
envelope address them to "Mrs. Carpenter" at an address in London,
whence I fetched them.  Or sometimes he would send a formal letter to
me at Eltham enclosing one addressed to some political or other
personage.  If Willie were at Eltham I would show him this note
asking me to post enclosure on a certain date.  The enclosure was, of
course, to me--sent thus to keep me from the fatigue of going to town
so often.  The Governor of Kilmainham for some reason became
suspicious of Parnell's visitor, and forbade his interviews except in
the close proximity of two warders selected by himself, and Parnell
refused to see him at all {125} under these restrictions.  He wrote
me a friendly letter then, telling me this, and other little news of
his prison life, as to an ordinary acquaintance, and addressed it
direct to Eltham, sending it to be approved by the Governor and
posted in the ordinary way.  In this letter, that anyone might have
seen, there was a message by a private sign to go to the house in
town for a letter within a few days.  On doing so, I found my letter
as usual, posted by a friendly warder, and contained in it was a
recipe for invisible ink, and this ink could only be "developed" by
one particular formula, a combination known only to one chemist.  We
were saved an infinity of trouble and anxiety, as we could now write
between the lines of an ordinary or typewritten letter without
detection, and it was no longer essential to get a third person to
direct the envelopes.  In time the Governor again became suspicious,
and the friendly warder was dismissed--or Parnell was told so.
However, this was only a temporary inconvenience, as Parnell was able
in a couple of days to reorganize his communications with me, and
this time they were not broken.


    _November_ 2, 1881.

    I have just succeeded in having my communications, which were cut
    for a while, restored, and have received your letter of Friday
    night.  In writing me please always acknowledge receipt of my
    letters by their date.  I have quite recovered.  My illness did
    me good, and I have a first-rate appetite.

    You must not mind reports about my health.  In fact, our "plots"
    have been completely disarranged by the necessity of writing and
    wiring my Queenie that there is nothing the matter with me.

    I hope to be able to arrange to see you as soon as I hear that W.
    is firmly fixed.

    I look at my beautiful Queen's face every night before I {126} go
    to bed and long for the time when I may be with you again.  Only
    for that I should be happier here than anywhere else.



    _November_ 5, 1881.

    MY DARLING WIFIE,--When I received your dear letter to-day I had
    just time to send you a few hasty lines in acknowledgment; now
    when everything is quiet and with your own sweet face before me I
    can give my thoughts up entirely to my Queen, and talk to you
    almost as well as if you were in my arms.  It seems to me a long,
    long time since our hasty good-bye, although the first three
    weeks of my present life--which term will have been completed
    to-morrow morning--has seemed only a moment.  I often feel very
    sad when I think of poor, unhappy Katie waiting for her husband
    who does not come any longer as he used to come, but who will
    come again to her and will not again leave her.

    I am trying to make arrangements that my own Queenie may come to
    me this time.  I shall ask my ruler here if I may see my cousin,
    "Mrs. Bligh, who is coming from England to see me," in his
    office, and with only himself present.  After all, darling, the
    only way in which I could have escaped being here would have been
    by going to America, and then I could not have seen you at all,
    and I know I should not have been so happy or so comfortable in
    America as here, and, besides, I should have been beset by so
    many dangers there.

    I admire supremely my life of ease, laziness, absence of care and
    responsibility here.  My only trouble is about your health and
    happiness and this has been my only trouble from the first.
    Queenie, then, will see that she also must try not to be so
    unhappy, especially as her husband's love is becoming stronger
    and more intense every hour and every day.

    You will be anxious to know what my short illness was about.  It
    was of a very unromantic kind--not the heart, but the stomach.  I
    had not much appetite for some days, and was tempted by a turkey
    to eat too much, thence very severe indigestion and considerable
    pain for about an hour.  However "our doctor," by means of
    mustard and chlorodyne, got me all right again, and my appetite
    is now as good as ever.  In fact, I have gotten over very quickly
    the "mal du prison" {127} which comes on everybody sooner or
    later more or less severely.

    One of the men in this quarter who has been here for nearly nine
    months, poor fellow, looks after me as if he was my--brother, I
    was going to say, but I will substitute Mary.[1]  He makes me a
    soda and lemon in the morning, and then gives me my breakfast.
    At dinner he takes care that I get all the nicest bits and
    concocts the most perfect black coffee in a "Kaffee Kanne" out of
    berries, which he roasts and grinds fresh each day.  Finally, in
    the evening, just before we are separated for the night, he brews
    me a steaming tumbler of hot whisky.  He has marked all my
    clothes for me also, and sees that the washerwoman does not rob
    me.  Don't you begin to feel quite jealous?

    I am going to ask Katie to put her proper initials upon the inner
    envelope of her next letter---thus, K. P.  Your writing on the
    outside envelope of the one which came to-day will do splendidly.

    I do not think there is the least probability of my being moved;
    this is the strongest place they have, and they are daily trying
    to increase its strength according to their own notions, which
    are not very brilliant.  My room is very warm and perfectly dry.
    They wanted me to go to another, which did not face the sun, but
    I refused, so they did not persist.

    With a thousand kisses to my own Wifie, and hoping soon to lay my
    head in its old place.

    Good-night, my darling.



    _November_ 7, 1881.

    I did not advertise in _Standard_.

    MY DARLING QUEENIE,--Your two letters received, and King is very
    much troubled about you.

    I am very warm--have fire and gas in my room all night if I want
    it.

    Dearest Wifie must try and get back her spirits and good looks
    for her own husband's sake.  C.  S.  P.



    _November_ 12, 1881.

    MY DARLING WIFIE,--I have received my darling's letter {128} of
    the 9th quite safely, also the enclosure in the previous one,
    which I will keep as you wish it; but I shall not want it, my own
    love.

    The statement about the food was only to prepare the way to get
    up a collection in the country so as to save the American money
    for other purposes.

    We think of announcing by and by that we have gone on Government
    food, and then start the subscription, as there is no other way
    of getting money from the country.  In any case, this could not
    affect me, as I am in the infirmary, and should be entitled to
    get whatever Dr. Kenny orders for me.  Wifie may depend upon it
    that whatever happens we shall take good care of ourselves; at
    present we are living upon all the good things of the
    world--game, etc.  The authorities have intimated to me twice
    that I may go out if I will say that I will go abroad, but I have
    replied that I am not in any hurry, and that when I go out I
    shall go or stay where I please.  In fact, I much prefer to wait
    here till the meeting of Parliament.

    Will write Wifie a long letter to-morrow.

    YOUR OWN KING.



  _November_ 14, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Your husband continues very well, and very much
    contented with the position of things outside.

    I am told the Government don't exactly know what to do with us
    now they have got us, and will take the first decent excuse which
    presents itself of sending us about our business.

    Queenie's letters give me great comfort, as I think I see by them
    she is not quite so unhappy as she was, and has more hope of
    seeing her King soon again.  I am in a continual state of alarm,
    however, lest something may hurt you.

    ALWAYS YOUR KING.



  _Saturday._

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I hope my darling will not hurt herself going
    after those letters.  I have got some paper to write direct to
    you, and shall try one on Monday.  I do not use it for writing to
    anybody else, so that Queenie need not be afraid {129} of that,
    but she should write very lightly, and with a gold pen.

    My own little Wifie, I so wish I could be with you to comfort and
    take care of you, but will you not try to care for yourself, my
    darling, for my sake?

    YOUR OWN LOVING KING.



    MY DEAREST QUEENIE,--I write hastily to say that I am receiving
    your darling letters all right, though the watch is very close,
    and it is difficult to get them either out or in.

    I am exceedingly well, sleep very well, go to bed at ten or
    eleven, or whenever I like, get up at nine, or whenever I like.

    Do, beautiful Wifie, take care of yourself and your King's child.



  _November_ 18, 1881.

    Use thinner letter paper in future, as envelopes are suspiciously
    bulky.

    Your own King continues very well, and has received your two
    letters safely.

    Our mutual friend is waiting for me at present, and probably has
    some more for me and will take this.  I have just heard on good
    authority that they intend to move me to Armagh the end of this
    week or beginning of next in order to give me an opportunity of
    escaping while there.  However, they may change their mind, and
    in any case it will make no difference to me personally.  Armagh
    is healthier and nicer in every way, I am told by our Chief W.,
    who comes from there.  I am also told, on the same authority who
    informed me of projected move to Armagh, that we shall be
    certainly all released before Christmas.

    I am disposed to think I have got heavier, but shall know
    to-morrow when I weigh.

    Best love to our child.

    YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.



    _November_ 21, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Yours of the 18th has reached me safely, and
    though I am relieved to know that my darling is {130} a little
    less miserable, yet I am still very much troubled and anxious
    about you.  Has he[2] left yet?  It is frightful that you should
    be exposed to such daily torture.  My own Wifie must try and
    strengthen herself, and get some sleep for her husband's sake and
    for our child's sake, who must be suffering much also.

    I am convinced that if it had not been for the unfortunate result
    of Tyrone I should not be here.  I hope that Stafford may be
    followed by another success in Derry, and that it may open their
    eyes to the danger of their present proceedings.  I can really
    honestly tell Wifie that my health is not only as good, but
    better than it has been at any time for the last twelve months.

    I don't know who it was sent me the quilt; I am sending it to
    Wicklow, as it is green--a colour I detest.  I don't want it here
    at all, as there are too many things on my bed as it is.

    EVER YOUR OWN KING.

    The Woolwich or Charlton post offices will do very well when you
    recommence writing.



    _November_ 29, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I was very happy in receiving my darling's
    letter of yesterday to-day.  My messenger was looking very
    frightened, and fears his letters may be opened any day.  So
    perhaps it will be safest for Wifie not to write again for a few
    days, until I see further, or until I can manage another address.
    I can manage, however, to write my Queenie two or three times a
    week.  You must not be frightened if you see we have all gone on
    P. F.[3]  It will not be so as far as we are concerned here, and
    will only be for a week as regards the others, but Wifie must not
    tell anybody that I have not done so, as it would create
    discontent amongst the others.  The man who has been taking care
    of me is going out to-morrow, and will be a loss to me.  He has
    been very ill during the last week from bad sore throat, and was
    very nearly suffocated the night before last, so I sent O'Gorman
    Mahon to Forster about him, with the desired effect of getting
    his {131} discharge.  One of the others will supply his place to
    me, but not so well.

    Have not been weighed yet, but will to-morrow.  I think Wifie has
    my last weight.  After eight at night I read books, newspapers,
    and write until about twelve or one, when I go to bed.  I also
    think a good deal of my own darling during that time when
    everything is quiet, and wonder how soon I shall be with you
    again.

    The time is passing rather more slowly this month than the first,
    but still it is not yet monotonous.

    With best love.



  _Thursday._

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I have just received your two letters, one of
    Tuesday, the other 25th, and am enormously relieved to find you
    are well.  You can direct the next envelopes in a feigned hand;
    it is safer than sending you any more.  The outside envelope of
    yours of the 25th appears to have been tampered with, but the
    inside one is all right.  I am trying to arrange that you may see
    me as soon as he[4] is gone to Madrid, and you become quite
    strong, and will write you more fully about it to-morrow.  ALWAYS
    YOUR KING.

    Gum your inside envelopes well.  There is no risk of my being
    moved.



  _December_ 3, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Your letter of the 1st has just reached me.

    You ought to have had a note by the 1st explaining about P. fare,
    and suggesting caution until another means of communication can
    be found, as my messenger fears his letters may be opened any day.

    I am exceedingly well, and am not really on prison fare, as we
    can get anything we want here.

    Am rejoiced to learn that Wifie hopes our child will be strong--I
    think it ought to have a good constitution.

    All my pains and aches have quite disappeared, and I have become
    quite acclimatized, I expect to be so fresh when I {132} get out
    that even Wifie won't be able to hold me, although her bonds are
    very strong and pleasant.

    ALWAYS YOUR KING.



    _Tuesday, December_ 6, 1881.

    MY QUEENIE,--I have not yet been able to arrange other means of
    communication for my own darling, but hope to do so shortly.

    Her dear letter of the 1st has reached me quite safely, but it
    would be a risk for her to write again to the same place.  In any
    case I will send you in my next a prescription which will enable
    you to write ordinary letters with something added.

    Your King never felt nearly so well in his life before.  The
    strong exercise, ball-playing, which I have missed very much
    during the last few years of my life, is improving me immensely,
    as strong exercise always agreed with me.

    YOUR OWN KING.



    _Wednesday, December_ 7, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--You may see a paragraph about my health in the
    _Freeman_ of Friday which may worry you, so write to say that it
    is very much exaggerated for the purpose of preventing a change
    in our rooms to some which are not in any way so nice.

    I have caught a slight cold, which the doctor thinks will pass
    off in a day or two.

    I will write you direct to-morrow with the secret ink of which
    the prescription is on the other side.  No. 1 is for writing, No.
    2 is for bringing it out.  Wifie may write me with this to the
    same address as usual and in the same way, but she should write
    also with ordinary ink on the first page of the letter something
    as follows:


    DEAR SIR,--I have yours of ---- inst., and will pay attention to
    the directions given.--Yours truly, R. CAMPBELL.


The secret handwriting should be with a clean quill pen, and should
be written lightly.

I feel much better this afternoon than I did this morning.

ALWAYS YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.

{133}

You had best test the No. 1 solution by attempting to bring it out
with No. 2.  If it does not come out well increase the strength of
both solutions.  Use unglazed rough paper.  Do not be worried,
darling, and take good care of our child.



    _Friday, December_ 9, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I wired you yesterday as I was dreadfully
    frightened about the effect the par in _Freeman_ would have on
    you, and hope you did not get into overmuch trouble about
    telegram.

    The feverish cold quite passed away yesterday after one night,
    and I am up to-day but keeping a poor mouth, so as to try to
    baulk a pretty scheme for moving us from our present rooms into
    others where they think we will be safer.  You must not pay any
    attention to O. D.'s account, as it was carefully got up.

    I don't eat bread, only for breakfast, but D. and I have each two
    raw chops smuggled in daily which we do for ourselves, and we
    also make our own tea.

    We also always have a cold ham in stock--Queenie must not think I
    am deceiving her about anything--I never felt as well in my life
    as when I wrote to tell her so the evening before I was taken
    ill, and next morning I woke with a hot head.

    At present I am getting all my food from the Governor's kitchen,
    and it is excellent.

    We hope by the row we are making to compel Government to make the
    food sufficiently good to satisfy the men and take expense of
    their keep off our resources.

    In future you had best brush any letters I write you to E. with
    No. 2 solution, as, unless you desire me not to do so, I will
    write you for the future alternately to E. and W. Place so as to
    save you the trouble and fatigue of going to London so often.
    ALWAYS YOUR OWN HUSBAND.



    _December_ 13, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Your two letters have reached me quite safely
    and are all right.

    I am quite well again now, and could go out were it not that the
    weather is so cold that the doctor does not think it prudent.

    {134}

    I hope my darling is well and has not been hurt by the anxiety.
    My mind has been in the utmost distress about my Wifie and her
    child all the week, and you do not know what a relief your
    telegram from London was.



    _December_ 14, 1881.

    MY DARLING QUEENIE,--Your second letter reached me all right, and
    I can read them perfectly.  But, my darling, you frighten me
    dreadfully when you tell me that I am "surely killing" you and
    our child.

    I am quite well again now, my own, and was out to-day for a short
    time, and will take much better care of myself for the future.
    It was not the food, but a chill after over-heating myself at
    ball.  But I do not intend to go back on prison fare, even
    nominally, again, as the announcement that we were on it has
    served the purpose of stimulating the subscription.

    Rather than that my beautiful Wifie should run any risk I will
    resign my seat, leave politics, and go away somewhere with my own
    Queenie, as soon as she wishes; will she come?  Let me know,
    darling, in your next about this, whether it is safe for you that
    I should be kept here any longer.

    YOUR OWN HUSBAND.

    There can be no doubt we shall be released at opening of
    Parliament, but I think not sooner.

    Dr. K. was allowed to be with me at night while I was ill, and we
    are not to be changed from our rooms.



    _December_ 15, 1881.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--Nothing in the world is worth the risk
    of any harm or injury to you.  How could I ever live without my
    own Katie?--and if you are in danger, my darling, I will go to
    you at once.

    Dearest Wifie, your letter has frightened me more than I can tell
    you.  Do write, my darling, and tell me that you are better.  I
    have had nothing from you for several days.  I am quite well and
    strong again.

    We have made arrangements so that everybody will be allowed to
    feed himself for the future, the poorer men getting so much a
    week.  YOUR OWN HUSBAND.


    {135}


  _December_ 16, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I think it will be best to make the change you
    suggest in yours of yesterday, but you need not trouble or
    fatigue yourself about it immediately.

    I am going on all right, darling, and expect to have another game
    of ball to-morrow, but shall take care not to heat myself.

    I could not very well make any arrangement or enter into any
    undertaking with Government unless I retired altogether from
    politics.

    Your letter has relieved me very much.  I have been dreadfully
    frightened about you for the last week.  Do take care of
    yourself, my own darling, and I will also take good care of
    myself for the future.

    We have both to live for each other for many happy years together.

    You need not write near so heavily or use so much ink, and it
    would be also better to have a softer paper, more like blotting
    paper.  YOUR OWN KING.



  _December_ 22, 1881.

    Many happy returns of Christmas, my own darling.  Though your
    husband cannot be with you this time, he looks forward to very
    many happy returns with you.

    I am very, very happy that my own Wifie is better, and that she
    has been relieved from some of the intolerable annoyance for a
    time.

    Your husband is quite well.  We have succeeded in getting our new
    exercise ground.

    ALWAYS YOUR LOVING KING.



  _Xmas Eve._

    Letters of 22nd and 23rd arrived safely.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Just as the coming day is approaching I send my
    own love what she has asked me for, and trust that it will make
    her forget our squabble of last Xmas Day, as I had long since
    forgotten it.

    My darling, you are and always will be everything to me, and
    every day you become more and more, if possible, more than
    everything to me.

    {136}

    [Illustration: FACSIMILE OF LETTER ON p. 134]

    {137}

    {138}

    Queenie need not be in the least anxious about me.  I have been
    getting my meals from the Governor's kitchen up to the present,
    but to-morrow we return to the old arrangement of being supplied
    from the outside.  Nominally we are to get only one meal a day
    from the outside, but in reality they will permit those who wish
    and can afford it to get the other two meals as well from
    outside, at their own expense, of course, and those who are with
    me in these quarters intend to do this.  I do not receive any
    letters from any ladies I know, except one from Mrs. S., shortly
    after I came here.  She wrote to sympathize, and said she had
    been ill.  I replied after a time, asking how _you_ were, but
    forgot to ask how _she_ was, and she has not written since.  Am
    glad to say that none of my "young women" have written.

    Let me know as soon as he goes and I will write you home.

    Government are not likely to go out for a while, but they will
    scarcely go out without letting me out first.

    YOUR OWN KING.



    _December_ 30, 1881.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Your two letters just received but not read yet.
    I hope Wifie is sleeping better and getting stronger like her
    husband.

    I am very nervous about the doctors, and you should at all events
    tell one of them the right time, so that he may be on hand,
    otherwise you may not have one at all.  It will never do to run
    this risk.

    I will write Queenie a long letter to-night.



[1] My parlourmaid.

[2] Captain O'Shea was staying at Eltham for some days.

[3] Prison fare.

[4] Captain O'Shea.



{139}

CHAPTER XV

MORE KILMAINHAM LETTERS

"_The soul of a philosopher will consider that it is the office of
philosophy to set her free._"--SOCRATES.



  _January_ 3, 1882.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--Many happy New Years, my own love, with
    your husband to make you happy.

    My Queenie must take great care of herself, and must be sure to
    have at least one doctor in February.  It will never do to let it
    trust to chance.

    There is every prospect of my being able to see my darling soon,
    but it does not do to be too sure, as things change so much from
    day to day.



  _January_ 7, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--If Queenie could see her husband reading her
    letters over and over again every night she would have more faith
    in their readable quality and power for giving her husband
    happiness than she can have in looking at the blank paper as the
    result of her work.  The paper of that of the 6th, which reached
    me to-day, is exactly suited; but Wifie, in sending two sheets,
    one of them quite blank, makes a bad conspirator, but I must
    forgive her, as the result is by no means blank to me.

    I do feel very anxious about you, my darling, and cannot help it.
    You must tell the doctor, and never mind about ----.  Could you
    not go to London or Brighton about the beginning of February?
    London would be best, if you could get him away on any pretext;
    but if you could not, Brighton would leave you most free from him.

    It is perfectly dreadful that Wifie should be so worried at
    night.  I had hoped that the doctor's orders would have prevented
    that.

    I am being fed very well.  Chops or grilled turkey or eggs {140}
    and bacon for breakfast, soup and chops for luncheon, and joint
    and vegetables, etc., for dinner, and sometimes oysters.  The
    "one meal a day" is only a pretence.  Each man gets £2 when
    arrested, and 15s. a week, and can feed himself as he likes.
    Most of them pocket the money and make the Government feed them.
    You can understand the unwillingness of W.'s friend to leave
    under these circumstances.  The Government food is much better
    now after the row about it, so most of the men can manage very
    well with it, and send the 15s. home or put it in bank.  I expect
    the majority of the Irish people will be here after a time, the
    pay is so good and it is quite a safe place.  I am very well,
    dearest Queenie, and enjoying our new exercise yard very much.

    YOUR OWN KING.



  _January_ 11, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Yes, I will go to you, my love, immediately I am
    released.  There is nothing in the world that I can do in
    Ireland, nor is it likely that I shall be able to do anything
    here for a long time to come.  Certainly until the Coercion Act
    has expired I will not speak here again, so Queenie need not be
    afraid that when she gets me again she will lose me.

    I am disposed to think that Government at present intend to
    release me shortly before opening of Parliament, but, of course,
    they may change their mind and hasten or postpone my release.
    Anyhow, let Queenie's mind be quite at rest, I am very well and
    am growing more vigorous every day, the air and exercise in the
    new yard suiting me exactly.

    I long very, very much to be with my own Wifie again, and wish I
    could take care of and comfort her in the time that is
    coming--Queenie has been very good and very loving to her husband
    to give him this child, and to take such care of it during this
    long, sad interval, but she must remember that she is far more to
    me than all the world beside, and that she must specially take
    care of herself, as her King cannot now live without her.

    I had forgotten to tell you that the jacket and other things you
    gave me have been very useful and comfortable.  During my illness
    I wore it all the time, and wear it now in the {141} mornings to
    read the newspapers.  It has quite cured pain in shoulder.

    I do trust you have been now relieved for a time by his
    departure, and that you are getting a little sleep.  It is enough
    to have killed you several times over, my own Queenie.

    ALWAYS YOUR OWN HUSBAND.



  _January_ 17, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--The large paper is very good, the best for the
    purpose of any you have tried yet.

    Your husband is so happy that you have at last been left free for
    a time.

    Queenie may send her letters from any place about that she likes,
    but she had best not write direct, as there is a very sharp-eyed
    man over the letters.

    Very much lighter writing will do, and it might be written
    between the lines of the ordinary ink, but it is best not to risk
    anything just now.

    I think Brighton will do very well if Wifie likes it, and if it
    would be safe for her to be so far from London.  Her King could
    be there quite well, as he intends to take a holiday when
    released, and will not go to work at once.

    Have just received formal and usual notice of further detention,
    first three months being up.  The other two have also received
    theirs.  This has no significance one way or the other, as nobody
    has ever been released at the end of the exact period.  My own
    Wifie must try and keep herself well and strong.  Does she feel
    so?  I wish I could be with my poor darling.

    It is really the only reason why I wish for a change, and my
    Queenie's loneliness and weariness makes me very unhappy.
    Yesterday and to-day as three of us were exercising in our yard
    the gates in adjoining yard leading into the outer world were
    opened twice to permit some carts to come in and go out.  A low
    wall only separated the two yards, across which we could have
    easily sprung; there was no warder in our yard, and only one in
    the next, with his back turned to us.  So, you see, we can get
    out whenever we want to.  Trying to escape is six months with
    hard labour, so we have nothing {142} to gain by it, even if they
    keep us till end of Act in October, which they are not at all
    likely to do.

    YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.



  _January_ 21, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--On further consideration I think it would be
    much too risky for my darling to go to Brighton, as you would be
    too far from the doctor, so let it be London or home.  I shall
    find means to see my Wifie wherever she is.

    It looks like our release shortly.

    Yours of 19th received.



    January 23, 1882.

    We have got an air-gun and practise every day.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Your letter of the day before yesterday makes me
    very nervous about my own love again, as I fear from it that you
    are going to distress and worry yourself about me again.  I can
    assure you, my own, that I am exceedingly well, and am likely to
    remain so.

    Notwithstanding the newspapers, it is most unlikely they will
    keep us here till the commencement of session.  D., indeed, will
    probably go out in a day or two on account of his health; but in
    any case my Queenie must not think of worrying about her husband,
    as he is very comfortable and happy where he is, if he might only
    see his own Wifie sometimes.  I should feel quite lonely now in
    London without being able to see my darling, and I should very
    much prefer to stay here than to be all alone in London while
    Wifie is suffering, except that I know it would comfort her to
    have me even so near her.

    I hope you have received my letter saying that I think London or
    home the best for you, and not Brighton; the latter would be much
    too far from the doctors.  Does Wifie feel strong and well?  I
    fear my poor Queenie has had a dreadful time of it, and our poor
    little child also.

    YOUR OWN LOVING KING.



  _January_ 28, 1882.

    MY OWN DEAREST QUEENIE, I did not like to write direct, lest
    there should be any mistake, especially as my paper is not very
    suitable.  It looks as if they were going to keep me here {143}
    for a while longer, probably till a month or so after the opening
    of session, in order that they may get their new rules more
    easily.

    I do not know what to say, my darling, about your going to
    Brighton, but Queenie will decide best for herself.  I hope Wifie
    will not feel much worried about not seeing me so soon as she
    hoped.  Her husband is very well indeed, and in the best of
    spirits.

    I do not like your going to London so often, it may hurt you.  Is
    there any address you could get nearer home, so that you would
    not have to go so far?

    My poor little Wifie, I wish I could be with you, but Queenie
    must be good and take care of herself.

    It looks to-day as if D. would go out soon; in that case it would
    facilitate our release.  YOUR OWN KING.



  _January_ 31, 1882.

    Have received your two letters postmarked E.  Be cautious about
    writing for a few days.  I am very well, and trust my darling is
    well.

    Rumours about legal adviser being arrested, but will send you
    another address to-morrow.



  _February_ 2, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Have just received your third letter with E.
    postmark--shall write you to-morrow direct so as to avoid for you
    the fatigue of going to London.  The writing between the lines
    comes out perfectly, and you need at no time write more heavily.

    With best love and urgent request that my darling will take care
    of herself.  YOUR OWN KING.



  _February_ 3, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--You really must try and sleep properly at night
    and stop worrying yourself about me.  I can assure my darling
    there is nothing to feel unhappy about so far as my health goes.
    I really cannot remember when I have ever felt so well in my life.

    It is very very hard not to be able to see each other, and that
    my poor Wifie should not have her husband with her {144} now--I
    think after this letter I shall be able to write you a few lines
    occasionally home, so as to save Wifie going to London, but if
    she writes to me in the same way she must be very careful and
    write very lightly and between the lines.  A gold pen is, I
    think, better than a quill.

    The alarm about the legal adviser has blown over, so Queenie may
    direct as usual.

    The Paris failures don't concern us in any way, as everything is
    secure.[1]

    Give my best love to our little child, and take good care of
    yourself and it for my sake.  YOUR OWN HUSBAND.



  _February_ 10, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I have received your note postmarked 7th, but
    have not had time to read it yet.

    I hope my darling will take better care of herself; that journey
    to London in the fog was most dangerous for her.

    I think that we shall probably be released by the middle of
    March, as it will be known then which way the tenants intend to
    go, and we shall be able to decide whether it is worth our while
    remaining here any longer.

    How does Queenie intend letting her husband know how she is?

    YOUR OWN LOVING KING



  _February_ 14.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--To-day I have written you direct,
    sending a few words between the lines, just to see how it will
    answer.  I find that rubbing with blotting paper after the words
    are dry takes away any glistening or appearance of letters.  My
    own Wifie had best not try writing direct here, but send all her
    letters as usual, and continue to do so.

    The note I have just written goes out through a warder, and I
    think I shall always be able to manage in that way, but in case
    Queenie should get a letter from me through the Governor she will
    see it marked with his initials on the top left-hand corner, and
    in that case she might write me a commonplace letter direct here,
    but nothing between the lines.

    Wifie is very good indeed to write her husband such beautiful
    {145} letters; if she only knew what a pleasure and happiness
    every word from her is to her husband it might make her feel a
    little less unhappy.  I am very much troubled about my darling
    having become so thin, and fear that you have suffered a great
    deal more than you have ever told me, and that you are not
    strong.  I often reproach myself for having been so cruel to my
    own love in staying so long away from her that time, which has
    led to such a long, long separation.  I was dragged into that
    Kildare engagement, otherwise I should have been safe with Wifie.
    Until then I had settled that I should leave Ireland after
    Wexford.  It would, however, have been very difficult for me to
    have kept out of the country even if I had left then, and on the
    whole I hope it will turn out all for the best.  At least, I am
    very glad that the days of platform speeches have gone by and are
    not likely to return.  I cannot describe to you the disgust I
    always felt with those meetings, knowing as I did how hollow and
    wanting in solidity everything connected with the movement was.
    When I was arrested I did not think the movement would have
    survived a month, but this wretched Government have such a
    fashion for doing things by halves that it has managed to keep
    things going in several of the counties up till now.  However,
    next month, when the seeding time comes, will probably see the
    end of all things and our speedy release.

    I hope Wifie has got her house in London; I am exceedingly
    anxious about those long journeys to London for you, my own.
    Your husband is very well indeed, and is, I think, actually
    beginning to grow fat!

    I think Queenie ought to congratulate me at being away from the
    House instead of pitying me.

    When I get out I hope to have a good long rest with my own little
    Wifie somewhere, and to listen to the waves breaking as we used
    those mornings of spring last May.

    YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.



  _February_ 17, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I had written my Queenie a nice long letter
    which she should have liked very much, but an alarm came before
    my messenger arrived that we were all going to be searched, and I
    was obliged to burn it.

    {146}

    I intend to try and send you a letter direct, written between the
    lines--I find that by rubbing the words after they are dry it
    removes all the glistening appearance.

    Queenie had best not write me direct at any time, but she can
    send me a word in the usual way as soon as she is able to tell me
    how she is.  Your King will wait very anxiously for that word.
    Oh, my Queenie, do take care of yourself, and do not run any risk
    by remaining at E.

    It is exceedingly likely that we shall all be released about the
    end of March, as then the lading time comes, and the tenants will
    have to decide whether they will pay or not, and as the majority
    have decided to pay already it is most likely the minority will
    then follow suit.  YOUR OWN KING.



  _February_ 17, 1882.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--I cannot describe to you what a relief
    your little note was that everything was quite right.  Oh, my
    Wifie, when I had your two short messages of the 14th your poor
    husband burst into tears and could not hold up his head or think
    of anything until my darling's note arrived that everything was
    right.

    My own, you must be very good and quiet until you are quite
    strong again, and do not be in a hurry to get up.

    I have only just a minute to close this as my Mercury is waiting.
    YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.


My baby was born on February 16th, 1882.  I was very ill, but the joy
of possessing Parnell's child carried me through my trouble.  She was
a beautiful baby, apparently strong and healthy--for the first few
weeks--and with the brown eyes of her father.  This child of tragedy
rarely cried, but lay watching me with eyes thoughtful and searching
beyond the possibility of her little life.  I used to seek in hers
for the fires always smouldering in the depths of her father's eyes,
but could not get beyond that curious gravity and understanding in
them, lightened only by the little smile she gave when I came near.


* * * * * *

{147}


  _March_ 5, 1882.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--It is so long since I have heard from you
    that I sometimes wonder whether you have quite forgotten me.

    In case you see any of my friends who may inquire after me, will
    you kindly tell them that I am very well, and that there is no
    truth in the stupid rumour which appeared in some of the London
    papers about the seven days' solitary confinement--I was merely
    prevented from receiving or sending letters for a week; the
    latter portion of the sentence did not trouble me much, as I am
    an even worse correspondent in here than when I was outside.

    I think you will scarcely know me when you see me again, I have
    become so fat.

    I have not heard from your sister for a great many months; in
    fact have only had one letter from her since I have been here.

    Believe me, yours very truly, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



  _March_ 16, 1882.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--You are very good to your husband in
    writing so often and so lovingly to your King, even when you must
    have been suffering terribly.  I cannot describe to my little
    Wifie how hopeless and utterly miserable I felt until your little
    note came that all was quite right.  I am very happy, my own,
    that our little daughter pleases you, and that you are not too
    much disappointed, and that she is strong and good-tempered.
    Does Queenie think she will be too big?  I shall love her very
    much better than if it had been a son; indeed, my darling, I do
    love her very much already, and feel very much like a father.
    What do you intend to call her?

    Will you not give her papa's best love and innumerable kisses?

    I have been arranging a little happiness, I hope, for Queenie, as
    soon as she is strong and well enough to come over here and can
    manage it.  I have been training up Captain Barlow, the chairman
    of the Prisons Board, to allow me to see my married sisters in
    private.  To-day I got him to give {148} me a private visit with
    one of them, Mrs. Dickinson, for the first time, and I did so
    with the intention of passing Queenie off as another married
    sister after a time.  Wifie will then be able to come and see for
    herself how well her husband looks, and how happy and comfortable
    he is.  I don't know whether they intend to move me or not, and
    do not like to guess, but wherever I go I shall be probably very
    well off.  The dusting they got in the House the other night
    about treatment of the rank and file will do them good.  I am
    told that all the police in the King's County were drafted into
    Tullamore and put into plain clothes to form an audience for
    Forster.  Shall send Wifie my weight to-morrow with certificate
    of chief warder so that you may believe it.

    Do you remember what it was the last time?  I think Wifie has the
    ticket, and that it was about twelve stone.

    I hear from all over the country that the tenants are everywhere
    settling, so we shall be probably out in a couple of months,
    unless we are kept to make sure that they pay the next time.

    I hope my own love will take good care of herself and not try to
    go to London too soon.  I want Queenie when I see her to be an
    even younger little Wifie than when I gave her that last kiss.

    The idea of nursing our little daughter was too preposterous.
    Do, my own darling, think of yourself and take great, great care
    of your husband's own little Wifie.

    Good-night, my own darling Queenie.

    YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.



  _March_ 23, 1882.

    MY OWN DARLING WIFIE,--I have only just got an opportunity of
    sending my Queenie a few lines, and will write a nice long letter
    to-night.

    No letter came to me from you between that dated March 14 and the
    two of March 20.  A reference to his[2] return from Paris makes
    me think that you may have sent me one between, informing me that
    he had gone, which I did not receive.  If you think one has been
    intercepted write in {149} future to Mr. W. Kerr, Casino,
    Rathdrum, and they will reach me safely, otherwise no change need
    be made.

    The letter written between the lines, of which I spoke, was that
    refused by the warder, and I did not send it.

    Mrs. S. has written me that she has "seen you recently," and that
    you "have not left your room," assuming that I know all about it.
    What am I to say to her?

    I have not been weighed yet, but shall try to-day and send my own
    darling the true weight.  It must be considerably more than 12-5.

    My beautiful little Wifie must continue to take great care of
    herself and not go too often to town.

    YOUR OWN LOVING KING.



  _March_ 24, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Since writing you yesterday have received your
    letter dated 17th, which had accidentally gone astray, so if
    there is no other letter which I ought to have got you can send
    to the same address as usual.

    YOUR OWN KING.



  _March_ 27, 1882.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--I am very anxious about our little
    daughter.  Is it dangerous?

    Was weighed yesterday--12 st. 7 lb.  Have certainly gained five
    or six pounds since I have been here.

    How did Wifie find out I had grown a beard?

    YOUR OWN LOVING KING.

    I don't think we shall be moved.



  _March_ 29, 1882.

    MY OWN DARLING LITTLE WIFIE,--I am very much relieved to hear
    that our little child is better, and is likely to be all right
    soon; but fear my poor Queenie must have been exhausted by all
    that hunting about for nurses.  I cannot consent to Wifie turning
    nurse even when brown eyes do come.  She is much too good and
    beautiful for anything of the kind.

    Do you remember a small pair of scissors with fine points that
    Queenie once gave me in London?  I have got them still, and cut
    my cigar with them every morning.

    {150}

    Shall write Mrs. ---- as you suggest, and say how sorry to hear
    you had not left your room, and that I had seen the event in the
    _Times_ and hoped you would soon be quite well again.  If my own
    can make an arrangement now for him[3] to keep away, I think she
    ought to do so.  It will be too intolerable having him about
    always.  When I see Wifie again or am released, I can consider
    the situation, but until then, if you can you had best make some
    arrangement.

    Wifie must not be frightened at the vapourings of the Government
    yesterday; they amount to nothing, and they know perfectly well
    that neither I nor any of my friends outside have sanctioned in
    any way certain recent deplorable occurrences.  They are simply
    the result of leaving the people without guidance and appear to
    be quite spontaneous.  In any case the country is likely to quiet
    down as the days get longer and the crops commence to spring up.
    D. is to be released immediately the House adjourns for Easter,
    and after a time, when they find nothing happening as a
    consequence of his release, they will probably take courage and
    let me out also.  Anyhow this Government are going down the hill
    very fast, and are not likely to last more than another session,
    and we will take care that if they once go out they shall not
    come in again very quickly.  My own loveliest Wifie, I do not
    think they intend moving me.  YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.



    _March_ 30.

    The London correspondent of _Freeman_ is very ignorant.



    March 30, 1882.

    MY OWN LITTLE WIFIE,--The letter posted at Bexley reached me all
    right after it had gone astray for two or three days.  Queenie's
    of 28th has also reached me.

    I suppose you did not address one to Casino, as I have had none
    from there.  I wrote yesterday to say that I think you had best
    make some arrangement about him pending my release, and when that
    takes place we can consider further.

    I will let my darling see me any time as soon as she is quite
    strong again.  We are going to have a weekly biography {151} of
    doubtful Irish members in _Irishman_ or rather _United Ireland_
    which will come out again shortly in such a form as to save it
    from seizure.

    If Queenie sends me some of our daughter's hair I will put it in
    the locket I have with Wifie's.  Would Sophie make a nice second
    name?  It was the name of one of my sisters whom I was said to be
    most like of the family; but possibly it might make suspicions.

    I am very anxious about my darling going to London so often; it
    must be very bad for you.  You may try your next letter upon
    ordinary paper, unglazed, and do not crowd what you write in
    ordinary ink into one little space in the middle of the sheet.
    After the solution has dried if you rub over the letters with an
    ink eraser it will remove all the glistening and appearance of
    letters.  I wonder they have never opened any of them, but they
    may do it at any time.  It would not hurt me in any way as I do
    not use it for any other purpose.  Unless, indeed, they sent it
    to a certain person.

    Queenie must not be alarmed about stupid rumours in the papers.
    You know what these liners are, and the _Freeman_ agent in London
    is singularly stupid and badly informed.

    YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.



  _April_ 5, 1883.

    MY OWN DEAREST WIFIE,--I think it very likely that something will
    be done by the Government shortly on the arrears question.  If
    this be so, things will undoubtedly quiet down a great deal, and
    it will give us an opportunity of coming to some arrangement.  I
    do not in the least apprehend that any further steps will be
    taken against me in any case, though, of course, they would
    eagerly grasp at the slightest thing in order to try and throw
    discredit on me.

    So far as I can judge, the number of outrages has diminished very
    materially during the last two or three weeks, and is likely to
    continue decreasing.

    My own Wifie must remember that I was only 12 st. 2 lb. when I
    came here, as I had fallen away very much after I left her, and
    that I have got back 5 lb. since, notwithstanding my illness,
    which left me very thin indeed.  Poor little Queenie {152} must
    be greatly troubled and anxious at all the rumours she hears, but
    she need not regard any of them; she knows what newspaper men are.

    Give my best love and ever so many kisses to our little daughter.
    I am very much troubled about her health, and hope it will not
    make her permanently delicate.

    I am longing very very much to see my own Wifie.  I love you, my
    darling, more and more every day, and I should feel quite
    reconciled to giving up politics for ever and living with my
    sweet Katie all by ourselves away from everybody and everything.
    I do not think anything will ever induce me to speak from a
    platform again.  I always disliked it excessively, but I should
    loathe it now.  Wifie must not, however, suppose that I am
    annoyed with the way things have gone.  On the contrary,
    everything has succeeded remarkably, and much better than anybody
    could have expected.

    It is thought that D.[4] will be released to-morrow.--Good-night,
    my own Wifie.  YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.



  _April_ 7, 1882.

    MY OWN DEAREST WIFIE,--I am so happy from receiving your letter
    of the 5th to-day, although part of what you say about our
    daughter makes me very anxious indeed.

    I hope the poor little thing will soon get over it.  Her hair is
    absolutely lovely.  I am so glad it is more like Queenie's than
    mine, although there is enough of mine in it to spoil it somewhat
    and render it less beautiful than Wifie's.  Still, there is a
    splendid golden tint in it which is quite exceptional.

    Wifie need not feel at all anxious about me or anything which the
    Government are likely to do or be able to do.  Although there
    have been one or two bad events things are getting much quieter
    every day.  D. is going abroad and will not even appear in the
    House for a couple of months.  My mother's health has, I fear,
    become very much broken latterly, and after a time I think of
    applying to go over to see her, but I must try and get O. K.[5]
    out first.

    I am still keeping very well, although have missed the
    ball-playing very much for the last three weeks, as O. K., {153}
    who used to play with me, has been ill.  I think my weight is
    very good considering the hard exercise I have been taking and
    the good condition I am in.  I hope my precious one is getting
    strong again and that she will have some good news to tell me of
    our little daughter when she writes next.

    YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.


I will not speak of my anguish when I found that the child of my love
was slowly dying, and that the doctors I called in could do nothing
for her.  Slowly she faded from me, daily gaining in that
far-reaching expression of understanding that dying children have so
strongly, and my pain was the greater in that I feared her father
would never see her now.

Willie was very good; I told him my baby was dying and I must be left
alone.  He had no suspicion of the truth, and only stipulated that
the child should be baptized at once--urged thereto, I think, by his
mother and sister.  I had no objection to this.  Parnell and I had
long before agreed that it would be safer to have the child
christened as a Catholic, and he had no feeling at all against the
Catholic religion, considering, indeed, that for those who required a
religion it was an admirable one.  I made an altar of flowers in my
drawing-room, as the child was much too ill to be taken to church,
and there the priest, Father Hart, came and baptized Sophie Claude.
Sophie, after Parnell's sister, Claude, after Lord Truro, an old
friend of mine.

A few days before the death of my baby I had the unspeakable comfort
of knowing that Parnell could come to me for a few hours and perhaps
see his child while she lived.  His nephew, son of his sister Delia
(Mrs. Thomson), had died in Paris, and the authorities gave Parnell
leave on "parole" to attend the young man's {154} funeral.  A
brilliant, handsome fellow, great sympathy was felt with the parents
of this only son.

Spring was very early that year, and in the April morning when the
air was fragrant with the sweet freshness of the spring flowers and
the very breath of life was in the wind, Parnell came to me and I put
his dying child into his arms.

That evening he had to go on to Paris.


  GRAND HOTEL,
    12 BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS.
      _Thursday, April_ 13, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I hope to leave Paris on Saturday morning.  The
    doctor says the fever is not infectious, but I doubt it very
    much, as a great many people amongst the American colony are
    having it just now.  I am staying here, but I am obliged to go to
    the house, which has been well disinfected, to see my sister, who
    is very much cut up.  The risk to me is a minimum, as I had this
    fever very badly when I was young, and they say people very
    rarely have it a second time, and then only slightly.

    At all events it is the ordinary typhoid, which doctors say is
    not catching.

    I shall take a Turkish bath every day I am here, and adopt other
    precautions.  YOUR OWN LOVING KING.



  GRAND HOTEL,
    12 BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS,
      _Saturday, April_ 15, 1882.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I think of leaving Paris to spend a few
    days in the south or elsewhere on Monday morning.  Had intended
    starting this evening, but caught a slight cold coming over,
    which the doctor, whom my sister insisted on seeing me, says is
    nothing, but think I had best not travel till Monday.

    I am very glad that I came over, as my sister is in a very low
    state, and my coming has picked her up very much, believe me,
    yours always truly, CHARLES S. PARNELL.


{155}


  GRAND HOTEL,
    12 BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS,
      _Sunday, April_ 16, 1882.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Having fallen into the hands of the doctor,
    he informed me to-day that he was coming again to-morrow morning,
    and upon my saying that I wished to commence my journey to the
    country to-morrow he said he would let me go on Tuesday morning.
    Perhaps it is better so, as I might catch fresh cold if I started
    so soon as to-morrow.

    I was out a good deal yesterday by the doctor's orders, and dined
    with my sister in the evening.  She is much better.

    To-day a north wind is blowing, and I shall not go out much,
    although my cold is quite gone.  I think I caught it from leaving
    off a flannel jacket which I used to wear when asleep in prison.
    It would have been a bad chest cold had I not taken two Turkish
    baths immediately I felt it coming on.

    I am staying here under the name of Stewart, and have not been
    found out yet.--Yours very sincerely,

    CHARLES S. PARNELL.


After his nephew's funeral he returned to Eltham, having, before,
telegraphed to Willie to say that he was coming.  He wished to
conciliate Willie as much as possible, and believed that his politics
might now prove useful.

All that night of the 21st April Parnell and Willie sat up in my
dining-room discussing the Irish question, and bit by bit working out
the "Kilmainham Treaty."  Willie wanted me to join them, but I would
not leave my baby, and when the daylight came and they went to lie
down for a few hours' rest before Parnell left for Ireland, my little
one died as my lover stole in to kiss us both and say good-bye.

Overlooking the valley in the Catholic churchyard at Chislehurst is
her little grave, headed by a granite cross {156} and wreathed about
with clematis and white roses; and often as we drove past on our way
home through the summer evenings Parnell would go in to scatter the
wild flowers he had gathered for me over little Sophie's
resting-place.

The following letter from my sister-in-law, Mary O'Shea, I insert, as
proving, I think very conclusively, that my little one's paternity
was utterly unsuspected by the O'Sheas.


  PARIS, AVENUE WAGRAM 137,
    _Sunday, May_ 21, 1882.

    DEAREST KATIE,--We are very pleased to be able to hope that you
    are better.  How is your dear aunt?  We trust she is better.  I
    cannot express our feelings of affectionate regard for her, nor
    can I say adequately how truly we desire her happiness here and
    for all eternity in Heaven.  She has been so sweet a friend and
    so charming in all her ways towards your dear children, "the
    butterflies"--most attractive designation.  Dear Lady O'Donnell
    wrote a rapturous description of the little creatures.  She loved
    your dear little Claude, and shared your grief at losing her, but
    happy child, how glorious is her existence!  What a contrast to
    ours, we who must struggle on, working out our salvation in fear
    and trembling!..."



[1] An allusion to political funds banked in Paris.

[2] Captain O'Shea.

[3] Captain O'Shea.

[4] Dillon.

[5] O'Kelly.



{157}

CHAPTER XVI

THE "KILMAINHAM TREATY"

  "_Shall I say stipulation, King?_"
  "_No, Queenie, he prefers 'suggestions desirable to be
  entertained!_'"--EXTRACT FROM AN OLD DIARY.


Parnell, in accordance with his "parole," returned to Kilmainham at
the end of the term of leave and immediately formulated the
conditions of the arrangement it was proposed to make with the
Government.  The draft of this historic document was as follows:--


"KILMAINHAM, April 25th, 1882.

"We think in the first place that no time should be lost in
endeavouring to obtain a satisfactory settlement of the arrears
question, and that the solution proposed in the Bill standing for
second reading to-morrow--Wednesday--would provide a satisfactory
solution, though the Church Fund would have to be supplemented by a
grant from Imperial resources of probably a million or so.

"Next as regards the permanent amendment of the Land Act, we consider
that the rent-fixing clauses should be amended to as great an extent
as is possible, having in view the necessity of passing an Amending
Bill through the House of Lords; that leaseholders who have taken
leases either before or since the Act of 1870 should be permitted to
apply to have a fair rent fixed, and that the purchase clauses should
be amended as suggested by the Bill, the second reading of which will
be moved by Mr. Redmond to-morrow.

{158}

"If the Government were to announce their intention of proposing a
satisfactory settlement of the arrears difficulty as indicated above,
we on our part would make it known that the No Rent manifesto was
withdrawn, and we should advise the tenants to settle with their
landlords; we should also then be in a better position than we ever
occupied before to make our exertions effective in putting a stop to
the outrages which are unhappily of late so prevalent.

"If the result of the arrears settlement and the further ameliorative
measures suggested above were the material diminution of outrages
before the end of the session, and the prospect of the return of the
country after a time to something like a normal condition, we should
hope that the Government would allow the Coercion Act to lapse, and
govern the country by the same laws as in England."


Willie wrote to Gladstone on April 13th, and two days after Gladstone
replied promising to communicate with Forster.  The rest of the
letter was taken up with compliments to Willie, and some
carefully-worded phrases which really meant that Gladstone was
prepared to go to very great lengths indeed to quiet Ireland and to
keep her quiet.

Willie sent to Chamberlain a copy of his letter to Gladstone.
Chamberlain was impressed and guarded.  He welcomed negotiations, but
pointed out that if the Government were going to smile on the Irish
Party the Irish Party must smile on the Government.  With some amount
of exaggerated fervour he mooted the possibility of an anti-Irish
movement comparable with the anti-Semitic movement abroad.  That, he
pointed out, would be bad for everybody, and accordingly he welcomed
the {159} olive branch.  In the sequel, of course, Chamberlain took a
very active part in pressing for the release of Parnell.  While on
"parole," and after his return from Paris, Parnell entered into
communication with Mr. Justin McCarthy with regard to the proposed
"Treaty," and the following letter was written from Eltham:--


    _Saturday, April_ 22, 1882.

    MY DEAR MCCARTHY,--I have arrived in England, and will call to
    see you to-morrow afternoon some time.  I cannot at present give
    you the exact hour, but would it be too much to ask you to remain
    at home after three o'clock?  I trust you will have some news of
    result of Cabinet to-day.--Yours very truly, C. S. P.


This letter was followed up by one from Kilmainham.


    (_Confidential._)

  KILMAINHAM,
    _April_ 25, 1882.

    MY DEAR MCCARTHY,--I send you a letter embodying our
    conversation, and which, if you think it desirable, you might
    take the earliest opportunity of showing to Chamberlain.

    Do not let it out of your hands, but if he wishes you might give
    him a copy of the body of it.--Yours very truly,

    CHARLES S. PARNELL.

    (Enclosure.)


The enclosure was identical with the draft treaty--apart from a few
verbal alterations of which the chief was the substitution of "an
Amendment Bill" for an "Amending Bill" in the second paragraph.

* * * * * *

_Tuesday, April_ 25, 1882.

MY OWN QUEENIE,--I enclose you a letter.  What do you think I had
best say to it?[1]

{160}

I told my friend in Jermyn Street what steps to take, so that the
matter referred to in enclosed will probably go on all right without,
or with, the further participation of the writer.  I thought of
writing him that I had received his note too late to reply for
Wednesday, but that in any case my letter from Paris ought to be
sufficient indication of confidence.

I missed nine train on Sunday and came on by twelve, sleeping at
Crewe and getting on board mail boat before mail train arrived.
Everything went off very nicely and quietly, and I have not caught
any cold this time.  O. K. had aired my bed very carefully, etc., and
they were all very glad to see me again, with the exception of the
authorities.

I have been thinking all day of how desolate and lonely my Queenie
must be in her great sorrow.  I wish so much that I might have stayed
to comfort her, but I have indeed every hope and confidence that our
separation will not now last very long.  It is too terrible to think
that on this the saddest day[2] of all others--and, let us hope, the
saddest that we both shall ever see again--my Wifie should have
nobody with her.

Good-bye, my own darling, YOUR LOVING KING.


Mr. Parnell wrote as follows to Captain O'Shea:--


  KILMAINHAM,
    _April_ 28.

    I was very sorry that you had left Albert Mansions before I
    reached London from Eltham, as I had wished to tell you that
    after our conversation I had made up my mind that it would be
    proper for me to put Mr. McCarthy in possession of the views
    which I had previously communicated to you.  I desire to impress
    upon you the absolute necessity of a settlement of the arrears
    question which will leave no recurring sore connected with it
    behind, and which will enable us to show the smaller tenantry
    that they have been treated with justice and some generosity.

    The proposal you have described to me as suggested in some
    quarters, of making a loan, over however many years the payment
    might be spread, should be absolutely rejected, {161} for reasons
    which I have already fully explained to you.  If the arrears
    question be settled upon the lines indicated by us, I have every
    confidence--a confidence shared by my colleagues--that the
    exertions which we should be able to make strenuously and
    unremittingly would be effective in stopping outrages and
    intimidation of all kinds.

    As regards permanent legislation of an ameliorative character, I
    may say that the views which you always shared with me as to the
    admission of leaseholders to the fair rent clauses of the Act are
    more confirmed than ever.  So long as the flower of the Irish
    peasantry are kept outside the Act there cannot be any permanent
    settlement of the land question, which we all so much desire.

    I should also strongly hope that some compromise might be arrived
    at this season with regard to the amendment of the tenure
    clauses.  It is unnecessary for me to dwell upon the enormous
    advantages to be derived from the full extension of the purchase
    clauses, which now seem practically to have been adopted by all
    parties.

    The accomplishment of the programme I have sketched would, in my
    judgment, be regarded by the country as a practical settlement of
    the land question, and would, I feel sure, enable us to
    co-operate cordially for the future with the Liberal Party in
    forwarding Liberal principles; so that the Government, at the end
    of the session, would, from the state of the country, feel
    themselves thoroughly justified in dispensing with further
    coercive measures.--Yours very truly,

    C. S. PARNELL.



  _Saturday, April_ 30, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--He[3] came over to see me, so I thought it best
    to give him a letter, as he would have been dreadfully mortified
    if he had had nothing to show.

    Everything is going very well, and I hope will continue straight.

    Received two letters from my own lovie yesterday.  Do, my own,
    keep up as much as you can.

    YOUR OWN KING.


{162}

I had reason to know, from various sources of information kept open
by me on Parnell's behalf during his imprisonment, that the
Government would liberate him with considerable relief if given any
surety of conciliatory policy on his part.  Parnell at liberty was a
disturbing force, and the culminating embarrassment of English
government in Ireland, but Parnell in prison had become merely a
concentrated embarrassment in that there was now no governmental
possibility of dealing with the reactionary spirit he had let loose
in Ireland--a spirit that was at least better controllable as a
weapon in Parnell's hand than as the scattered and absolutely
irresponsible fulminations, unreasoning and motiveless, of lawless
desperadoes.

With Parnell as her chief the Ireland he had roused might indeed be a
scourge of whips to the British Government, but without him this
Ireland was undoubtedly a scourge of scorpions.

So Parnell came out of Kilmainham on the treaty arranged at Eltham,
and as Willie was to be the official bearer of the olive branch to
the Government, he went over to see Parnell on his return to
Kilmainham and to get from him a letter for his own satisfaction, as
he said Parnell was "so shifty" he could not be trusted to carry out
any agreement that was not in writing, and the letter was to set
forth the various modifications of his policy of obstruction that he
would undertake to observe on his (immediate) liberation and
assurance of future concessions to Ireland.  This letter had in
substance been written at Eltham, but Parnell had stipulated for a
few days to consider the matter further and would not give Willie his
final decision then.  On the other side he had to consider that any
treaty with the Government would place him in {163} a very awkward
position with the Land League and would certainly affect the
financial aid to the Irish cause so generously contributed by
America.  It was also certain, he knew, that the Government would be
obliged, in either case, to liberate him with the other Irish
political prisoners at no distant period, and this without his
placing himself under any obligation at all to the Government.  This
would please the extreme party of his followers far better, even
though it would keep open the way to further outrage and crime in
Ireland.

I had never before ventured to influence Parnell in any way
politically; but now I greatly dreaded for him this latter policy of
the extremists and the perpetual strain of watchfulness and control
it engendered--with the Coercion Laws such a policy must, in the long
run, inevitably produce, unless, indeed, England was prepared to
yield to force; an unthinkable proposition.

So now I threw the whole strength of my influence on the side of the
treaty of conciliation and urged upon him the greater good for
Ireland likely to accrue in the making by him of immediate peace.  I
was very anxious that he should "reign" by constitutional means, and
had every hope of establishing such amicable communications between
him and the Government as would lead to that end.  But he had this
great force now to reckon with--the force of centuries of cruelty,
wrong, and oppression that had bred an irresponsibility and callous
disregard of suffering, nay, rather a vindictive madness and lust of
destruction in Ireland.  In his seeking for a weapon to use for the
betterment of England's government of Ireland Parnell had discovered
this underlying force of hate, and, using the influence of his
personality, he strove to direct it into the service of the Ireland
that he loved.  But he afterwards {164} stood appalled at the
intensity of the passion of hate that he had loosed, and no one but
he--and I with him--knew the awful strength of that force of
destruction that was only held in subservience by the sheer dominance
of his will.  He replied to my pleadings: "Yes, I hold them now with
my back to the wall, but if I turn to the Government I turn my back
to them--and then----?"

But my great fear for him won his decision for peace, and he wrote
and signed the "letter" that Willie wanted to take to the Government.

The Prime Minister had been prepared for its coming, and made known
that such a treaty of peace would be acceptable.  Willie took this
letter to Forster, who knew of no understanding with the Prime
Minister, and was absolutely against any such negotiations.  He
scoffed at the letter, at its terms, and at Willie for bringing it,
but the latter pointed out that the matter was one for the Prime
Minister's consideration alone, and Mr. Forster was bound to submit
it to him without delay.  He of course did so, but with confidence as
to its rejection and, on its immediate acceptance and the liberation
of Parnell, resigned his office as Chief Secretary for Ireland.

Lord Cowper resigned with him.  This was on the 2nd of May.  On the
26th of April discussion on Mr. Redmond's Land Bill was started in
the House of Commons.  This Bill, which had been drafted by Parnell
in Kilmainham, proposed to amend the Land Act of 1881 in four main
particulars: (1) Arrears of excessive rent; (2) admission of
leaseholders to the benefit of the Land Court; (3) amendment of
tenure clauses; (4) extension of purchase clauses by the advance from
the State of the whole of the purchase money.  Mr. Gladstone
applauded the Irish Party and opposed the Bill.  He practically {165}
admitted that recent decisions of the Irish judges were nullifying
the effect of the tenure clauses, but he did not want yet to reopen
the question.  He recognized, however, the necessity of dealing with
"Arrears."

When, on May 2nd, he announced to the House the resignation of Lord
Cowper and Mr. Forster and the decision of the Cabinet to release the
three Irish M.P.'s who had been in Kilmainham since October, he
definitely promised an Arrears Bill, and stated that there was no
present intention to renew the Coercion Act.  So, with this public
promise of Mr. Gladstone, and with the tacit understanding that
Parnell would "slow down the agitation" Parnell came out of gaol.
"It is an act," averred Mr. Gladstone, "done without any negotiation,
promise, or engagement whatever."

Two days later Forster denounced the action of the Cabinet.  He
believed that the unconditioned release of the Irish leaders would
tend to the encouragement of crime.  As he went on to justify the
arrests Parnell entered the House and took his seat.  The Irish
cheered wildly.  Then Forster continued: "The real reason why these
gentlemen were arrested ... was because they were trying to carry out
their will--'their unwritten law' ... by working the ruin and the
injury of the Queen's subjects by intimidation of one kind or
another.  If Mr. Parnell had not been placed in Kilmainham he would
very quickly have become in reality what he was called by many of his
friends--the King of Ireland."  He did not say Parnell and his
friends had directly incited, what they had done was far more
dangerous.  They had established a system of intimidation....  They
should have been released after a public promise had been given, or
when Ireland was quiet, or fresh powers had been granted {166} to the
Government.  "A surrender is bad, a compromise or arrangement is
worse....  If all England cannot govern the Member for Cork then let
us acknowledge he is the greatest power in Ireland to-day."

Mr. Gladstone, in reply, said he had no right to humiliate Parnell by
demanding a penitential confession of guilt, and once more he
disclaimed that the release was the result of a bargain.  Parnell,
following him, asserted--what was the truth--that no mention of his
release was made by him in any written or oral communication with his
friends.

The same night, May 4th, was announced the appointment of Lord
Spencer as Lord-Lieutenant and Lord Frederick Cavendish as Chief
Secretary.  The post had first been offered to Sir Charles Dilke, but
he had refused the offer.  It is stated that in certain quarters the
name of Mr. Chamberlain had been mentioned, and that he had signified
his willingness to accept the offer if it were made.  Apparently it
was not made.  We cannot avoid speculating what would have happened
had he gone to Ireland.  He had taken a leading part in the release
of Parnell; would that have saved him--since the Phoenix Park
murderers did not intend to kill Lord Frederick?  And if Mr.
Chamberlain had been killed in May, 1882, what other course might
British politics have taken?  Would Tariff Reform ever have been a
Tory election cry?  Would there have been no Boer War?  Would the
Tories not have enjoyed that long term of office which for years kept
the question of Home Rule in abeyance?  It were foolish to say yes or
no to any of these questions, but at least we may say that the fact
Mr. Chamberlain was not asked to become Irish Secretary in 1882 is
one of the most momentous in British politics.

{167}

While in Kilmainham Parnell had found it absolutely impossible to
control in any way the incitements to crime and the wild expenditure
of the Ladies' Land League.  His sister, Anna Parnell, was at the
head of this marvellous organization which she spread in well-ordered
ramifications throughout the country.  Her generalship was
magnificent and complete, and there appeared to be no detail of this
revolutionary army with which she was not completely familiar and
completely determined to control.  Parnell wrote to her again and
again from prison, pointing out the crass folly of the criminality
for which the Ladies' League, now, solely existed.  He even urged the
Governmental representations made to him for the suppression of this
league of anarchy, and the hopeless financial position it was
creating--the estimated weekly expenditure of these ladies running
into thousands of pounds; money contributed chiefly by America for
the fighting policy of the Irish Party--but to no purpose.

The fanatic spirit in these ladies was extreme; in Anna Parnell it
was abnormal, and Parnell saw no way of saving her, or the country,
from her folly but by fulfilling his threat of vetoing the payment of
another penny to the Ladies' Land League.  This he then did, and thus
automatically broke up this wild army of mercenaries.  Anna Parnell
never forgave her brother for this act, and to the last day of his
life refused to hold any communication with him again.  Parnell had
much family affection, and many times made overtures of peace to his
sister, of whom he was really fond, and for whose strength of mind
and will he had much respect.  On two occasions he met her
accidentally and tried to speak to her, but she resolutely turned
from him and refused any reply to the letters he wrote her.



[1] From Captain O'Shea _re_ "Kilmainham Treaty."

[2] The day of our little daughter's funeral.

[3] Captain O'Shea.



{168}

CHAPTER XVII

THE PHOENIX PARK MURDERS AND AFTER

  "_The blood more stirs
  To rouse a lion than to start a hare._"
                                    --SHAKESPEARE.


On Parnell's release from Kilmainham he returned to me at Eltham, and
on May 6, 1882, went to Weymouth to welcome Michael Davitt, who came
out of Portland prison on that day.  He returned to Eltham that
Saturday evening, and the next morning, Sunday, I drove with him to
Blackheath Station, as he had to go to London to see Davitt and
others.  At the station I asked him to get me a newspaper before he
left, and waited for it in the carriage.

From where I sat in the carriage I could see Parnell's back as he
stood just inside the station door.  I was watching him, and he half
turned and smiled at me as he opened the paper--the _Sunday
Observer_--to glance at the news before he brought it to me.  He told
me afterwards that he wanted to see what was said about Michael
Davitt.  He had now come to the top of the steps and, as he suddenly
stopped, I noticed a curious rigidity about his arms--raised in
holding the newspaper open.  He stood so absolutely still that I was
suddenly frightened, horribly, sickeningly afraid--of I knew not
what, and, leaning forward, called out, "King, what is it?"  Then he
came down the steps to me and, pointing to the headline, said,
"Look!" And I read, "Murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr.
Burke!"

{169}

I heard the train coming in, and tried to pull myself together, for
the awful significance of the horrible thing to my lover, just
released from Kilmainham on the Treaty, came home to me with a rush
of pain.  His face was ashen, and he stared, frowning heavily, before
him, unconsciously crushing the hand I had slipped into his until the
rings I wore cut and bruised my fingers.

I said to him, "Quick, you must catch this train.  See Davitt and the
others as arranged and as many more as you can find.  Go, you will
know what to do, but you must meet them all at once."  He turned
heavily away, saying, "I shall resign," and I answered as I ran
beside him to the platform, "No, you are not a coward."

Before I left Blackheath I wired to Willie to bring Parnell to dinner
at Eltham if he could possibly manage it, and spent one of the most
terrible days of my life considering the effect this awful crime
would probably have upon my lover's career.

Willie came down that evening, Parnell with him.  They were both very
gloomy and depressed, and Parnell, after his greeting of me--as
though this were our first meeting since he came out of prison--sat
gazing stonily before him, only glancing across at Willie with the
stormy flare in his eyes when the latter--who was really sorry for
Parnell, as well as shocked at the murders--said something that
jarred upon him.  During dinner Willie told me of what had been done
during the day, of the absolute horror and consternation of the Irish
Party, of what Mr. Chamberlain had said on hearing of the murders,
and of Parnell's continuous threat, throughout that awful day, of
retiring from public life altogether.

Willie said to me: "I wish you would urge Parnell not to talk so,
Dick; he can't resign his seat now, the {170} thing's impossible; he
must show that it simply does not touch him politically in any way."

I turned to Parnell and said: "I do absolutely agree with Willie
about it, Mr. Parnell.  It would be throwing the whole country over
and a reflection upon all who joined in that Treaty."

Parnell at last roused himself and said: "Well, I will write to the
G.O.M.[1] and offer to resign, and abide by his decision; the thing
makes me feel hopeless of doing any good."

On the wall of the dining-room where we sat hung a large engraving of
the "House" of 1880.  All the members of that Parliament were in the
picture, and among them, of course, Mr. Parnell and Captain O'Shea.
As the maid turned to leave the room, after placing the coffee tray
on a little side table, this picture, which hung immediately behind
Parnell, fell to the floor with a crash that, in the state of nervous
tension we were all in, brought us to our feet in alarm.  Willie's
chair overturned as he jumped up; but Parnell's was steady, held in a
grip that showed his knuckles white as he held it slightly raised off
the floor, while he stood, half turned, staring at the picture as it
lay among the splintered glass.

Willie laughed, and, coming to help the parlourmaid to pick up the
picture, exclaimed: "There goes Home Rule, Parnell!"  But he also had
in him a slight dash of the superstition that was so highly developed
in Parnell's fatalistic nature, and his smile turned to gravity as he
glanced at Parnell's tense expression and listened to my hasty
explanation of the fall: "Perhaps the wire was rotten, or the maid
had shaken the picture as she passed!"  Parnell took the loose end of
the wire in both hands and {171} tried to break it.  He could not.
Willie said: "Mary (the parlourmaid) was the other side of the room,
so she could not have shaken it."  Parnell said nothing, and we began
to speak of other things.

Afterwards I said to him: "You did not really mind about that
picture, did you?  It was only a rotten wire!" and he answered: "It
was an omen, I think, darling, but for whom?  Willie or me?" and when
I told him I wished he would not talk such nonsense, and that I did
not believe in omens or want any falling pictures to be "omens" for
either of them, he smiled and said no more.

The immediate consequence of the Phoenix Park murders was the
introduction of a Crimes Bill by Sir William Harcourt on May 11th.
Parnell was not approached on the subject.  He was given no
opportunity of criticizing the proposals and of suggesting any more
moderate measure which might have appealed to that great body of
Irish Nationalists who viewed the murders with horror.  The new Bill
went roughshod over Irish opinion, and the conciliatory effect of the
Arrears Bill, introduced a few days later, was altogether marred.

The second reading of the latter measure was moved by Mr. Gladstone
on May 22nd.  In the course of his speech he said: "Eviction in the
exercise of a legal right may be to the prejudice of your neighbours,
may involve the highest reprehension, may even imply deep moral
guilt.  There may be outrages which--all things considered, the
persons and the facts--may be less guilty in the sight of God than
evictions."

The Bill was bitterly opposed by the Tory Party.

I had written to Mr. Gladstone expressing a wish that {172} he should
see Mr. Parnell.  He wrote in answer from Downing Street on May 25th,
1882, declining to do so in private, though in public he was more
than ready to co-operate with Parnell.

I suggested in reply that we should meet and talk the matter over,
and it was arranged that he should come to see me at Thomas's Hotel
on June 2nd.  He arrived punctually at three o'clock.  We had a long
talk about Parnell and about politics--chiefly, of course, as
referring to Ireland.  He was extremely agreeable and courteous, and
I remember very well the great charm of manner he possessed, a charm
that struck me afresh at each subsequent meeting.  A natural charm
and, no doubt, a natural insincerity, but one which is such an
immense asset in the career of a great man: that of making others
believe--or wish to believe--that they are on the same plane of
intellect and diplomacy as himself!  He was a very great old man, I
thought, as his wonderful eagle's eyes showed just sufficient
admiration in them to savour of homage without offence.  And I may
say here that, with all the perfect courtesy of which, when he chose,
he was past master, he knew before the conclusion of our interview,
and allowed me to know that he knew, what I desired that he should
know--that my personal interest in Parnell was my only interest in
Irish politics.

Mr. Gladstone having agreed that it would be of considerable
convenience to the Government to be in private and amicable
communication with Mr. Parnell, and that I, whose interests were
inseparable from those of the Irish leader, would be confidently
accepted as such intermediary by him, we parted satisfied, I think,
on both sides with the afternoon's compact.

After this first interview with Mr. Gladstone I had {173} frequently
to see him at Downing Street--taking him drafts, clauses, and various
proposed amendments (of Bills affecting Ireland) that Parnell
proposed, altered, and suggested privately to Gladstone before
putting them before the House.  Parnell, of course, always intent on
the betterment of the law as affecting Ireland; Gladstone bargaining
for the Irish vote, when without it he would have lost his majority.

Parnell would sometimes write the rough draft of what he wished
Gladstone to know, or sometimes write what he had to say in the form
of a letter (often dating it from my house!), but occasionally he
would do neither, as, on more than one important occasion, he said:
"I don't trust that Grand Old Spider farther than I can see him.
Sweetheart, learn this by heart, and let it off at him yourself."
Then I had to take down in my own handwriting what he wished proposed
to Gladstone, and at the subsequent interview "let it off" at him.
Very often letters were sufficient, and in this case I almost
invariably wrote them, or, if the letter was in Parnell's handwriting
addressed to me, under cover of my envelope, I would request its
return, and this was done; letters intended for Parnell by Gladstone
being invariably addressed to me.

It was by my suggestion Mr. Gladstone opened these private
negotiations with Mr. Parnell, and I was myself much amused to find
that both these great statesmen were of one mind as to the danger of
such a trusting of one another as such negotiations necessitated.
When I said to Parnell, "Why not see Gladstone yourself privately,
and get what you can from him, in return for the Irish vote?" he at
once replied that such a proceeding would be fatal to the "cause,"
and when I said much the same thing to {174} Gladstone at our first
interview--which latter was a brilliant inspiration of Parnell's
own--he replied that "such a proceeding" would be fatal to his
position, but, he added, "it might be advantageous to the Irish
leader and myself if you, Mrs. O'Shea, would accept the thankless
office of go-between, as you suggest.  A safe and secret intermediary
might well prove to be of the greatest assistance to us both in our
efforts for the welfare of the country."  I have wondered since which
country the G.O.M. had in his mind as he spoke.

On June 17 and 18, 1882, Gladstone wrote to me.  The letter of the
17th was little more than a formal acknowledgment, but in his note of
the following day he referred me to something which had passed at our
last interview.  He had on that occasion directed my attention to the
proposal to amend certain severe clauses of the Crimes Act.

Meanwhile the Irish were fighting the Crimes Bill inch by inch.  It
had been read a second time on May 25 after three nights' debate.
The most drastic clause, from the legal point of view, was the
suspension of the right of trial by jury in all grave cases of
agrarian crime, which (and the Government would decide when) would be
tried by a Court of three judges, in such district as the
Attorney-general might decide.  Public meetings could be proclaimed
and newspapers suppressed.  The police were vested with power to
search private houses and arrest night wanderers.  Finally, and
against this the Irish Party especially protested--magistrates were
empowered to convict summarily on charges of incitement, boycotting,
and membership of a secret society.

This was the iron heel with a vengeance; it took from the Irish the
last vestige of citizen right.  Parnell opposed, {175} yet not
violently; the remembrance of the Phoenix Park murders held him back.
But the speeches of his followers were bitter in the extreme.  "What
profit," cried Dillon, "can you ever expect from governing a nation
which nothing conciliates, and nothing can subdue?"  Of all the fifty
Coercion Acts passed in the eighty-eight years since the Union this
was the worst.

The second reading was carried by 383 votes against 45.

Parnell expressed a desire that Gladstone should have his (Parnell's)
views distinctly put before him by me--not in writing.  This did not
suit Gladstone.  He had no intention of giving away his hand in
regard to the Crimes Bill, and, in the then temper of his own Party
and of the Conservatives, was not at all desirous of making any
further private concession that would certainly place him in a too
favourable light (as regards this Bill) in the eyes of the Irishmen.

He was determined not to see me again with reference to the Crimes
Bill, and on June 23 he wrote me to that effect.  It was obvious from
the tone of his letter that he was annoyed by the continued
opposition of the Irish Party, which, from his point of view, only
served to impede the progress of the Arrears Bill.

On one of my visits to Downing Street I told Gladstone of the inner
working of the Ladies' Land League, about which he was curious.  I
mentioned to him the enormous sum these Lady Leaguers had expended
and the great difficulty Parnell had had in suppressing them.  When
he heard the sum of their estimated weekly expenditure a grim smile
flitted over his face.  "Very satisfactory," he remarked, "as the
ladies have evidently put these large sums beyond the power of--of
the Land League's expenditure!"

{176}

Gladstone would not sit still when he talked to me, but liked to pace
up and down the long room with me.  On my entry he would rise from
his desk to greet me and, solemnly handing me a chair, would walk
down the room to the door at the end, which was always open when I
entered, close it firmly and, pacing back to the door of my entry,
push it.  These preparations always made me smile--a smile in which
he joined as, coming up to me and offering me his arm, he said: "Do
you mind walking up and down the room, I talk better so."  So we
paced up and down while I voiced Parnell's instructions and listened
to the G.O.M.'s views, intentions, and tentative suggestions, always
on my part keeping to "It is considered that, etc.," in giving
Parnell's point, and always receiving "your friend should, etc.," or
"I am prepared to concede to your friend, etc., in return."

He was so careful in this regard that one day I said: "What is it you
shut up in that room, Mr. Gladstone, when I come to see you?"

"Persons, or a person, you do not come to see, Mrs. O'Shea.  Only a
secretary or so, and occasionally, in these times of foolish panic,
detectives.  No," in answer to my look of inquiry, "no one can
overhear a word we say when we pace up and down like this, and, as
you do not mind it, it refreshes me."

Always as I stood face to face with this Grand Old Man on leaving,
and looked into his slate-coloured eyes, so like those of an eagle, I
experienced a sudden uneasy feeling, in spite of his gracious
courtesy, of how like to a beautiful bird of prey this old man was:
with the piercing, cruel eyes belying the tender, courteous smile,
and how, relentless as an eagle, men like this had struck and torn
their victims.  But to me, personally, he always showed {177} the
marvellous charm of manner which sent me away feeling that I was at
least a compelling force in the great game of politics and worthy of
the place I held.

The political history of this time has been written many times, and
from various points of view, and in this book I do not propose to
repeat it, but only to record such point or detail as at the time
affected my King in his home life.



[1] Gladstone.



{178}

CHAPTER XVIII

ENVOY TO GLADSTONE

  "_Good Cinna, take this paper, and look you, lay it in the
  praetor's chair, where Brutus may but find it!_"
                                --SHAKESPEARE (JULIUS CÆSAR).


Negotiations concerning the Crimes Bill were broken off, but before
the end of June, 1882, I was once more acting as envoy to Gladstone.
The following is a characteristic memorandum drafted by Parnell for
transmission by me to the Prime Minister:--


Although the Coercion Bill as likely to pass into law is of such a
character as to render it impossible for him to take any further part
in the Irish Land movement, yet he trusts that the administration of
the Act by the Government will be of such a moderate character as to
enable him to co-operate generally with Mr. G. in Parliament and in
the English constituencies in carrying to a successful end that land
legislation the foundations of which were so broadly laid in the Act
of last session, and in gaining those other measures of general
reform for the benefit of the peoples of both England and Ireland
which now constitute the programme of the Liberal Party.

Since his (Parnell's) release he has taken steps to secure that no
portion of the invested surplus of the fund shall be drawn without
his signature, and he will endeavour to provide that future
remittances from the offices of the central organization in America
shall be added to this fund; the remittances through the _Irish
World_, however, he has no hopes of being able to control in any way.

The Bill[1] to go through all its stages in six days--Supply to be
facilitated.

{179}

Duration to be limited to three months after assembly of a new
Parliament if present Parliament is dissolved within three
years--treason felony struck out on report.

Centres of disturbance are being rapidly created throughout Ireland,
owing to loss by tenants of legal interest in their holdings through
sale or expiry of period of redemption.  The formation of the new
Landlord Corporation accompanied by a harsh administration of the
Coercion Act will tend to encourage landlords to resist reasonable
concessions.

He has placed new clauses on the notice paper for the Arrears Bill
which will go far to meet these difficulties, and will do what he can
to facilitate Supply and the passage of that Bill, also to prevent
obstruction to other Government business.


These notes were submitted a second time to Mr. Gladstone, with the
addition of the following paragraphs:--


This danger might be met by insertion of clauses in Arrears Bill
having compulsory retrospective effect as far back as June, 1880, and
making provision for payment of costs.

It is most desirable that Parliament should reassemble after short
holiday to make whatever permanent amendments the Government think
necessary in the Land Act.


On June 29th Mr. Gladstone wrote thanking me for my letter and
returning "the enclosure."[2]  Reference was made by him to the
murders of Mr. Walter Bourke and Corporal Wallace in Galway; and
though I have no doubt he did not suspect Parnell of the least shade
of complicity, it was plain that he did not completely acquit the
extremists of the _Irish World_.

The progress of the Crimes Bill was more hotly contested than ever in
the committee stage, which extended over twenty-four sittings of the
House.  Clauses were {180} fought word by word, sentence by sentence.
The Bill was read a third time on July 8th, and was passed by the
Lords four days later, receiving the Royal Assent on the following
day.  In less than a week 17 counties were proclaimed; and by the
beginning of August 170 suspects were in custody.

On July 21st the Arrears Bill passed the Commons by 169 to 98.  Lord
Eversley (Mr. Shaw Lefevre) rightly observes that instead of
appealing to justice Mr. Gladstone based his support of the Bill on
expediency.  For years tenants had been burdened with excessive rents
on land which their efforts had raised from prairie value.  The
wiping out of the accumulated arrears of these unjust rents could
hardly be termed a mere act of expediency.

On July 31st the Lords returned the Bill to the Commons cut to
pieces.  Certain minor concessions were made, and the Bill was sent
back otherwise in its original form.  When next it appeared in the
Lords the Irish landlord peers revolted.  The Bill promised them part
payment of what they had looked upon as a bad debt; and so--not for
the sake of justice, but for the sake of that bait of two years'
rent--they supported the Bill, which was passed by the Lords on
August 10th.  On or about August 18th, when it became law, fifty
suspects were released.

I had addressed an appeal to Mr. Gladstone against the death sentence
passed upon a young Irishman on very doubtful evidence.  On September
14th he wrote saying that he would certainly bring the appeal under
the notice of Lord Spencer.  I was in correspondence with Mr.
Gladstone throughout November of this year.

Ireland did not figure largely in the Parliamentary legislation of
1883, though a number of minor Irish Bills, on tramways, fisheries
and so forth, which received the {181} support of Parnell, were
carried.  Parnell's position in Ireland was impregnable, but the
extremists in America were exasperated by his constitutional
agitation.  Early in 1883 Patrick Ford started a dynamite crusade
against England in the _Irish World_, and attempts were actually made
to blow up public buildings in London, while a nitro-glycerine
factory was discovered in Birmingham.  Immediately an Explosives Bill
of the most drastic character was introduced by Sir William Harcourt
and rushed through the Commons in a single sitting.  The Irish Party
offered no opposition.

It is significant of the tactics of Mr. Gladstone that he was
secretly striving to influence the Vatican against Home Rule.  A Mr.
Errington, an Irish Catholic, but a Whig member of Parliament, had
been sent to Rome with a letter of recommendation from Lord
Granville.  Mr. Gladstone had also written about him through Cardinal
Manning, who was opposed to the mission.  His business was at first
to work for a Papal reprimand of priests who engaged in Land League
agitation.  He succeeded finally in engineering a rescript, dated May
11th, 1883, calling upon bishops to restrain priests from taking part
in the Parnell testimonial.

Willie was very anxious that Mr. O'Hart (O'Hart's Irish Pedigrees)
should be granted a pension from the Civil List.  Mr. Gladstone had
already declined to include him in the List of Beneficiaries.  Now at
Willie's urgent request I most reluctantly asked Mr. Gladstone to
reconsider his decision as to Mr. O'Hart, and on September 19th,
1884, received a snub for my pains.  I had told Gladstone that Lord
Spencer was credited with having expressed the opinion that Parnell
had some connexion with the Phoenix Park murders.  Gladstone {182}
now said he was sure that Spencer did not really believe this.

In October, 1884, Mr. Trevelyan ceased to be Irish Secretary and
entered the Cabinet as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.  The
vacant post was offered to Mr. Shaw Lefevre, but on hearing that Lord
Spencer intended to seek for the renewal of the Coercion Act when it
expired in September, 1885, he refused the offer.  Mr. (afterwards
Sir Henry) Campbell-Bannerman became Chief Secretary on October 24th.

During 1884 Parnell kept quiet, and my negotiations on his behalf
with Gladstone were intermittent.

In the early part of the year, however, a document of tremendous
import was submitted--none other than "A Proposed Constitution for
Ireland," drawn up by Parnell, which was as follows:--



    An elected Chamber with power to make enactments regarding all
    the domestic concerns of Ireland, but without power to interfere
    in any Imperial matter.

    The Chamber to consist of three hundred members.

    Two hundred and six of the number to be elected under the present
    suffrage, by the present Irish constituencies, with special
    arrangements for securing to the Protestant minority a
    representation proportionate to their numbers; the remaining 94
    members to be named in the Act constituting the Chamber.

    The principle of nomination regarding this proportion of members
    to last necessarily only during the duration of the first Chamber.

    The number of elected members, suffrage, and boundaries
    constituencies for election of succeeding Chamber to be capable
    of alteration by the preceding Chamber, excepting those special
    arrangements for securing to the Protestant minority a
    proportionate representation, which arrangements shall be fixed
    and immutable.

    The first Chamber to last for three years, unless sooner
    dissolved by the Crown.

    {183}

    The Chamber shall have power to enact laws and make regulations
    regarding all the domestic and internal affairs of Ireland,
    including her sea fisheries.

    The Chamber shall also have power to raise a revenue for any
    purpose over which it has jurisdiction, by direct taxation upon
    property, by Customs duties, and by licences.

    The Chamber shall have power to create departments for the
    transaction of all business connected with the affairs over which
    it has jurisdiction, and to appoint and dismiss chief and
    subordinate officials for such departments, to fix the term of
    their office, and to fix and pay their salaries; and to maintain
    a police force for the preservation of order and the enforcement
    of the law.

    This power will include the constitution of Courts of Justice and
    the appointment or payment of all judges, magistrates, and other
    officials of such Courts, provided that the appointment of judges
    and magistrates shall in each case be subject to the assent of
    the Crown.

    No enactment of the Chamber shall have the force of law until it
    shall have received the assent of the Crown.

    A sum of one million pounds sterling per annum shall be paid by
    the Chamber to the Imperial Treasury in lieu of the right of the
    Crown to levy taxes in Ireland for Imperial purposes, which right
    would be held in suspense so long as punctual payment was made of
    the above annual sum.

    The right of the Imperial Parliament to legislate regarding the
    domestic concerns and internal affairs of Ireland will also be
    held in suspense, only to be exercised for weighty and urgent
    cause.

    The abolition of the office of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and all
    other offices in Ireland under the Crown connected with the
    domestic affairs of that country.

    The representation of Ireland in the Imperial Parliament might be
    retained or might be given up.  If it be retained the Speaker
    might have the power of deciding what questions the Irish members
    might take part in as Imperial questions, if this limitation were
    thought desirable.

    Such Naval and Military force as the Crown thought requisite from
    time to time would be maintained in Ireland out {184} of the
    contribution of one million pounds per annum to the Imperial
    Treasury; any excess in the cost of these forces over such sum
    being provided for out of the Imperial Revenue (i.e. by Great
    Britain).

    The Militia would also be levied, controlled, and paid by the
    Crown, and all forts, military barracks, posts, and strong places
    of the country would be held and garrisoned by the Crown forces.

    No volunteer force to be raised in Ireland without the consent of
    the Crown and enactment of the Imperial Parliament, and, if
    raised, to be paid for and controlled by the Crown.


    On May 11th, 1884, Lord Richard Grosvenor wrote a non-committal
    acknowledgment of the receipt of this memorandum.

    The Government was then devoting its attention to the Franchise
    Bill and the Redistribution of Seats Bill, and it had been
    decided to incorporate Ireland in the scheme.  This Parnell
    considered to be of tremendous importance.  Speaking in December,
    1883, at the Dublin banquet held in his honour, he alluded to the
    force which had then been gained for Ireland.  The change was, in
    fact, enormous.  Instead of the franchise being confined
    practically to the farmers, it would now include the labourers
    and the cottier tenants, and the number of voters in Ireland
    would go up from 200,000 to 600,000.  How would those labourers
    and cottier tenants vote?  Lord Randolph Churchill (who supported
    the Bill against his Party) and Mr. Chamberlain thought,
    strangely enough, that their inclusion would help the landlord
    interest.  Parnell knew better, and when the Bill became law, in
    December, 1884, he leapt into action.  This was the weapon for
    which he had been waiting.  From December to March of the
    following year he went through Ireland organizing for the
    imminent General Election.

    {185}

    In the early months of 1885 the Liberal Government was in a bad
    way.  It had narrowly escaped defeat on the vote of censure for
    its failure to relieve Gordon at Khartoum.  The Cabinet was
    divided against itself.  Many of the Liberal members were
    inclined to rebel, and the Irish were working with the Tory
    Opposition.  Ireland was the rock upon which the Government was
    to come to a wreck.  The majority of the Cabinet was in favour of
    continued coercion.  Mr. Chamberlain, Sir Charles Dilke, and Mr.
    Shaw Lefevre were strongly opposed to it.  But on the subject of
    local government for Ireland the difference of opinion was even
    more dangerous.  Chamberlain submitted a scheme for an elective
    National Council in Dublin, with control over administrative
    Boards and Departments, but not over the police and the
    administration of the law.  It had been ascertained indirectly
    that Parnell would accept this scheme, and would not oppose a
    moderate Coercion Act.  Gladstone was prepared to go a step
    further and give the National Council control over the police.  A
    vote was taken in the Cabinet.  All the Peers, with the exception
    of Lord Granville,[3] were against, and the Commoners, with the
    exception of Lord Hartington, were in favour of the scheme.
    Therefore "for the present" the scheme was abandoned.  This was
    in May.  The battle over coercion remained to be fought.  In less
    than four weeks the Government was out of office.

    Gladstone had not been able to make up his mind to abandon
    coercion altogether, though he had endeavoured to sweeten the
    draught with the promise of a Land Purchase Bill, and Parnell had
    been able to arrange privately {186} with the Conservative
    Opposition that if they came into power coercion would be dropped.

    On June 8th the Government was beaten on the second reading of
    the Budget.  The ostensible question, which concerned nobody, was
    that of a tax on wine and beer.  The whole of the thirty-nine
    Irish members voted for the Opposition, and the Government was
    beaten by twelve.  Thereupon Gladstone resigned and Lord
    Salisbury formed his first Ministry.  Parnell held the key of the
    position.  He had put the Tories into power; at his will he could
    put them out again.

    Lord Carnarvon became Lord Lieutenant, Sir Michael Hicks-Beach
    Chief Secretary, and the intention was expressed to govern
    Ireland by constitutional methods.  Coercion for the time being
    was abandoned, Lord Carnarvon had thought much on Irish
    questions, and his rule was in marked contrast to that of his
    immediate predecessors.

    On July 14th Lord Richard Grosvenor suddenly remembered Parnell's
    draft Constitution for Ireland which I had submitted to
    Gladstone.  Did it still hold good?  To this letter I replied,
    and on July 23rd Lord Richard wrote again asking for a plain
    answer.  But this at the moment it was impossible to give, for
    the attitude the Tories would take up with regard to Home Rule
    was not yet certain.  Lord Carnarvon, the Lord Lieutenant, was
    believed to be very favourably disposed to the Irish demands, and
    Lord Randolph Churchill seemed willing to go far.  On July 28th
    Lord Richard wrote again, imploring us to show our hand.
    Evidently the Irish vote was worth securing.

    It is interesting to note that on July 17th Mr. Chamberlain,
    speaking at Holloway, urged that the pacification {187} of
    Ireland depended on the concession to her of the right to govern
    herself in the matter of purely local business.

    At the end of July Parnell met Lord Carnarvon in London.  The
    Lord Lieutenant had already been in communication with Sir
    Charles Gavan Duffy and Mr. Justin McCarthy upon the subject of
    Home Rule, and there can be little doubt he was in earnest in his
    agreement with the principle.  How far he was used by his Party
    as a cat's-paw to play for the Irish vote is another question.
    At least Lord Salisbury knew of the proceedings of his colleague
    and was perhaps not averse from using Lord Carnarvon's
    convictions to win Parnell's support at the forthcoming elections
    without giving a definite Party pledge.  The conversation between
    Lord Carnarvon and Parnell led the latter to believe that the
    Tories were prepared to support a measure of local government for
    Ireland.  But how far were the Liberals prepared to go?

    On August 4th Mr. Gladstone wrote to me further with reference to
    the proposed constitution for Ireland.  Did this represent
    Parnell's views now?  He was urgent in asking for an answer.  In
    one of my notes I had spoken of the suggestion that a proposition
    of his son, Mr. Herbert (now Lord) Gladstone, should be
    substituted for it.  Mr. Gladstone now assured me on the best
    authority that no such proposition had been made.  I gathered,
    however, that his son had made some suggestions.

    To this a long and comprehensive reply was sent--apparently too
    long and comprehensive.  No doubt he wanted a definite and
    limited scheme to be set before him.  I had referred in my letter
    to certain changes which had occurred since the draft was sent.
    I knew that Gladstone knew what those changes were, for the
    frantic appeals for {188} a definite statement were precisely the
    counter-bidding against the heightened biddings of Lord Randolph
    Churchill and the Conservative Party in which Gladstone declared
    he would not engage.  He was obviously disinclined to make an
    offer until Parnell had pinned himself down to a final demand.
    If only he could know what the Home Rule Party wanted!

    The following day Mr. Gladstone set out on a yachting expedition
    (to Norway), and a few days later, on August 11th, Parliament was
    prorogued.

    Parnell opened his campaign in Dublin on August 11th, when he
    announced that he and his Party would stand for an Irish
    Parliament and nothing else.  There was no talk now of a National
    Council.  Lord Hartington replied declaring Parnell's proposals
    to be fatal and mischievous, and on September 9th Lord Richard
    wrote, on behalf of Mr. Gladstone, who was back in England,
    pleading for details.

    On October 7th Lord Salisbury, speaking at Newport (Mon.), made a
    diplomatic statement about Ireland which suggested much and
    promised nothing.

    Later in the month I sent Mr. Gladstone a paper containing the
    views of Mr. Parnell, and on November 3rd Lord Richard Grosvenor
    replied, referring me to the Government of the day, but thanking
    me for the information.  There was some mention in the letter of
    Willie's prospects for Mid-Armagh.  Apparently that affair was
    off, since Willie had himself written to such an effect.  Willie
    was given a gentle rap on the fingers for having in Ireland
    talked over the plans for his election with another person.[4]

    {189}

    On November 9th, at Edinburgh, Mr. Gladstone made a speech which
    rivalled Lord Salisbury's in elusiveness.  The constitutional
    demands of Ireland must not be disregarded, but it would be a
    vital danger if at such a time there was not a Party politically
    independent of the Irish vote.

    Parnell desired precisely the contrary, and on November 21st, the
    eve of the General Election, a manifesto was issued calling upon
    Irish voters in Great Britain to vote against the Liberal Party.

    Before Parnell's interview with Lord Carnarvon I had sent
    Gladstone Parnell's suggestions for a new Home Rule Bill.  Mr.
    Gladstone wrote expressing satisfaction at the news of the
    intended interview, but he would not be drawn.  Nevertheless
    Parnell made another attempt, {190} and on December 14th, 1885,
    addressed the following letter from my house at Eltham:--



  NORTH PARK, ELTHAM, KENT.
    _December_ 14th, 1885.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--It appeared to me from Mr. Gladstone's
    utterances in Scotland that he would admit the justice of
    Ireland's claim for autonomy, and also the expediency of soon
    endeavouring to satisfy it provided the result of the General
    Election went to show an overwhelming preponderance of the
    opinion of the representatives of Ireland in favour of this
    claim.  A very proper reservation was also made regarding the
    maintenance of the supremacy of the Crown in Ireland and all the
    authority of Parliament necessary for this supremacy.

    We now know that more than five-sixths of the Irish members
    elected by household suffrage have been returned, mostly by very
    large majorities, as supporters of the institution of an Irish
    Parliament, that a clear majority, seventeen out of thirty-three,
    from the Ulster constituencies have been so returned, and that
    only one county and one city in Ireland, Antrim and Belfast
    respectively, are without Nationalist representation.

    Under these circumstances does it not seem that the question has
    now resolved itself firstly into a consideration of the details
    of the proposed settlement, and secondly, as to the procedure to
    be adopted in obtaining the assent of Parliament, and if needful
    of the British electorate to this settlement?  As regards the
    first matter, the rough sketch, which I sent you some weeks back,
    appeared then, and still appears to me, the smallest proposal
    which would be likely to find favour in Ireland if brought
    forward by an English Minister, but it is not one which I could
    undertake to suggest publicly myself, though if it were enacted I
    would work in Ireland to have it accepted bona fide as a final
    settlement, and I believe it would prove to be one.


[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A PORTION OF LETTER ON pp. 190, 192-3.]


    This proposal was carefully designed with a view to propitiate
    English prejudice, and to afford those guarantees against hasty
    legislation, interference in extraneous matters, and unfair
    action against particular classes, apprehended by {192} many
    persons as a result of the establishment of an Irish Parliament.
    It did not involve a repeal of the Act of Union, an irrevocable
    step, and the Imperial Parliament having conferred the privilege
    by statute would thus always be in a position to recall it by a
    similar method, if the privilege was abused.

    It provided for a special proportionate representation for the
    large Protestant minority of Ireland.  It also left to the
    Imperial Parliament the practical decision from time to time as
    to the matters which did or did not come within the province of
    the local legislature.  These are all important concessions and
    guarantees, and some opinion must surely have been formed by now
    upon these and other details.

    As regards the question of procedure, I am desirous of knowing
    after a time whether the solution of the Irish question would be
    made the first and only business by a Liberal Government till the
    question was settled.  The reform of procedure would probably be
    found not so necessary or pressing if the Imperial Parliament
    could get rid of its Irish work.  It appeared to me that the best
    way to turn out the present Government would be by a general vote
    of censure without special reference to Ireland, or by a vote
    directed against some act of policy other than Irish, for which
    occasion may shortly arise.  We might then either abstain or vote
    for the censure as might be deemed best.  I have not seen Lord
    C.,[5] and shall probably not arrange to do so for a week or two,
    as I wish to know how the other side is disposed first.  I have
    always felt Mr. Gladstone is the only living statesman who has
    both the power and the will to carry a settlement it would be
    possible for me to accept and work with.

    I doubt Lord C.'s power to do so, though I know him to be very
    well disposed.  However, if neither party can offer a solution of
    the question I should prefer the Conservatives to remain in
    office, as under them we could at least work out gradually a
    solution of the Land question.  You will see from this letter
    that I am very much in the dark, except as to my own mind and
    that of Ireland, that I want information as to whether Mr.
    Gladstone has, as I suppose, accepted the principle of a Chamber
    for Ireland with power over her domestic and {193} internal
    affairs, and, if so, which, if any, of the details contained in
    sketch he objects to or is in doubt about.  Further, it is
    important that I should be advised before the meeting of
    Parliament what procedure would in his judgment be best for
    bringing about that change of Government which would enable Mr.
    Gladstone to deal authoritatively with the Irish question.--Yours
    very truly, CHAS. S. PARNELL.


I sent this letter to Gladstone, and on December 16, three days
before the completion of the General Election, he dispatched from
Hawarden a long reply; but he said nothing more than he had already
said in public at Midlothian and elsewhere and in private letters to
me.  Throughout this period the one fact apparent was that he would
pledge the Liberal Party to nothing until he was in office and
supported by the Irish Party.  While there was a Tory Government in
alliance with Parnell he would do nothing.  Whether or no he was
sincere in his advice to us to take Home Rule rather from the Tories
than the Liberals if possible--because many Liberals would support a
Tory Home Rule Bill, while all Tories would oppose a Liberal
measure--this I cannot say.  He offered it constantly, though he
urged that a trafficking with both Parties for the purpose of getting
the best terms possible, when, as in the end it must be, avowed,
would injure a Tory measure and kill a Liberal one.

The result of the election was that the Tories in alliance with the
Parnellites outnumbered the Liberals by four.  The Liberals in
alliance with Parnell would have outnumbered the Tories by 167.
Parnell had swept the board in Ireland, and in the House of Commons
he was dictator.

Immediately after the General Election the Salisbury Cabinet met to
consider its Irish policy, and Lord Carnarvon at once tendered his
resignation.  The conclusion {194} to be drawn is obvious.  Compact
or no compact, Lord Carnarvon had reason to believe that the Cabinet
were prepared to pursue a certain line of policy which it now
appeared they had no intention of pursuing.  The reason for the
_volte face_, too, is plain.  Tories plus Parnellites formed too
narrow a majority of the House for Governmental purposes.  The Irish
were no longer of any use, and they were abandoned.

Correspondence with Mr. Gladstone continued, and his letters were
still cautious.  He seemed to fear the soreness of certain Liberals
over the Parnellite opposition at the polls, but he confessed to be
very willing to co-operate with the Tory Government in the matter of
Home Rule, and he stated that he had acquainted the Government with
his disposition.  Letters of December 19th, 22nd, and 24th are all
more or less to this effect.  He harped on the word "bribe."

As a matter of fact, Mr. Gladstone had approached the Cabinet through
Mr. Balfour, both personally and by letter, urging that it would be a
calamity if this great question were to fall into the lines of Party
conflict.  The Cabinet seem to have treated Mr. Gladstone's letter
with scant respect.  In spite of Lord Carnarvon's tendered
resignation, Lord Salisbury was resolved to make no concession to
Home Rule.  Lord Carnarvon agreed not to resign until the opening of
Parliament.

A statement in the Press inspired by Mr. Herbert Gladstone to the
effect that Mr. Gladstone was prepared to concede an Irish Parliament
in Dublin was declared by the latter to be "inaccurate and not
authentic."  But on December 26 he issued a memorandum to certain of
his more reliable followers to the effect that he would support the
Tories in a Home Rule policy which should satisfy {195} him and the
Irish Nationalists, and that if he were called upon to form a
Government the preparation of a scheme of duly guarded Home Rule
would be an indispensable condition.

On December 29 I wrote to Gladstone, forwarding a memorandum from
Parnell.  On the last day of the year he sent me a memorandum marked
"Secret," in which he summarized the position between Parnell and
himself.  It amounted to this: Parnell wanted a definite pledge that
there should be no more coercion before throwing the Tories out of
power and putting the Liberals in.  Gladstone, while realizing the
gravity of O'Brien's statistics in the _Nineteenth Century_ as to the
result of exceptional legislation, refused to give this pledge.  He
alluded philosophically to the probable course of events if the
Address went through unamended.  Mr. Parnell wrote to me to the
following effect embodying the points I was to pass on to Gladstone.



    DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--In reply to your query it would be inexpedient
    that the Government....  But, in any case, we should move a
    series of separate amendments to the Address--one asking for a
    suspension of the support by the naval, military and constabulary
    forces of the Crown of ejectments, pending the consideration by
    Parliament of the proposed Land measure; another praying the
    Crown to remove Chief Justice May from the Bench; a third
    condemning the practice of jury packing, resorted to by the Crown
    in all the recent trials; a fourth asking her Majesty to fulfil
    the promise contained in the Speech of last year for the
    equalization of the borough franchise in Ireland to that in
    England; a fifth condemning the proclamation of the meetings at
    Brookeboro' and Cullohill; and a sixth protesting against the
    proclamation and additional police force sent to several of the
    counties.

    This would be an assault along the whole line of English
    misgovernment in Ireland, and should, in my opinion, be {196}
    delivered before we allow the Address to leave the House.  The
    first fortnight or so of the session would thus be occupied while
    the Government were making up their minds as to their proposed
    Land Bill.

    At the meeting of the Party I think of proposing a resolution
    recommending the minority to pay more deference to the opinion of
    the majority than they did last session, and urging all the Irish
    members to sit together in opposition.

    Kindly let me know what you think of these proposals.--Yours
    truly, CHARLES S. PARNELL.



These blanks were left in the letter as the phrases omitted were too
confidential to be written.  I learnt them and quoted them to
Gladstone.

On January 21 Parliament met to transact business, and the
resignations of Lord Carnarvon and Sir W. Hart Dyke were announced.
Notice was given of a new Coercion Act, and on the 26th the
Government was defeated by 331 to 252 votes--not, however, on an
Irish amendment, but on the motion of Jesse Collings raising the
question of "three acres and a cow."



[1] The Coercion Bill

[2] The enclosure was a letter from a notorious Invincible in America
who had written to Parnell assuring him of his support and protesting
against the anti-Parnell pro-Davitt agitation got up by Ford in the
_Irish World_.  Gladstone had expressed a wish to see one of his
letters.

[3] Lord Morley has stated that Granville voted for the scheme, and
Lord Eversley that all Peers voted against it.

[4] Captain O'Shea had made himself unpopular with the Irish Party,
and when in 1885 he wanted their co-operation in his re-election for
County Clare, only Parnell was ready to help him.  He had always
refused to sit with the Party, had taken a place on the Government
benches, and thence kept up a running fire of sarcastic comment on
the speeches and mannerisms of his fellow-countrymen.  His intimacy
with Chamberlain was also a cause of suspicion, and he would not take
the Party pledge.  Mrs. O'Shea was anxious for him to remain in
Parliament, as his political interests left him little time for
visiting Eltham.  The need for watchful diplomacy when he was there
was irksome to her.  Especially since the February of 1882 she could
not bear to be near him.  Parnell had great doubt of the possibility
of getting Captain O'Shea returned for Clare or any other Irish seat
without the pledge.  O'Shea, under the impression that he himself had
been the chief negotiator of the "Kilmainham Treaty," accused Parnell
of ingratitude and treachery.  Mrs. O'Shea then got into touch with
Lord Richard Grosvenor, and a scheme was put on foot for getting
Captain O'Shea nominated for the Exchange Division of Liverpool as a
Liberal.  The united strength of the Liberal Party, exercised by Lord
Richard Grosvenor and through him by Mr. Gladstone, and of Parnell's
influence on the Irish vote, failed to carry him in.  The retirement
of the English Liberal candidate, Mr. T. E. Stephens, even after
nomination and the concentration of the Liberal forces on O'Shea's
election did not suffice.  Mr. L. R. Baily, the Conservative,
defeated him by 55 votes.  Captain O'Shea then returned to the demand
for an Irish seat, and persisted in being nominated at the
by-election pending in Galway.  He still refused to take the Party
pledge.  Parnell, therefore, at first refused to countenance his
candidature, but finally gave way, and he was elected.

[5] Lord Carnarvon.



{197}

CHAPTER XIX

THE FIRST HOME RULE BILL

  "_Memories, images and precious thoughts
  That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed._"
                                        --WORDSWORTH.


Before forming his Cabinet Mr. Gladstone enunciated the necessity for
an examination whether it was practicable to establish a legislative
body to sit in Dublin, and to deal with Irish, as distinguished from
Imperial affairs.

Five of the members of his last Cabinet--Lords Hartington, Derby,
Northbrook, Selborne and Carlingford--signified their absolute
opposition to Home Rule.  Two--Mr. Chamberlain and Mr.
Trevelyan--agreed to the inquiry provisionally.  Two--Sir Charles
Dilke and Mr. Shaw Lefevre--had been defeated at the General
Election.  Seven--Lords Granville, Spencer, Kimberley, Ripon and
Rosebery, Sir William Harcourt and Mr. Childers--agreed absolutely.
Four new men--Mr. Morley, Mr. Campbell-Bannerman, Mr. Mundella and
Lord Herschell--came into the Cabinet.  Mr. Morley became Irish
Secretary.  A scheme was drafted by Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Morley.  It
consisted of two Bills, a Home Rule Bill and a Land Bill.  On the
scheme being laid before the Cabinet Mr. Chamberlain and Mr.
Trevelyan resigned.[1]

{198}

On April 8th, 1886, the evening of the introduction of the Home Rule
Bill, Mr. Gladstone sent his private secretary down to Eltham with a
letter to me asking me to telegraph one word, "Yes," if he was to
introduce the Bill that night.  In this case he was to speak shortly
after four o'clock.  Mr. Parnell had not given him the required
answer earlier, as he had up to the last moment been trying to induce
Mr. Gladstone to give the Bill wider and more comprehensive clauses
than the G.O.M. would assent to.  Now, however, he had said to me, as
he started that evening for the House: "This Bill will do as a
beginning; they shall have more presently.  If the Old Man wires to
know if it is all right answer 'Yes.'"  Mr. Gladstone had previously
arranged with me that I should be at home waiting for his message in
order that I might let him know that Parnell and the "Party" were
ready.

His messenger was so late that I simply snatched Gladstone's letter
from him and, scribbling my "Yes" on the enclosed Government form,
sent my waiting servant flying to the telegraph office with it.
After which I had time to join in the regrets of Mr. Gladstone's
secretary that his master had made it impossible for me to get up to
the House in time for his introduction of the Bill.  The secretary
told me that he would have "derived considerable interest" from the
proceedings, but I felt much {199} more keenly than that about this
Bill that I had taken so often in its swaddling clothes from parent
to foster parent, and I was very much disappointed at not being
present at its introduction to a larger life.

The debate on the first and second readings lasted sixteen days.  It
is to be remembered that in his attack on the Bill Mr. Chamberlain
did not oppose Home Rule, but only this particular scheme.

A great wish of Willie's was to be appointed Under-secretary for
Ireland.  I had on various occasions made the suggestion to Mr.
Gladstone, but without successful issue.  Gladstone had a perfect
manner of refusing appointments when personally asked for them; it
was always an apparent pain to him; nothing but the knowledge of his
duty restrained him from interference, and though I was not really
anxious that Willie should receive this appointment I was willing to
please him by asking for it, and it might have excited suspicion if I
had not asked.  I must admit that Mr. Gladstone never to my knowledge
of him all those years made an appointment from motives of private
favour.  Here once more, when he wrote regretting he couldn't poach
on his colleagues' patronage preserves, his manners were perfect.

On May 8th an urgent letter from Gladstone at Downing Street was
delivered at my house.  Mr. Morley had lost track of Mr. Parnell, and
wanted to know where he was.  It was apparently the most natural
thing in the world to ask me where was Parnell.  A form of Government
telegram was enclosed for my reply.

In view of the fact that Mr. Gladstone and his colleagues were so
pained, surprised, and properly shocked when Mr. Parnell was publicly
arraigned as my lover, the frantic way in which they applied to me,
when they were {200} unable to find him, was, afterwards, a source of
considerable amusement to us both.

From the time of my first interview with Mr. Gladstone onwards, no
time was lost in "failing to trace him here" before hurried
application was made to me at my--and Parnell's--permanent address.
I did not choose that the Irish Party should have his private
address--nor did Parnell choose it--but I was most particular that
the Government should know it.  Governments--especially Liberal
Governments--are before all things simple-minded and of childlike
guilelessness.

I remember when on one occasion the Government desired to know
Parnell's views on certain matters before elaborating a Bill shortly
to go before the House, a special messenger was sent to Eltham with a
letter.  I had gone to the seaside with my children, and my servants
had standing orders that they knew nothing of Mr. Parnell or of his
whereabouts.  So the nonplussed Governmental messenger meditated upon
my doorstep for one moment only, then, armed with "_Mrs. O'Shea's
address_" at Hastings, came straight on to receive Mr. Parnell's
reply, and safely deliver it within the stipulated time.  But there
can be no doubt, of course, that Mr. Gladstone's "Poor fellow, poor
fellow, what a terrible fall," subsequent to the hounding, at his
word, of his gallant opponent to death by the Irish sycophants,
alluded to the breaking of the eleventh commandment of social life:
"Thou shalt not be found out" (publicly), rather than to the seventh
of orthodox Christianity.

On June 7th Mr. Parnell spoke on the Home Rule Bill.  It was the last
night of the debate, and he had carefully prepared his speech.

The rejection of the Bill by a full House--343 against {201} 313
votes--was immediately followed by the dissolution of Parliament.
Thus in July, 1886, the Liberals went out in alliance with the Irish
leader, whom, only twelve months before, they had gone out
_denouncing_ with all his followers.

So ends the most important period of my negotiations with Gladstone.
The subsequent course of them may be sketched briefly.

In July, 1886, Gladstone replied to certain suggestions of Parnell
recommending perseverance with the Home Rule scheme, with the
objection that he was unable to carry the Gladstonian Party beyond a
certain point.

There were times when Mr. Gladstone became somewhat uneasy in regard
to the possible consequences of so many interviews with me.  Also
someone said once to him, "Supposing Mrs. O'Shea told Parnell you
said so and so, and it was more than you meant to say?"  On June
15th, 1887, for example, he wrote asking with utmost politeness for a
letter instead of an interview.

However, on August 22nd of the same year I find him writing from
Hawarden thanking me for some gift (of game or fruit) and expressing
hope of the future.

Gladstone now told me that he wished to meet Parnell in order to talk
over the political situation, and I suggested that a visit to
Hawarden by Parnell would have a good effect politically.  Gladstone
then asked Parnell to Hawarden to discuss the outlook in politics, an
invitation which Parnell did not answer at once, as he first wished
to ascertain the tactics of the Conservative Party.

On August 30th, 1889, Mr. Gladstone wrote to Parnell a most private
letter, lamenting that he had not heard from him and his friends with
reference to a visit to Hawarden.  The fact was that since Parnell
had received {202} Gladstone's invitation the Tories had been making
advances, and had just proffered a Roman Catholic University for
Ireland.  Gladstone was right in supposing that here was the cause of
Parnell's silence.  He was not angry, but he threatened Parnell with
the effect of this new proposal on Nonconformist and Presbyterian
Liberals.

In October the air was clearer, the Government's Irish University
scheme had gone awry, and Gladstone was jubilant.  He wrote on the
16th renewing the invitation.  With regard to the Home Rule Bill he
was all for reserve; with regard to Parnell's action against the
_Times_ all for dispatch.

It was two months later, however (on December 19th), that Parnell, on
his way to Liverpool, visited Gladstone at Hawarden.  It was a short
but agreeable visit, and at dinner Mr. Parnell sat next to Miss
Gladstone.  The conversation turned upon actors and acting, and Miss
Gladstone said, "Who is the greatest actor you have ever seen, Mr.
Parnell?"  "Your father, undoubtedly!" he promptly returned, much to
her delight.

As Parnell became moderate in politics Gladstone became more extreme.
I remember one evening in April or May, 1888, driving with Parnell to
Morley's house in Elm Park Gardens where Parnell and Morley had a
quiet conversation together.

I waited in the hansom cab a little way off the house for a
considerable time, and at last Parnell came out with an amused
expression on his face.  As we were driving home he said:

"We can never satisfy English politicians!  They imprisoned me for
causing agitation in Ireland, and now they want agitation, if not
outrage.  Morley said to me: 'The people must be made to wake up a
bit; can't you {203} do anything to stir them up?'"  Then with a
laugh: "If they knew how easy it was for me to stir Ireland up, and
how confoundedly difficult I have found it to quiet her down again,
they would be very careful before giving me such an invitation!"
And, with the experience of the past to give force and conviction to
his words, he had shown Mr. Morley the extreme danger of Mr.
Gladstone's suggestions.



[1] The letters of Captain O'Shea preserved by Mrs. Parnell throw
some light on Mr. Chamberlain's mind.  In December, 1884, Chamberlain
dealt at length with the Nationalist movement and the sentiment
behind it, and unfolded his plan for a "National Board" for Ireland.
In March, 1885, he was discussing the possibility of an arrangement
with the Irish Party to get the Redistribution Bill and the Crimes
Bill quickly into law on condition that the Government brought in
Local Government Bills, including one for Ireland.  In May, Captain
O'Shea wrote that Gladstone was strongly in favour of this solution,
and that, to Chamberlain's surprise, Lord Hartington did not reject
the proposal off-hand, as expected.  He added that the Cardinal had
power to assure Parnell and the Government of the full support of the
Catholic Church.  Captain O'Shea's personal interest in the abortive
scheme is revealed in the following passage from a letter of May 4,
1885: "The reason I am anxious about the Local Self-Government scheme
is that if Chamberlain has power, which I think he will in the next
Parliament, he will offer me the Chief Secretaryship, or the
equivalent post if the name is abolished, if the boys will let me
have it."



{204}

CHAPTER XX

MR. PARNELL IN DANGER--FOUNDING OF THE NATIONAL LEAGUE

  "_He who for winds and clouds
    Maketh a pathway free,
  Through waste or hostile crowds
    Can make a way for thee._"
                              --PAUL GERHARDT.


One morning in 1882 I saw in the morning papers a cable message
announcing the death of Miss Fanny Parnell.  Mr. Parnell was at my
house at the time, but asleep.  After an all-night sitting I would
never allow him to be roused until four in the afternoon, when he
would have breakfast and chat with me until it was time to go to the
House.  On seeing the newspaper cable from America about his sister I
thought it better to wake him and tell him of it, lest he should read
it while I was away with my aunt.  I knew that Fanny Parnell was his
favourite sister, and he had told me that she was the cleverest and
most beautiful woman in his family.  This I knew was high praise, as
Willie had met Mrs. Thomson--another of Parnell's sisters--and had
told me that she was the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever
met.

I woke him and told him of his sister's death as gently as I could,
but he was terribly shocked, and I could not leave him at all that
day.  For a time he utterly broke down, but presently a cable arrived
for him--sent on from London--saying that his sister's body was to be
embalmed and brought to Ireland, and his horror and indignation {205}
were extreme.  He immediately wrote out a message for me to cable
from London on his behalf, absolutely forbidding the embalmment of
his sister's body, and saying that she was to be buried in America.

The idea of death was at all times very painful to him, but that
anyone should be embalmed and taken from one place to another after
death was to him unspeakably awful.  For this, amongst other reasons,
I could not bear to have him taken to Ireland--to Glasnevin
Cemetery--after his death.  My desire was to have him near me and, as
he would have wished, to have taken care of his grave myself.  But I
gave way to the longing of the Ireland he had lived for, and to the
clamour of those who had helped to kill him.  How they dealt with him
alive is history now, but how they dealt with him in death is not so
well known; and I give an extract from the message of a friend, who
had gone to see his grave a few short years after his death: "Your
husband's grave is the most desolate and neglected spot in the whole
cemetery, and I grieve to tell you of the painful impression it made
upon me."

I then sent over a servant, with some flowers, and his report was
even worse.  Fragments of glass from the broken artificial wreaths,
placed there years before; trampled, neglected grass, and little of
that but weeds; and the bare untidy backings and wires of the wreaths
I had been sending for the greeting of so many days marked only in
the calendar of our love.

Poor Ireland--a child in her asking, a child in her receiving, and so
much a child in her forgetting.

When Mr. Parnell first came to Eltham he told me that he had had,
since his boyhood at school, a habit of sleep-walking whenever he was
at all run down in health.  {206} When he was in America he used to
lock the door of his room and put the key into a box with a spring
lock that he had bought for the purpose.  He feared he might wander
about the hotel in his sleep.  Also he warned me, when he first came,
that he was subject to "night terrors," very much as a highly strung
child is, and in these he would spring up panic-stricken out of deep
sleep, and, without fully awaking, try to beat off the imaginary foe
that pressed upon him.  It was a species of nightmare; not apparently
excited by any particular cause other than general want of tone.
After a few years of careful dieting I succeeded in freeing him of
these painful and most wearing attacks.

When the attacks came on I went into his room and held him until he
became fully conscious, for I feared that he would hurt himself.
They were followed by a profuse perspiration and deep sleep of
several hours.  He was terribly worried about these nightmares, but I
assured him that it was only indigestion in a peculiar form.  "You
really think so?" he would reply, and when I told him that they would
pass off with careful dieting he was reassured, and he followed my
directions so implicitly as to diet that he soon proved me right.

He became very much run down again after his sister's death, but
recovered perfectly, and had no recurrence of these attacks until
some years after, when he suffered from a nervous breakdown brought
on by overwork.  Sir Henry Thompson treated him then, and he quickly
recovered.

Soon after I met Mr. Parnell I sent to Worcester for some white roses
in pots to keep in my hothouse in order to provide my exigeant lover
with buttonholes.  He loved white roses, he told me, and would not be
content with any other flower from me; nor would he wear a rose from
{207} my garden, as he said anyone could have those who asked me for
them.  So I had to keep a constantly blooming company of white roses
in my conservatory to provide a buttonhole of ceremony on his speech
days, or on other occasions when I wished him to look particularly
well.  Sometimes we would drive out miles into the country.  Keston
Common was a favourite resort of ours, and, as we rarely took a
servant with us, we would either put up the horse I drove (Dictator,
given to me by Mr. Parnell) at some inn, or tie him to a tree while
we wandered about or sat under the trees talking.

He would do his best to learn the names of the wild flowers he picked
for me--with uncomfortably short stalks!--but, beyond being at last
able to name a dandelion or buttercup at sight, he did not shine in
any branch of botany.  "What did you call this fine plant?" he would
ask with a glimmer of fun in his eyes.  "It is not a plant you have,
but a single flower branch, and it is called a king-cup--picked much
too short!" I would answer severely, and he laughed as he tumbled his
trophies into my lap and insisted that the ferns ruthlessly dug and
cut out with his pocket-knife would grow all right, in spite of their
denuded roots, if I "made them do it, in the greenhouse!"

When it was too wet to go out, or if he was not well, he used to
amuse himself at home in my sitting-room practising shooting with an
air-gun.  He used a lighted candle for target, and became so expert
in putting out the light this way that it became too troublesome to
light the candle so often, and we substituted other targets.

Sometimes he would go to the farther end of my aunt's park, where
there was a pond basin, dried up long before, {208} and many happy
hours were spent there, shooting in turn, with his revolvers.

I remember on one Sunday afternoon my aunt's bailiff came down,
having heard revolver shots, though the sound was deadened by the
high banks.  The bailiff was much perturbed by our Sunday sport,
chiefly because it was Sunday.  He did not dare press his opinion
upon me, as he knew my position in my aunt's household was
impregnable, but he had always been jealous of my coming to Eltham,
where he had served her for over forty years, and he was now so
plainly antagonistic that Mr. Parnell, who did not particularly wish
his presence with me talked about, rose to the occasion with the tact
he could exert when he considered it worth while.

"Oh, is that you, Mr. ----?" rising from an absorbed examination of
his last bull's-eye.  "Mrs. O'Shea was telling me when we started
this match of your being such a good shot with a gun.  Do have a shot
with my revolver; see here, I've got a bull's-eye five times running
against Mrs. O'Shea's one.  Now let us see what you can do."

Mr. ---- hesitated; he was a fine shot and had won prizes in his
youth, and was susceptible to flattery.

Mr. Parnell said dryly: "I don't suppose you have had so much
practice as I lately, but--"  The bailiff turned a wary eye on his
wife, who was waiting for him at the gate of a rookery some way off,
and Mr. Parnell smiled as he said: "The lady will not see you," in
such a gently sarcastic manner that Mr. ---- was nettled, and picking
up the revolver shot so wildly that he missed the little target
altogether.

I said: "Mr. ---- _can_ shoot, really, Mr. Parnell, as I told you,
but he is nervous!" So Mr. ---- went on, making shot after shot with
varying success till {209} Mrs. ---- appeared on the scene dressed in
her best and Sunday virtue, which was resplendent in Eltham.  She
gazed with pain upon Mr. ----, who, to appear at ease, entered into a
discussion of revolver patterns with Mr. Parnell.  I talked
cheerfully to her for a few moments, and introduced Mr. Parnell,
which gratified her immensely, and the two went off happy, but so
conscious of the enormity of having given countenance to such
desecration of the Sabbath, in Sunday shooting, that we knew we were
safe from their perhaps inconvenient chatter.

Mr. Parnell was always interested in cricket, and I had a private
pitch laid out for him at Eltham in a two-acre field.  As a young man
he had been an enthusiast, and the captain of his eleven.  He never
went to matches, however, after he entered Parliament.

He talked to me much about Avondale.  He loved the place, and was
never tired of planning the alterations and improvements he meant to
make in the old house when we could marry.  He often went over to
Ireland expressly to see how things were going there, but after 1880
he could never stay even a few days there in peace.  The
after-effects of the awful famine, in such terrible cases of poverty
and woe as were brought to his notice the moment he arrived in his
old home, made it impossible for him to remain there at all.  No one
man could deal charitably with all these poor people and live, and as
time went on Mr. Parnell's visits became necessarily shorter, for the
demands were so many, and the poverty so great, that he could not
carry the burden and continue the political life necessary to their
alleviation.  He told me that he despaired of ever having a penny in
his pocket when he took me there, as he always hoped to do.

He was very fond of the old woman he kept at {210} Avondale in charge
of the house, and who attended to his few needs when he was there;
and whenever he went there he would get me to go to Fortnum and
Mason's to buy a pound of their 4s. a pound tea for the old dame, who
much appreciated this delicious tea, though she of course stewed it
into poison before drinking it.

This old servant of his had the most curious ideas on "first aid to
the injured," and when on one occasion Mr. Parnell had his hand
crushed in some machinery at his Arklow quarries, she dressed the
injured fingers with cobwebs from the cellar walls.  To my
astonishment he asked for cobwebs at Eltham once, when he had cut his
finger, to "wrap it in."  My children, with delighted interest,
produced cobwebs (and spiders) from the cellar, and I had the
greatest difficulty in preventing a "cure" so likely to produce
blood-poisoning.  He accepted the peasant lore of Ireland with the
simplicity of a child, and I still remember his doubtful "Is that
so?" when I told him it was most dangerous to put anything so dusty
as a cobweb on an open wound.  "Susan Gaffney said cobwebs would stop
the poison.  They all do it," meaning the peasants.

On August 16th, 1882, he was presented with the freedom of the City
of Dublin.  He wished to avoid a public demonstration, but the
Corporation insisted on making the most of the occasion.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _Saturday, August_ 20, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--Your two letters have given me the greatest
    pleasure, and I am so much obliged to Wifie for the trouble she
    has taken about the request I made to her.

    The two D.'s[1] have quarrelled with, me because I won't {211}
    allow any further expenditure by the ladies and because I have
    made arrangements to make the payments myself for the future.
    They were in hopes of creating a party against me in the country
    by distributing the funds amongst their own creatures and are
    proportionately disappointed.

    I hope to have everything settled by Tuesday evening so as to
    enable me to leave town then, and after a week in the country
    propose to return to Wifie.

    YOUR OWN HUSBAND.



In October, 1882, was founded the National League, which was to fill
the gap caused by the suppression of the Land League.  A Convention
had been called for the 17th of the month.



  _October_ 10, 1882.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--I hope to be able to start for London on
    Thursday evening.

    The doctor says it was an attack of dysenterical diarrhoea, but
    not of a severe character, and very little fever.  It is now
    quite over.  He says my stomach must have been getting out of
    order for some time.

    I hope Wifie has been taking good care of herself, and that she
    has not been alarmed.

    Her husband will go right back to her, and will not return to
    Avondale for the shooting.

    With ever so much love, my own Queenie,

    YOUR LOVING HUSBAND.



  _Friday evening, October_ 14, 1882.

    My OWN DARLING WIFIE,--I have been so longing to be with you
    during all these dreary hours, still more dreary as they have
    been made by the knowledge that Wifie has been unhappy and
    anxious all the time.  Her letters came to me quite safely and
    were a great pleasure, and I want some more.  On Tuesday or
    Wednesday, I forget which, I left my room for the first time and
    caught a slight cold, which threw me back somewhat, but I have
    more than regained my lost ground to-day, and am to leave my room
    again to-morrow, and if I {212} don't over-eat myself or catch
    cold again, shall go on all right.

    The Conference will most probably last two days, but I hope to be
    able to leave on Wednesday, or at latest on Thursday evening, to
    be with my Queenie until the end of the Session.

    Do please write me a nice letter, my darling.

    YOUR OWN HUSBAND.



  _October_ 17.

    MY DEAREST WIFIE,--I have arrived all right, and got through the
    first day of the Convention successfully.

    You will be glad to hear that the telegrams which I missed were
    of no importance, and I received them this morning unopened, as
    well as yours also unopened.

    With best love to my own Katie.



The Convention duly met, Parnell presiding, and the National League
was formed, with Home Rule and peasant proprietorship as the two main
articles of its creed.



  _Sunday._

    MY OWN DARLING WIFIE,--I have been so delighted to receive both
    your letters quite safely; you have no idea how much I long for a
    letter or a wire from you, and how frightened and nervous I feel
    when, as sometimes happens, a whole day goes by without any news.

    I was very much afraid that my little wife would not have
    approved of all my speech, and so much relieved to find that you
    did not scold me.

    Has anything been done about the monument yet?  I hope there will
    not be any hitch.

    Am trying to get together a meeting of directors in Dublin for
    next Saturday, which I can take on my way back to you, and which
    I trust may afford the desired relief.  I have been doing a good
    deal of healthy and necessary work since my arrival here, out
    riding or driving in the open air all day long.  I ride a horse
    called Tory, a splendid thoroughbred of my sister's, though he
    has now seen his best days.  He goes just {213} like an
    india-rubber ball.  I have been very successful in that part of
    the business which I came over for that I have been able to
    attend to thus far; having already discovered several quarries on
    my own land, much nearer to the railway station than the one we
    are working on, and for which we have to pay a heavy royalty.  I
    have every confidence that one and all of them will be found
    suitable upon trial.  Kerr is rather a duffer about anything
    except book-keeping.  He ought to have found these out for
    himself long since, as I gave him the clue when leaving here last
    September.

    My brother-in-law's funeral takes place to-morrow.  I am going in
    a closed carriage, and shall be careful not to expose myself or
    stand about in the churchyard.

    I am certain of being able to finish up everything here so as to
    leave Ireland on Saturday or Sunday at the latest, and shall soon
    have my only and best treasure in my arms again.

    YOUR LOVING KING AND HUSBAND.

    I shall be in Dublin on Tuesday evening, and shall sleep at
    Morrison's that night, returning here next day.



From these quarries at Arklow Parnell supplied the Dublin Corporation
with "setts" for many of the streets in Dublin.  These setts
(granite, pavement kerbing) were not turned out quickly enough by his
men at first, so he tried the experiment of giving the men a share in
the profits, and this he found answered well in keeping the supply up
to the demand of the corporation.

Some of the polished granite work turned out by his men was
beautiful, and a heavy granite garden vase and a Celtic cross
appeared in the London (Irish) Exhibition and also in the Cork
Exhibition.

1882-83 was a very anxious time for me, and the nervous tension
caused by the agitation in the political world and the continual
threatenings of violence, intrigue, and physical force, made
privately to Parnell, against him and others, was so great that, by
the end of '83, if I had not {214} had my lover's health to care for
I should myself have broken down altogether.  As it was, there were
days when the slightest sound or movement was an agony to me in the
throes of neuralgia brought on by the overstrain of the nerves.  But
for his sake I concealed my misery of pain as well as I could, and in
so doing won back a measure of health for myself, which would perhaps
have been lost to me had I been able to give way to my "nerves."

During this time I attended the sittings of the House as often as I
was able, going up to town as soon as I could leave my aunt for the
night, so that I might hear Parnell if he spoke, and in any case
drive home with him.  We always drove home in a hansom cab, as we
both loved the cool of the night or of the early morning air.

During these anxious days I did not let Parnell have one-half of the
threatening and other worrying letters he received.  He brought me
his letters and parcels from the House, and from a London address he
had, to be sorted out.  I gave him those for his secretary's
answering, any personal ones I thought he would wish to see, and just
as many "threats" as I thought would make him a little careful of
himself for my sake.  The bulk of the "warnings," threats of murder,
and invitations to murder I kept to myself, fearing that he would
worry himself on my account and object to my continual "shadowing" of
him, which I considered his chief protection.  He always carried a
revolver in his pocket during this time, and insisted on my being
similarly provided when I drove home with him at night.

These precautions may appear fantastic in these later sober times,
but they were very necessary during that time of lawlessness and
unrest in Ireland, when the prophecy made by Parnell to me ere he
finally decided to leave {215} Kilmainham on the Treaty had become
fact: "If I turn to the Government I turn away from them--and then?"

The force of his personality was carrying him through the seething of
the baffled hatred he would not use, but not without a danger so real
and so acute that many a time I was tempted to throw his honour to
the winds and implore from the Government the protection he would
have died rather than ask for himself.  But I held on to the end till
the sheer force of his dauntless courage and proud will broke down
the secret intrigue of spleen that, held by him back from England's
governance, would have revenged itself upon the holding hand, had it
dared.

There was a lonely part of the road between London and Eltham after
going through Lee, over a common where, to the right, was a deep
ditch, and, beyond, the land of (the late) Mr. Blenkiorn, breeder of
racehorses.  There were no houses near in those days, and on
moonlight nights we could see a long way on each side of a rather
desolate bit of country.  The moon which gave light also gave
shadows, and more than once from some way off we saw the shadow of a
man running behind the hedge on the way we had to pass.  I always
took the side of the hansom near the park, as I thought it would
conceal to some degree the fact of Parnell's being there.  I knew,
too, that the fact of my being a woman was still some little
protection, but I took the precaution of telling the driver to drive
quickly and not stop for anyone at any lonely point in the road.
Once, to my horror, when we were nearly over the common, I saw a man
rise from the ditch and the glint of steel in the moonlight.  The man
driving saw it, too, and, with a lurch that threw us forward in the
cab, he lashed his horse into a gallop.  I could just see that the
man threw up his arms as he staggered {216} backwards into the ditch
and a shot rang out; but nothing dreadful had happened after all.
The man had obviously slipped as he sprang up the bank, and, in
throwing up his arms to recover his balance, his pistol had gone
off--for neither of ours had been discharged.  So this exciting drive
had no more serious consequences than the rather heavy price of the
cabman's putting up in the village till day brought him renewed
confidence in the safety of the London road.

Sometimes after a late sitting Parnell and I would get some coffee at
the early coffee stalls for workmen on the way from London.  In the
early morning half-light, when the day was just beginning to break,
we loved to watch drowsy London rubbing the sleep from her eyes,
hastening her labouring sons upon their way to ease the later waking
of their luxurious brothers.  Parnell was always interested in manual
labourers; he loved to watch them at work, and he liked to talk to
them of their work and of their homes.  A man with a hammer or a
pick-axe was almost an irresistible attraction to him, and he would
often get me to stand and watch the men engaged on a road or harbour
work.

About this time (it was in 1883) Mr. (afterwards Sir) Howard Vincent,
head of the Detective Department of Scotland Yard, sent a note to the
House of Commons asking Parnell to see him for a few minutes, as he
had an important communication to make to him.  Parnell was just
going to speak, so he brought me the note up to the Ladies' Gallery,
and, hastily putting it into my hand, said: "See to this for me."

It was a morning sitting, and I hurried off to Scotland Yard hoping
to get back in time to hear Parnell speak, and yet anxious to hear
what the note meant.  I was shown {217} into Sir Howard Vincent's
private room directly I arrived, and he expressed great pleasure, as
well as great surprise, at seeing me.  I showed him his note to
Parnell, and asked him to what it referred.  He answered that the
"officials" all considered the matter serious, and that the
Government were prepared to give Mr. Parnell protection if he wished
it.

I told him that Mr. Parnell would, I was sure, not like that at all,
and, after a long conversation of no particular definiteness, Sir
Howard said: "I do not think you believe in this particular threat
against Mr. Parnell, do you, Mrs. O'Shea?"

I replied: "Well, it does seem rather like a hoax to me.  Would you
mind letting me see the 'letter of warning'?"  He laughed and said:
"Not at all, but I've torn it up and flung it into the waste-paper
basket."

I promptly picked up the basket in question and turned it over on his
table, saying: "Let us piece it together."  He pretended to help me
for a few moments, as I neatly put together various uninteresting
documents, and then, with a deprecating smile, swept them all
together, saying: "It is your game, Mrs. O'Shea; you are too clever.
Why didn't you send Mr. Parnell round?" and we parted with laughing
expressions of goodwill and amusement on his part that we had not
been taken in.

The Government, of course, were bent on forcing "police protection"
on Parnell as a convenience to themselves and a means of ascertaining
the extent of his influence over the Invincibles.  The Government did
not trust Parnell, and they wished to frighten him into care of
himself and thus weaken the trust of the Irish in him.

One evening in 1882 or 1883, when Parnell and I were waiting at
Brighton station to catch the train to London, {218} we noticed that
there was much crowding round the book-stall placards and much
excitement among buyers of newspapers.  Parnell did not wish to be
recognized, as he was supposed at that time to be in Ireland; but,
hearing Gladstone's name mentioned by a passer-by, our curiosity got
the better of our caution and we went to get a paper.  Parnell, being
so tall a man, could see over the heads of the crowd, and, reading
the placard, turned back without getting a paper to tell me that the
excitement was over the report of "the assassination of Mr. Parnell."
I then asked him to get into the train so that we should run no risk
of his being known, and managed to get through the crowd to buy a
paper myself.  How the report arose we never knew, but at that time,
when every post brought Parnell some threat of violence and my nerves
were jarred and tense with daily fear for him, it took all my
fortitude to answer his smile and joke at the unfounded report which
left me sick and shaken.



[1] Dillon and Davitt.



{219}

CHAPTER XXI

A WINTER OF MEMORIES

  "_Feeling is deep and still, and the word that floats on the surface
  Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden._"
                                                          --LONGFELLOW.


Mr. Forster made his notorious attack upon Mr. Parnell in February,
1883, accusing him of encouraging and conniving at murder, outrage,
and treachery.  On his return home Parnell showed, as he would not
deign to show in the House, a fierce joy in the false move of his
enemies and the scorn and contempt of the lack of control which could
lead a politician of Forster's experience into such a _faux pas_ as
this personal attack on him.  Here, then, he had what he wanted; in
this attack was the repudiation of those charges, made by the
"extremists" in Ireland and America, of pandering to the
Government--made by them ever since he left Kilmainham on the
Treaty--here was another cord to bind the Nationalist forces together
without in any way repudiating that Treaty.  Here was a fresh weapon
given into his hand by an ex-Government official who could not govern
his personal spleen by political intelligence.

"No," he said to me, when I asked him if he did not mean to answer
Forster at all, "I shall not answer.  I shall let him hang himself
with his own rope."

But the Party would not have this, and urged him so strongly that he
did--not answer--but show his contempt of the whole thing and of the
English politicians who had played their hand so badly.  He said to
me before he started {220} for the House: "By the judgment of the
Irish people only do I, and will I, stand or fall," and this he
repeated in the House.

The astonishment of the House was unbounded.  It had been prepared
for anything but this scornful repudiation of the right of the
English to judge him--for a downright denial of the charges made, for
a skilful fencing with the arguments.  The speech of Parnell was a
challenge to war.  Impassive as ever, betraying no slightest sign of
emotion, he tore up the accusations and threw them scornfully in the
face of his accuser.[1]

Some time afterwards, in an interview I had with him, Mr. Gladstone
referred to this declaration of Parnell's--that he would stand or
fall only by the judgment of the Irish people.

He said: "You know Mr. Parnell's inmost feelings better than others;
does this truly represent his mind, Mrs. O'Shea?"

I answered, as I could truly do: "Yes, Mr. Gladstone, that is his
only and absolute ideal.  I may say Ireland's is the only voice he
regards as having any authority over him in the whole world."

"Yet Mr. Parnell is so much an Englishman in his coldness and
reserve?"

"He is a paradox, Mr. Gladstone, the enigma of genius herself, a
volcano capped with snow.  Englishman himself, at least he is
descended from Englishmen, he hates England and the English and does
not understand them; he loves Ireland and her people through and
through, {221} understands them absolutely, and is in nature as apart
and aloof from the Irish nature as you are yourself."

The hard, flint-like eyes softened a little in the eagle face as the
G.O.M. answered with a little sigh: "I have much sympathy with his
ambitions for Ireland, Mrs. O'Shea.  His is a curious personality;
you are right, I think--yes, a paradox indeed, but a wonderful man!"

At the end of June, 1883, Parnell went over to conduct Mr. Healy's
election at Monaghan (an Ulster stronghold), for which division he
was returned a month after he had quitted Richmond Prison.

He immediately afterwards (on July 4) attended the Cork banquet given
in his honour.  He wrote the following letter to me to allay the
fears I had expressed in regard to certain political actions which he
here repudiates and which had reached my ears from other sources:--



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _Tuesday night._

    When I received your note I at once determined to go over to you
    to-morrow morning and to give up my engagement to speak at the
    Cork banquet to-morrow night, as I knew my own was very much
    troubled about something, and felt sure that I could comfort and
    reassure her.  I have since been besieged the whole evening by
    entreaties and threats not to throw over Cork, and it has been
    represented to me, and with truth, that half the result of the
    Monaghan victory will be lost if I leave Cork to the Whigs and my
    enemies.  I have been very much perplexed and dragged in
    different ways, but have at this hour (2 a.m.) made up my mind to
    ask my own Wifie to suspend her judgment for another twenty-four
    hours about whatever is tormenting her, to place some little
    confidence in her husband's honour and fidelity for that short
    time, and to believe that he now swears to her, and that he will
    repeat the same oath to her on Thursday evening, that whatever
    statement has been made about him which is calculated to {222}
    lower him in his wife's opinion in the slightest degree is a foul
    lie.

    I feel that I can ask this of my own Wifie, and that she will not
    withdraw her confidence and love from her own husband until he
    can return and defend himself.

    I shall leave for Cork by to-morrow morning's train at nine
    o'clock, speak at banquet, and return by night mail the same day
    to Dublin, and be in time to leave Dublin by mail train for
    London on Thursday morning.  Let me know at Palace Chambers where
    I shall see you on Thursday evening.

    Trust your husband, and do not credit any slander of him.



  AVONDALE, RATHDRUM,
    2 _a.m., July_ 4, 1883.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I seize a vacant moment to write you a few
    words, as it does not look as if Irish affairs would permit me to
    see you for some time longer.  Perhaps even a week or ten days
    may pass by before I can see Eltham again.  I also wish you to
    forward enclosed to Captain O'Shea, as I have not got his address.

    I have had several conversations with Fr. White, who is a very
    superior man, and has impressed me very much.

    I intend to make it my first business to look up West Clare, and
    trust that Captain O'Shea may be able to meet me there.--With
    best regards, yours always sincerely,

    C. S. PARNELL.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _Tuesday._

    MY DEAREST WIFIE,--Your letters received, and always give me the
    greatest happiness to read.

    Please continue writing.  I will make arrangements to have them
    kept out of sight here.

    Shall see him[2] Wednesday evening or Thursday morning, and do
    what I can.  I fear his position in Clare is irretrievable.--With
    best love, YOUR HUSBAND.



{223}


  AVONDALE,
    _Sunday._

MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Will you kindly direct, enclose, and post
enclosed.

Many thanks for your letter, also for two from Captain O'Shea, which
I will reply to shortly.--Believe me, in haste, yours very truly,
CHAS. S. PARNELL.


Just before Christmas in 1883 I took a furnished house in Brighton
for three months for my children.  I had arranged to go into a house
in Second Avenue, which both Parnell and I liked, but Willie came
down and insisted on my taking one facing the sea in Medina Terrace;
so I (with difficulty) got out of my former agreement, and certainly
the house Willie chose was very much pleasanter, owing to its close
proximity to the sea.

Willie undertook to stay here to be with the children while I went
back to my aunt (coming myself to Brighton for one or two days in the
week).

Willie asked Parnell to come and stay.  He did so, and Willie and he
discussed the Local Government Bill at all hours, as Parnell wished
to find out what the views of Mr. Chamberlain and the Tories
were--better ascertainable by Willie than others.

I went back to my aunt for Christmas Eve.  It was bitterly cold, and
as the old lady never cared for festivities, she was soon glad to
shut herself up in her warm house and "forget in slumber the foolish
junketings I permit in my domestics, my love."

There was snow that Christmas, very deep at Eltham; and Parnell, who
had joined me there, walked round the snowy paths of my aunt's place
with me in the moonlight.  Now and then he moved with me into the
shadow of the trees as a few lads and men, with the inevitable cornet
and {224} trombone of a village "band," plunged through the drifts on
their short cut to the old house.  There they sang Christmas carols
to their hearts' content, knowing they were earning their yearly
bonus, to be presented with a polite message of her "distaste" for
carol singing by "Mrs. Ben's" (as she was affectionately called in
the village) man-servant the next morning.

Parnell and I enjoyed that pacing up and down the wide terrace in the
snowy moonlight.  The snow had drifted up against the old urns and
the long, low balustrade that divided the north and south lawns; and
the great shadows of the beech trees looked unfamiliar and
mysterious--pierced here and there, where the blanket covering of
snow had dropped off, by the cold glitter of moonlight on the
whiteness.

Right away to the south lay the "Chase," leading away to Chislehurst,
wide, cold, and lonely in the moonlight, and I told Parnell that the
cloud shadows that flitted over the glistening whiteness were the
phantoms of the hunters of King John's time, who used to hunt over
this ground, renewing their sport in the moonlight.

Parnell loved to hear these little imaginations, and I loved to tell
them to him for the sake of seeing the grave smile come, and of
hearing the naïve "Is that so?" of his appreciation.

We walked up and down in the moonlight till the carols died away, and
we heard the church clocks strike twelve.  Then we stood together to
listen to the Christmas bells sound clear and sharp from many
villages on the frosty air, while Parnell again spoke to me of his
belief that the soul after death resumed life in the planet under
whose influence it was born.  He spoke of his belief in a personal
destiny and fate, against which it was useless {225} for mortals to
contend or fight, and how he believed that certain souls had to meet
and become one, till in death the second planet life parted them
until the sheer longing for one another brought them together again
in after ages.[3]

I said, "But it seems so lonely like that!" and he answered, "It is
lonely; that is why I am so afraid always of death, and why I hope
with every bit of me that we shall die together."

The next day I went to Brighton to see the children for Christmas,
and in the New Year Willie went to Ireland, returning to Brighton to
stay with the children for a short time before they came home in
February and he went to Lisbon.

The following telegrams and letters show the development of affairs
during the course of this year:--


(Telegrams.)


    _Feb._ 29, 1884.

    (Handed in at the House of Commons Office.)

    _From_ PARNELL.

    _To_ MRS. O'SHEA, ELTHAM, KENT.

    Thanks.  Happy to accept your invitation to dinner this evening
    for seven o'clock.


    _May_ 30, 1884.

    _From_ PARNELL, AVONDALE.

    _To_ MRS. O'SHEA, ELTHAM.

    Captain and I arrived safely.



(Willie went to stay at Avondale for a couple of days.--K. P.)

{226}


    _May_ 31, 1884.

    (Rathdrum Office.)

    _From_ PARNELL.

    _To_ MRS. O'SHEA, ELTHAM.

    Captain leaves here to-morrow (Sunday) morning, and leaves
    Kingstown to-morrow evening.



  DUBLIN,
    _Sept._ 10.

    Willie is looking very well indeed, in fact much better than I
    have ever seen him before.

    I hope soon to be through pressing business here and in country,
    and to be able to leave on Saturday.--Yours, C. S. P.



    _Friday, Oct._ 28, 1884.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I shall be at Dover for a few days longer,
    and afterwards propose visiting the Netherlands and returning
    through Paris.  If I thought that Captain O'Shea would soon be in
    England I should wait for him, but if not should take my chance
    of meeting him in Paris on my return.

    My stay in the Netherlands will not exceed three days, but I
    shall remain in Paris for at least a similar period.  I say "the
    Netherlands" because I don't yet know whether I shall have to go
    to Holland or Belgium or both.  Kindly let me have a line or wire
    to former address.--Always yours,

    CHAS. S. PARNELL.


I was ill at the time the following letters were written, and Captain
O'Shea was coming to Eltham a good deal.


    ELTHAM, 1884.

    Should have come sooner, but could not get away.  There was an
    explosion of a bomb at the Home Office just before I left; it
    blew down a large piece of the front wall and did a great deal of
    damage, they say.

    I will not go near the hotel to-night if I see a crowd there,
    {227} and will leave early in the morning and come down here to
    breakfast.



  ELTHAM,
    _Friday,_ 4 p.m.

    I came down here late last night and was immensely relieved to
    hear that you were better.

    I slept very comfortably here last night, and had an excellent
    breakfast this morning, which Phyllis brought me.

    Am now going up to London to settle the report of Labourers'
    Committee, which had not time to attend to yesterday, and hope to
    be back about eleven o'clock.--Yours, C. S. P.



    ELTHAM.

    Do you think I had best wait here or go up to London and wait for
    a telegram from you?

    We finished our committee yesterday, so if he[4] goes early I
    could return perhaps early enough to see you this evening for a
    few minutes.

    I felt very much relieved by your letter last night.  However, it
    is evident you must take great care.

    If you think I had best not wait, will you telegraph?  Otherwise
    see me later, when I will wait.--Yours.



    ELTHAM.

    Many thanks for kind note.

    I am going to London now, and hope to return reasonably early, as
    the debate is not likely to last long.  I do not feel the cold at
    all.

    There ought to be no difficulty in my seeing you to-morrow, and I
    will manage it.

    I do not like your having a headache, and you must really take
    care of yourself and not get up too soon.--Yours always.


    I am obliged to go up early to attend Labourers' Committee, which
    meets at eleven to-day to consider its final report.

    Please send me telegram to House if you can, as I ought to be
    able to return early this evening.

    Phyllis is looking after me first rate.--Yours.



{228}

Parnell was always unselfish and most considerate when I was ill, and
once when I was very weak after an illness of some duration he
returned home to Eltham in broad daylight in a hansom cab,
triumphantly supporting one end of a large couch, the other end of
which spread its upholstered length over the roof.  This invalid's
chair he with the help of my maids, arranged in my sitting-room,
adjusting its complicated "rests" with earnest abstraction, after
which he led the procession up to my room, and in spite of my amused
protests carried me down and placed me on the couch amid cushions and
shawls, and spent a happy evening in "watching me" as I lay
comfortably on my new possession.

In 1884 we ran down to Hastings for a few days in the middle of the
Session, when my aunt's old friend came to stay with her and gave me
freedom.  Parnell delighted in these sudden "run-away" visits to the
sea when the House was in full swing of business, and said they
braced and freshened him up more than anything else could do.  We
stayed at the Queen's Hotel, and Parnell revelled in the sudden
freedom from politics--casting all thought and care from him as we
walked by the sea and gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of the fresh
salt air.

He was hugely pleased, on going into a shop in Robertson Street for
notepaper, to find some embossed with the monogram "K.P." in blue and
gold.  He declared it was a good omen, and bought me more boxes of it
than I could use for many years.  He also bought me a little red
diary, after long and earnest efforts in selection.  Red he did not
like much, as he said it was the sanguinary hue of English
oppression; but diaries can apparently only be bound in red, green,
or purple, and purple was the {229} colour of sorrow, and green the
most painful expression of all ill-luck!

This diary was to make up to me for my natural indignation at,
nearly, his first act on returning to me from some absence.  He had
gone over to the fire and caught sight of my diary, bound in green,
that I had inadvertently left on the mantelpiece.  With an
exclamation of horror he had thrown it straight into the fire,
holding me back from the rescue I struggled to attempt, and only
replying to my indignant protests that he was sorry if the contents
were really so valuable as I said, but anything between green covers
was better burnt!

In these short visits to the seaside we always looked about for a
house that Parnell could buy later on, but as he always kept a
regretful eye upon Brighton, where it was inexpedient that we should
be seen much together, we never really settled on one for purchase,
though he rented one in Eastbourne with that idea, only to discover
that a brother of his was living there.  When we had a few hours to
spare we had very happy times hunting round Sussex in the
neighbourhood of Brighton (Brighton air did him so much good), hoping
to find a suitable country house, but the train service was always a
difficulty, except in the town itself.



[1] "The time will come," said Parnell in this speech, "when this
House and the people of this country will admit that they have been
deceived, and that they have been cheered by those who ought to be
ashamed of themselves, that they have been led astray as to the right
mode of governing a noble, a brave, a generous and an impulsive
people."

[2] Captain O'Shea.

[3] On the day of Parnell's death, October 6, 1891, a new planet was
discovered.

[4] Captain O'Shea.



{230}

CHAPTER XXII

HORSES AND DOGS

"_Amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the
dog, has made an alliance with us._"--MAURICE MAETERLINCK.


In 1885 I had a new room built on to my house at Eltham, adjoining my
sitting-room and leading into the greenhouse, and thence to the
garden.  Parnell and I took the greatest interest in the building of
this room; he superintended every detail, saw that the cement was
laid to the proper depth under the flooring, and sent to Avondale for
sufficient sweet-chestnut wood to have the room panelled half-way up
and to make beautiful, heavy double-doors, window settings and the
mantelpiece and fittings.  It was a very comfortable and warm room
when finished, and, to celebrate its completion--it was to be
Parnell's own study and workroom--I photographed him in it, sitting
in his own special easy chair, surrounded by his assaying
paraphernalia and holding his pestle and mortar.  This photograph was
published years ago without permission or acknowledgment by one or
other of two persons to whom I had given it, after my husband's
death, as a very private and special memento of him.  It hurt me much
when I first knew of it--but people do these things.

Early in 1885 Parnell bought a new horse in Ireland which he arranged
to bring to England, and subsequently brought others over.  The two
letters which follow refer to these matters, and were written to me
in case the horses {231} should be noticed arriving in Eltham and the
fact reported to Captain O'Shea.



  AVONDALE,
    _January_ 14, 1885.

    MY OWN QUEENIE,--A word to say that your promised letter has not
    yet reached me, and I suppose it may turn up to-morrow.  The
    parcel came safely to Dublin, and the hamper here.  Mary and I
    unpacked it with fear and trembling, lest there should have been
    no tea and sugar, as I had forgotten to say anything to you about
    them; but they were all right.

    The new horse is very quiet and a very fine one; strong and short
    legs, with plenty of bone, a splendid fore-quarter, and a good
    turn of speed.  I suppose I may bring him back with me.  The
    telegram I sent you on Day of Convention was found late at night
    posted in a letter box, and was returned to bearer, who never
    said anything to me about it, otherwise you would have heard
    result about six o'clock.--With best love to my little wife, YOUR
    KING.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN.
    _February_ 3, 1885.

    MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I have sent two horses to London to-day
    (Euston) and should feel very much obliged if you would allow
    them to stand in your stables for a few days, until I can make
    other arrangements.

    They will reach Euston about 1 p.m. to-morrow.  Could you find
    two careful men to meet them?  One saddle is gone with the
    horses, so another saddle would be necessary.  They should be
    walked carefully through London, as one of them specially is very
    shy and unused to town.

    I am going over to Liverpool to-night.  I enclose order for the
    horses.---Yours very truly, CHAS. S. PARNELL.



Parnell rented some stables fairly near my house for his horses, and
took much interest in their welfare.  He was not a man who had very
much knowledge of horses, but he was a fine horseman, and on his
hunter President, a beautiful horse of sixteen hands and a
weight-carrier, {232} he looked remarkably well.  He took a
scientific interest in the shoeing of the horses and, to the great
annoyance of his grooms, would constantly try new methods of shoeing
in order to deaden the "jar" of the contact of the road.  This trial
of new methods proved a boon to my horse Dictator--given me by
Parnell--for the tenderness of his feet was completely cured when
Parnell, dead against the conservative ideas of my stableman,
insisted on his having leathers inserted between Dictator's foot and
shoe.

This horse Dictator was a great pleasure to us, though he pulled
rather badly.  He was very fast and extraordinarily sure-footed,
keeping his feet in the worst frost, even when driven on the slippery
London paving in hard night frosts.  He would trot away to London in
much less time than Parnell could get there by any other means.
Parnell did not drive well, leaving the reins slack upon the horse's
back, so that he had no control over it in any emergency.  My
nervousness in this was so great that he very good-naturedly left all
the driving to me, saying: "Well, that's how the jarveys drive in
Ireland!" in answer to my plaintive "I've never seen anyone drive
like that."

President was a very solid horse, in mind as well as in body, and
once when Parnell had ridden him up to New Cross in a frost President
sat down violently and was so impressed with the safety of his
position that he refused to get up again until Parnell--who was of
immense muscular strength--with the help of a couple of stalwart
policemen, literally lifted him to his feet.

Parnell then went into an adjacent saddler's shop to buy a "rubber"
to give President a rub down and, finding a rather original make of
pocket-book on the counter, with beautifully-sewn leather covers,
became so immersed in the selection of one for me that at length an
irate policeman {233} looked in to order him to remove his horse at
once, as it was causing "an obstruction!"  Parnell, recalled to the
problem of how to get President and himself to Westminster Bridge,
where his servant was waiting to take the horse, proceeded to rub him
down while considering the matter, thereby delighting the crowd of
onlookers.

The policeman besought him to "get on the 'orse, sir, and ride hoff,"
before the whole street got "'eld hup," but Parnell gently declined,
as he knew that President had now no chance of keeping his feet on
the ice-coated pavement.  After fully considering the matter he found
the chief thing was to get himself out of the crowd as quickly as
possible, and, slipping a little comfort into the constable's hand,
he ordered him to put the horse up at the nearest stables and drove
off, ignoring all queries and protests.

He sent me a telegram from the House to assure me of his safe
arrival, but forgot all about his waiting servant, who, after some
hours, not daring to return home, telegraphed to me to know what he
was to do, as his master had not arrived.  The whole thing amused
Parnell intensely, but unfortunately he had given the policeman the
name of Prescott, and, in absence of mind, sent his groom the next
day to find and bring back the horse of "Mr. Stewart."  It was a most
expensive trial of President's utility.  The pocket-book I still use
daily, and prize very highly; it is as perfect, though much worn, as
when he bought it, some twenty-six years ago.

After my old collie Elfie died, Parnell offered to get me another
dog, and, as I wanted an Irish wolf-hound, he and I went to see one
that was advertised for sale.  It was a magnificent animal, but we
had much doubt as to {234} its true breed, and decided that Mr.
Parnell should not buy it.

He then suggested bringing me an Irish setter the next time he went
to Ireland, and, as the idea pleased me, he brought a half-grown
setter given him by Mr. Corbett, M.P., who said this dog, Grouse, was
the very best he had ever had.  Grouse became at once the constant
companion and pleasure of his master and myself.  He was a beautiful
dog, and most faithful and affectionate.  Mr. Parnell would tease him
by pretending to be jealous when Grouse lay at my feet with his head
on my foot, and when the dog rose with the dignity that always
characterized him, and went over to Parnell, resting his head on his
knee and assuring him of his absolute devotion, I would in my turn
despair at having no dog to love me.

After a few moments of this game poor Grouse would sit exactly
between us, looking from one to the other, and whining at the
impossibility of pleasing us both at once.  Then Parnell would move
to my side on the sofa so that Grouse could rest his chin on our
clasped hands, to his great contentment.  The dog always slept in
Parnell's room, and, in his last illness, when the doctors wished to
have Grouse removed, Parnell would not allow it.

Mr. Corbett was very sad when he heard that Grouse had become a
lady's pet, as the old sportsman considered it a sin to "spoil" a gun
dog; but I think that if he had known the pleasure Grouse gave "the
Chief" he would have been glad that the dog should have exchanged the
Wicklow Mountains for the hated Saxon's home.  Parnell took Grouse
over for the grouse-shooting one season and telegraphed to me that he
had done very well, but he soon brought him back to me.

Another dog that Parnell brought home to me from {235} Ireland was a
mongrel Irish terrier that he had found wandering in the streets of
Killaloe.  He had been dreadfully starved and ill-used, and was quite
savage when handed over to me at Brighton with muzzle and chain on,
but with kindness and good feeding he soon became as devoted to us as
Grouse was, and with him used thoroughly to enjoy following Parnell
when he rode over the Downs for his daily exercise.

After we went to Brighton Parnell would give the dogs a swim in the
sea every day, and Grouse's strong swimming was a great delight to
his master.  Pincher, the terrier, was the cause of much anxiety, as
he used to swim right out to sea--so far that we lost sight of the
little dark head--and Parnell had very often to get a boat out and
fetch the exhausted little beast back.  This little dog lived for
many years after his master's death (Grouse only two years), but he
would never allow another man to touch him without trying to bite
him.  He was fond of Parnell, but always on guard with other men,
though quite good-tempered with women.  Parnell used to say that
Pincher must have been so badly treated by some man that he had
learned distrust of all males.  Many a time he came home from his
rides with rueful amusement at the exaggerated value placed upon
their legs by shepherds or labourers he had met on the Downs who had
been bitten by Pincher with a careless indiscrimination that at last
earned him a muzzle.

Parnell also brought to Eltham a very old setter, Ranger.  He had
been a splendid dog, and now his limbs were too feeble to follow his
faithful heart in his master's sport.  So Mr. Parnell took pity on
him, and asked Mr. Corbett to let him have the dog for a lady who
would care for his old age, and Ranger came to us, spending the {236}
evening of his life in basking on the sunny lawn at Eltham, wagging a
dignified tail of appreciation and greeting to those of us he met on
his stiff walks about the place or dreaming his doggie dreams of the
sport of the past, happy and cared for till he died.

* * * * * *

The following letter was sent to _United Ireland_ on April 11, 1885,
in regard to the proposed visit of the Prince of Wales to Ireland:--



    You ask for my views regarding the visit of the Prince of Wales.
    In reply, I desire to say that if the usages of the Constitution
    existed in Ireland as they do in England there would, to my
    judgment, be no inconsistency in those who believe in the limited
    monarchy as the best form of government taking a suitable part in
    the reception of the Prince.  But in view of the fact that the
    Constitution has never been administered in Ireland according to
    its spirit and precedents, that the power of the Crown as wielded
    by Earl Spencer and other Viceroys is despotic and unlimited to
    the last degree, and that in the present instance the Royal
    personage is to be used by the two English political parties in
    Ireland for the purpose of injuring and insulting the Irish
    Nationalist Party, and of impeding, if possible, their work, I
    fail to see upon what ground it can be claimed from any lover of
    constitutional government under a limited monarchy that the
    Prince is entitled to a reception from the independent and
    patriotic people of Ireland, or to any recognition save from the
    garrison of officials and landowners and place-hunters who fatten
    upon the poverty and misfortunes of the country.  Let me suggest
    a parallel.  Would it be tolerated in England for a moment if the
    Government, for their own party purposes, on the eve of a general
    election, were to use the Prince of Wales as an electioneering
    agent in any section of the country, and were to send him upon a
    Royal progress in order to embarrass their political opponents?
    The breach of constitutional privilege becomes still graver when
    we consider that it is the march of {237} a nation which is now
    sought to be impeded--the fruition of a long struggle and of many
    sacrifices which the adventitious aid of this Royal visit is
    enlisted to injure.  I have, however, every confidence that our
    people, having been suitably forewarned, will not allow their
    hospitable nature and cordial disposition to carry them into any
    attitude which might be taken as one of condonation for the past
    or satisfaction with the present state of affairs.

    CHARLES S. PARNELL.



This letter was written at Eltham, and there was a laughing battle
between us over the writing of it.  I threatened to make him hang out
"Union Jacks" from every window of Avondale if he made things
unpleasant in Ireland for the Prince, and he, in pretended horror,
wrote the above, and tossed it to me for the alterations (which I, of
course, did not make) that my "English prejudices" demanded.  But he
seriously believed that this visit of the Prince to Ireland was timed
by the advisers of his Royal Highness with singular and malicious
advertence to the State of the political situation, and he commented
most strongly upon the poverty of imagination and chivalry of a great
country such as England who could find no better use for her Prince
than that of an electioneering agent.



{238}

CHAPTER XXIII

SEASIDE HOLIDAYS

  "_Green leaves a-floating,
    Castles of the foam,
  Boats of mine a-boating,
    Where will all come home?_"
                        --STEVENSON.


In May, 1886, I took my children to the Queen's Hotel, Eastbourne,
for a change, and, after a few days spent in looking for lodgings, I
settled them in St. John's Road.  Parnell enjoyed the bathing at
Eastbourne greatly, and was much distressed that the weakness of my
heart prevented my joining him in his swims, and that boating had
most disastrous effects on me.

He was boyishly determined that I should at any rate join him in some
way in his sea "sports," and one warm May evening he insisted that if
I went into the sea fully dressed it could not hurt me.  I thought it
would at any rate be most uncomfortable, but to please him I held
tightly to his arm while we waded far out to sea till the waves came
to my shoulder and threw me off my feet.

He held me tightly, laughing aloud as the ripple of waves and wind
caught my hair and loosed it about my shoulders; and, as I grew cold
and white, my wonderful lover carried me, with all my weight of
soaked clothing, back to the shore, kissing the wet hair that the
wind twisted about his face and whispering the love that almost
frightened me in its strength.  Luckily the dusk of evening had come
down upon us, and I was able to get back {239} to the house in my wet
things, half-walking and half-carried by Parnell, without unduly
shocking Eastbourne's conventions.

As I thought I should be able to be away from my aunt, with
occasional flying visits to her, for about two months, Parnell had
two of our horses brought down to Eastbourne.  He had during that
time to go to London and Ireland, but it was on the whole a peaceful
little interlude in his strenuous political life, and we were very
happy.  He rode his horse President in the morning, and afterwards I
drove him far out into the country around Eastbourne with Dictator in
my phaeton.

We often drove out to Birling Gap--a favourite haunt of ours--and
there we selected a site for the ideal house of our dreams; a place
where one could hear nothing but the beating of the surf on the rocks
below and the wild call of the sea-birds.  He loved that place, where
we could be absolutely alone save for the coastguardsman along the
cliff, who never intruded his interesting conversation, but who was
always ready for a chat when we cared to hear his stories of the sea.

It was impossible to drive near the place, so we had to leave
Dictator and the phaeton far off on the last bit possible to drive
upon.  Parnell had an easy method of "hitching" a horse to something,
in the firm faith that he would find it there on return a few hours
later, and this made me very uneasy where my far from patient
Dictator was concerned.  Parnell would settle the horse with a feed,
in charge of his groom, well sheltered behind a hill, and take a
fantastic pleasure in observing the sulky gloom of the young man's
face after an hour or so of this isolated meditation.

Parnell had a great love of sea-storms, and when there {240} was a
gale blowing from the west, and rough weather assured, he loved to
get me out to Birling Gap to listen to the roar of the sea and the
screaming of the wind as it blew around us, nearly carrying us off
our feet.  He would tie his coat about me, and hold me firmly against
the wind as it tore about us, and while we gazed out at the raging
waves he would exclaim: "Isn't this glorious, my Queen?  Isn't it
alive?"

Our coastguardsman friend always seemed somewhat pleased to see us,
though undoubtedly he thought us odd in our amusements.  I have often
thought since that if we had built our house in that isolated
loveliness, where the sound of the sea and moan of the wind were
incessant, there would have been some truth in what was said
afterwards as to our house in Walsingham Terrace, that it was so
"terribly dreary."

On one occasion we drove to Pevensey, and, passing the station on our
return, a crowd from some local train came pouring out.  Parnell
asked me to pull up to let the crowd go by; but to his consternation
this attracted the attention of some young men in the crowd, who at
once recognized him, and, waving their hats, cried "Parnell,
Parnell!" with that horrible emphasis on the "nell" that is so
prevalent.  Parnell, lifting his hat, urged me in an agonized tone to
drive on, but it was too late.  The crowd clustered about us,
insisting on shaking hands with him, and throwing covertly interested
glances at his companion.  They would not let us go on till he had
made a little impromptu speech on current affairs, after which we
drove off amid cheers.

Parnell never swore, and "Goodness gracious!" learned from his nurse
in extreme youth, was the strongest expression he ever used, but the
dull, quiet anger such a {241} contretemps as this caused him would,
I felt, have been relieved could he have acquired the habit of
"language."  This little incident at Pevensey would lead to newspaper
paragraphs, and it was hard we could not have a few days' quiet
amusement without having it boomed through the country.  However, a
brilliant thought struck me.  If we were to be bothered by paragraphs
let them be our own!  So we drew up by the wayside, and concocted a
paragraph which told an over-interested world that "Mr. Parnell had
been staying at Hastings with his sister, and on visiting Pevensey
with her had," etc., etc.  This, forwarded to the Press Association,
left us in peace at Eastbourne to complete our little holiday.

Apropos of Parnell's "Goodness gracious," he was at first quite
unconscious of his use of the words, and it was only on Willie's
plaintive query as to why he did not d---n like other men, instead of
using "that foolish and vulgar expression," he became aware of it.
He then admitted with some amusement that he liked the homely old
expression and did not d---n merely because it never occurred to him
to do so.

On the cliffs towards Beachy Head is a house that at that time was
built but not quite finished.  Parnell took me up to see it, and
suggested that it might be a charming seaside retreat for us, even
though not the ideal we always had in our minds.  This house then had
a beautiful and wide outlook over the sea, and I liked it so much
that he arranged to take it on a three years' agreement directly it
was finished.  He wanted to have all the walls distempered instead of
papered, and we spent many hours over this and the selection of the
Minton tiles for the hall.  The details of the house interested him
greatly, and one day when the men working there had gone to dinner
Parnell {242} showed me how to lay the tiles with so much energy that
we had finished their work by the time the men returned.  He then
insisted upon my writing "Heatherbell Cottage" on a tile, which he
proceeded to inlay over the front door, earning the comment from the
men working there that he seemed to know as much about the "job" as
they did.

He then turned his attention to making a smooth lawn in our little
garden, spending hours pulling a roller up and down, while I sat on
the steps writing from his dictation "A Proposed Constitution for the
Irish and the English Peoples"--a production that excited the
greatest wrath in the minds of some of the Irish Party at a
subsequent meeting.  I do not think that the English members of
Parliament were ever made acquainted with the benefits proposed for
their consideration under this "Constitution."

This Constitution was more fun than anything else.  Parnell
undoubtedly put it before certain members of the Irish Party instead
of one drafted by his own hand.  He told me afterwards that they
looked "absolutely ill" when they saw my handwriting, so he would not
withdraw it in favour of his own--till later.

I was sitting on the doorstep of our new house one day, idly watching
Parnell build a bank that was to be turfed over to keep us from
prying eyes, when he stopped suddenly and, leaning on his spade,
said: "I am a poet!  And descended from the poet, Thomas Parnell."

"Not a poet," I answered gently, "even though descended from one."

"I am a poet myself; give me a pencil and paper."  And, throwing
himself down beside me, he wrote down the following verse proudly.
"It came to me while I was digging," he said as he tossed it over to
me, "and it is a {243} real poem, and makes me a real poet.  It's as
good as any of Tom Parnell's stuff!"

I was forced to confess that I agreed with him, as I do now, that it
was and is as good as, and better to me than, any of Thomas Parnell's
stuff, or "the stuff" of any poet who ever graced the world with
song.  This is it:--

  "The grass shall cease to grow,
  The river's stream to run,
  The stars shall ponder in their course,
  No more shall shine the sun;
  The moon shall never wane or grow,
  The tide shall cease to ebb and flow,
    Ere I shall cease to love you."
                                CHAS. PARNELL.


One evening in 1886, on his return from town, Parnell told me about
Mr. O'Brien's Plan of Campaign.  He did not approve of it, and said
that he did not wish to have anything to do with the working of it,
adding: "I shall let O'Brien run it by himself."

Parnell was looking and feeling very ill at this time, and when Mr.
O'Brien took upon himself to call at my house to see him, entirely
uninvited, Parnell was not really well enough to see him.  He was
suffering from nervous breakdown, chiefly brought on by gastric
trouble, which in its turn was produced by overwork and the strain of
political life.  All through his life Parnell was delicate.  From
1880, when I first met him (and nursed him into health) to 1891, when
he died, it was only by incessant watchfulness and care that I was
able to maintain his health at all.  It is certainly the fact that
only his indomitable will and power of mind rendered him capable of
enduring the strain of his public life and of the feats {244} of
strength that few men of far greater physique would have attempted.

It was in allusion to this illness at the time of the visit of Mr.
O'Brien that Parnell said in his speech at the Eighty Club (May 8,
1888): "I was ill, dangerously ill; it was an illness from which I
have not entirely recovered up to this day.  I was so ill that I
could not put pen to paper, or even read the newspaper.  I knew
nothing about the movement until weeks after it had started, and even
then I was so feeble that for several months--absolutely up to the
meeting of Parliament--I was positively unable to take part in any
public matter, and was scarcely able to do so for months afterwards.
But, if I had been in a position to advise, I candidly submit to you
that I should have advised against it."

Mr. O'Brien called again to see Parnell during the time he was so
ill, and he left his room for the first time to go down to the
sitting-room to see him.  They had a long talk over the Plan of
Campaign and other matters, and the interview left Parnell so
exhausted that he was very ill again for some days afterwards.

Long after he told me, "All I got for getting up to see O'Brien was
that he went about telling people that I was insane."

Mr. Parnell had been feeling low and depressed all through the summer
of this year, and towards the autumn I became very much worried about
his lassitude and general feeling of illness.  I tried different
diets without effect, and, thinking it might be better for him to go
straight to bed after "the House," I took a house in London for him
and settled him there, but he could not bear the loneliness and came
back to Eltham as usual after a few nights.  In November he became
worse, and I insisted {245} upon his consulting a doctor, suggesting
Sir Henry Thompson, as I had heard he was very clever.  I took him to
London on the afternoon of November 6, in a closed carriage, and he
was feeling so weak and nervous that he asked me to go in and see Sir
Henry first for him.  His nerves had completely broken down and I
felt terribly worried about him.  He stayed in the waiting-room while
I went into the consulting-room.  Here Sir Henry hurried in from
dinner, extremely irritable at being disturbed at such an unseemly
hour for a "Mr. Charles Stewart," whom he did not know.  "Look, look,
_look_!  Look at the clock!  What's the matter?  I have a
consultation in a few minutes!"

I was very glad that the door between the rooms was shut, as I felt
that such a reception in his state of nerves would have caused
Parnell to leave the house without waiting for an interview.  I began
to point out that "my" patient could not, in such a low state, face
such an ungenial reception.  So he permitted me to explain a little
about Mr. Stewart's ill-health, and as he was kindness itself, losing
every trace of impatience, he helped Parnell into his room, where,
after receiving a smile of assurance from Parnell, and having seen
the relief in his face, I left them together, feeling what an
inestimable blessing it was to have placed Parnell's health in such a
haven of security in so far as human skill could aid it.

The knowledge, throughout the rest of Parnell's life, of being able
to obtain Sir Henry Thompson's advice was a great comfort to this
overwrought man.

Sir Henry Thompson warned me that it was most important for Mr.
Parnell's health that his feet should be kept very warm, as his
circulation was bad.  When his feet became cold it upset his
digestion, and this so {246} disorganized his general health that he
was then laid up for several days.  I always insisted upon his
frequently changing his shoes and socks when he was at home, and gave
him a little black bag containing a change whenever he was sure to be
away for a few hours, as I found that the trouble of the frequent
changing was amply compensated for in warm feet and therefore better
health.

So curiously inquisitive were some of the Irish Party about its
contents that the little bag with the change of socks and shoes
became an obsession with them till one of them made the brilliant
discovery that "Parnell had boots and socks in it to save him from
wet feet!"  Parnell used to complain to me when he handed it over to
me that I might see by the different coloured socks that he had kept
his promise of "changing" in town, that ----'s eyes seemed to be
boring holes in the bag, and he was really thinking it would be
better to hang the other shoes and socks round his neck if he must
take them about with him!

When Parnell had to go over to Ireland he desired his secretary, Mr.
Campbell, to bring his correspondence down to me at Eastbourne in
order that I might deal with one or two matters on which he desired
immediate intelligence telegraphed to him in our private code.  He
had long since registered the telegraphic address of "Satellite" for
me that he might be able to telegraph with more privacy, and this
arrangement had proved its usefulness many times in political and
private matters.  He had himself put together the code words we used,
and insisted on my learning them by heart, to obviate the risk of any
misunderstanding in case of loss.

Most of the words used were taken from his assaying operations,
though not all, and were sent as from one {247} engineer to another
about work in hand.  In the code Willie appeared as "Tailings" and
with Middlings, Crude, Gas, Overseer, Slag, Concentrate, Deposit, and
a few other such words for Gladstone, Chamberlain, and other
politicians, our code was an excellent working medium of private
communication.

Before we took the house in Eastbourne we made a flying visit to
Bognor, but this, though in those days a pretty, fresh, little place,
was very difficult to get at, and impossible from a politician's
point of view.  We went there on a gloriously stormy day, and
thoroughly enjoyed it.  In our search for houses we even got as far
as Selsey, but when, on our going into the house we had come to see,
the caretaker carefully double-locked the door, Parnell turned with a
horrified gesture to me, and insisted upon leaving at once without
going over the house at all.  It was an omen of misfortune, he said,
and we could never be happy in such a house.

I have always thought that one of the greatest charms of Parnell's
personality was the extraordinary simplicity of his outlook on
ordinary life allied to the extremely subtle trend of his intellect.

A man of moods, he never permitted a mood to blind him to probable,
or possible, issues in political matters.  A keen judge of character,
he summed up, mentally docketed, and placed in the pigeon-hole of
memory, each and every man who came into his political vision, and
could thus at any time place, sort, and direct any pawn of the Irish
political game.  Yet in things having no political significance his
simplicity was almost absurd in its naïveté.

An amusing instance of what I mean occurred while we were at
Eastbourne in '86.  There was a boy I {248} employed about the house
at Eltham, who was growing too fast, and looked as though he would be
all the better for a little sea air.  As I was taking my own servants
down to Eastbourne I took this boy down also for a holiday, since it
made little difference as to expense.  This child was, I suppose,
about fourteen years old, and once as I sat at the window, sorting
Parnell's letters, and enjoying the morning air, I was suddenly
struck with consternation to see my protégé, Jimmie, escorted up the
road between two of Eastbourne's largest policemen.  I said to
Parnell, "Look!" and, following the direction of my horrified
forefinger, he gazed sadly out at Jimmie, and replied, "Throwing
stones, I'll wager.  _More_ paragraphs, sweetheart!  You shouldn't
have boys about."

But the large policeman insisted upon an interview with "the
gentleman," with "Mr. Stewart," and, on my having the whole party in
to hear the worst, we were informed that poor Jimmie had been caught
trying to change a £50 note at the grocer's shop!  "Mr. Stewart's"
cold gravity of expression changed to one of deprecating amusement as
I glanced indignantly at him.  "I had no change, constable, so of
course sent the boy to change the note," explained Parnell.  "Told
'em so," threw in Jimmie, now feeling fairly safe and the centre of
interest.  But Eastbourne policemen are far too unimaginative to
believe that boys of Jimmie's age are to be sent for change for £50
notes, and it was with the utmost difficulty we got rid of these
stolid guardians of our pockets.

Parnell, after sending the boy for change, had temporarily forgotten
the matter, and no explanation could convince him that it was the
obvious thing that the boy should be "arrested" on trying to change
so large a note.  {249} "Jimmie's a nuisance, but anyone can see that
he is honest," was his conclusion.

On one of our excursions, ostensibly to look for a house, but really
as much as anything for the purpose of getting away for a few hours
to the sea, we went to Herne Bay.  This was a charming and lonely
little place then; a cluster of houses set in green fields and a
fresh sea dashing over the little pier.  It was always on days when
the wind was high that the longing for the sea came over us, and thus
we generally found the sea responding to our mood.

At this little village of Herne Bay the house we saw was unsuitable,
but the day is a memory of salt wind and rough waves, followed by a
picnic dinner at the little inn, where Parnell ordered a fowl to be
roasted, and was momentarily saddened by my refusal to eat that
murdered bird, which had been so pleasantly finding its own dinner
when he gave the order.



{250}

CHAPTER XXIV

LONDON REMEMBRANCES

  "_My true love hath my heart and I have his._"
                                      --SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.


Once when Parnell had to go to Ireland by the morning mail, after a
late sitting of the House, I went up to the St. Pancras Hotel, where
he had a room that night, and made the waiter bring up a tray into
the bedroom, with a cold bird, some tomatoes and materials for salad
dressing, adding a bottle of still Moselle (Parnell always drank
still Moselle by his doctor's, Sir Henry Thompson's, orders, and no
other wine).  I knew he would be rushed to catch the train when he
returned in the early morning, and that he would miss the little meal
I always had ready for him, and this missing a meal was very bad for
him.

When I had prepared the supper table to my liking I sat down by the
open window and watched the flare of light in the sky and the wide
panoramic view of mean streets and wide spaces I had from this
window, of one of the rooms highest up in this high building; and the
shrieks and oaths of men and women came up to me as they quarrelled,
and the drunken brawls of some past semblance of humanity floated up
to me till dawn brought peace to the city, as these poor dregs of
life slunk back to their dens to seek the oblivion of sleep.  I shall
never forget the sights and sounds of that night, for never before
had the horror of a great city's streets at night been so forcibly
brought before me.

{251}

In the early dawn Parnell came, and, seeing his supper there, sat
down to eat it without question, as I had known he would.  He ate in
a preoccupied way as he thought over his speech, and after telling of
various points in it, suddenly said, "Ah, I was really hungry; and
you found some tomatoes.  I'll make the salad if you'll eat some."
So he made a delicious salad, and we feasted upon it before I left
him to go down to Eltham by the early train, and to give him time for
a short rest before catching the mail train for Ireland.

* * * * * *

"There is one great comfort about this," I used to say to myself,
after two hours' walking up and down that most uncomfortable station,
Waterloo Junction, "and that is that he always comes at last."  I had
often to comfort myself with that reflection as I waited about at
various stations for Parnell.

When he had to be late I often went up to the House to fetch him out
to dinner at a restaurant.  He hated dining in the House, and there
were one or two points in the diet ordered him by Sir Henry Thompson
that I insisted upon for him where he would not take the trouble to
insist for himself.  After dinner I would drive him nearly back to
the House.  There he got out, and if he felt lonely at the idea of
driving down to Eltham by himself as he sometimes did, or if he
thought he would want to talk to me again before he came home (as he
very often did!) I would promise to wait for him at some station, so
that he could find me without observation.  It would have been much
more comfortable, of course, for me to have waited in a house or
rooms somewhere, but people were so extraordinarily curious about
Parnell that it would have been {252} impossible so to get any peace
unless we changed the address every week, and this would have been
decidedly too expensive.  As it was, he was often followed to the
station by a detective or some private busybody who could not realize
that even a public man may possible prefer to keep a little of his
life to himself.

So very many hours I waited for him at various stations!  The
officials (at each and all) were most kind and considerate to the
lonely lady who had to be driven, by sheer force of regulations, from
one waiting-room to another as the lights were put out, and who
finally would take to a steady tramp up and down the station platform
till at length (such a long length sometimes!) she was joined by her
husband and almost lifted into the hansom-cab they invariably drove
off in.

When I felt that he really wanted me to wait I could not bear to go
home, and though Waterloo was the most uncomfortable station of all
to keep vigil in I often chose it, as, owing to the early morning
trains at the Junction, I could always be sure that it would not be
altogether shut up.

I think the officials must have known who Parnell was, as I always
had a free pass (from him) for all these lines, but they never
intruded, and, in spite of my pass, received and kept his telegrams
for me (he often telegraphed from the little office near the House,
in the name "Preston") with perfect tact.  The porters were very good
to me also, and many a scuttle of coal was recklessly emptied on a
waiting-room fire after hours as "reg'lations 'gainst keepin' on gas
strong, but it will be fairly cheerful like with the firelight,
ma'am."  The railway men are a kindly race, for I rarely tipped these
men.

* * * * * *

{253}


  HOUSE OF COMMONS,
    12.30.

    I arrived here to-night.

    I fear I may be detained till rather late to-night, so hope you
    will not wait up for me.  I expect to return home about 3.30.


The above is a note, one of very many, sent down to me at Eltham, so
that I should, if I wished, go to bed before Parnell came home.  I
did this only once or twice, as I fancied I heard him directly I
closed my eyes, and would go down, only to find a dreary blank of
disappointment.  So I made him agree to my staying in my
sitting-room, where from the open window I could hear for miles the
regular trotting of the cab-horse bringing him home.

He only stipulated that I should not go out along the roads to meet
him at night.  In March, 1887, I thought my King was looking tired
and worried.  There had been various annoying happenings owing to new
reports of his life at Eltham having been put about.  I had had
unpleasant letters from Willie, and the latter and I were not now on
speaking terms.  With this and his hard work Parnell was looking
fagged and worn.  His health, always an anxiety to me, seemed to
fail, and the languor that grew upon him frightened me.  I determined
that he should be spared the long cold night-drive down to Eltham,
and suggested his having a house near the House of Commons to which
he could return and get immediate rest after a night sitting.  He had
a little house at Brockley, which he had taken in the name of
"Clement Preston," and furnished, and here he had a man and wife to
look after him.  I had never lived there, but used to drive over to
see him for a short time when it was inexpedient that he should be at
Eltham.  He never liked this house, and hated the way the people used
to hang about to see him go in and {254} out, "Clement Preston"
apparently being but a poor protection in keeping off curiosity as to
Parnell's habits.  He wearily said he did not want to live in London
unless I would live there too, but, as I pointed out, that was
impossible, and I took a house in York Terrace, Regent's Park
(furnished), for him.  Here I installed him with two servants, who
absolutely worshipped the ground he walked upon, and, having placed
various books about, books that he considered of pleasant relaxation,
such as engineering and mining treatises, with a couple of Dickens'
works that he had always been "going to read," and a few technical
journals, I went home haunted by his grave, considering eyes and his
sad "You must not leave me here by myself; I don't want to be here
without you!" hoping that after a day or two he would settle down and
feel the benefit of getting more quickly to bed.

The house was charming, with, on one side, a lovely outlook over
Regent's Park.  It was very pretty and comfortable, and I used to
make flying visits to him, to sit with him while he ate his breakfast.

For three weeks I congratulated myself on having been self-denying
enough to earn him better rest, even at the cost to myself of not
having him so much with me; then, on my return from my aunt, whose
great age was now beginning to tell upon her, late one evening, I
felt anxious and worried about my lover, even though my good-night
telegram was awaiting me.  He always telegraphed "good-night" if he
was away from me.  I tried to shake the feeling off, but after dinner
I found myself mechanically making up the fire in my sitting-room as
I did when sitting up for Parnell after a late sitting of the House.
I felt amused at my absent-mindedness, and sat down before the fire,
thinking that I would take advantage of {255} the beautiful blaze I
had made.  I sat there idly, thinking of Parnell, wondering what
exactly he was doing at that moment, and presently, hearing the
servants go to bed, and feeling disinclined for bed myself, I got a
book.

I could not settle to reading, and began to feel very lonely and to
wish I were really waiting up for Parnell, as I used to.  I thought
of my aunt, of how very old she was, of her immense goodness to me
ever since I had lived at Eltham, and of what a great blank there
would be when she died--her life seemed to be like a flame flickering
in the wind now, and it might go out any day.  I got up to shake off
my sad thoughts, and, throwing open my window, leant out and listened
to the wind in the trees.

I heard the clock strike two, and listened, as I had always done,
about this time, for the regular beat of the horse's hoofs that would
bring my King home.  I could hear nothing, and my longing for his
presence was so great that I called out under my breath, "I wish you
would come.  I do wish you would come."  Then I think I became
drowsy, for I started up from the window, suddenly hearing three
o'clock ring out from the village and the steady trot-trot of a horse
in the distance.

I held my breath to listen, my heart beating with an eager joy.  I
could hear the beat of the hoofs round the corner into the village as
they came from the Common, then lost as they went up the High Street,
and suddenly clearer with the jingle of the cab bells as they turned
the top of the road and stopped.  I knew now, and opened the door
quickly as my love came up the little side-walk past the window,
giving the familiar signal as he went up the two steps; and I was in
his arms as he whispered, "Oh, my love, you must not leave me alone
again."



{256}

CHAPTER XXV

THE PARNELL COMMISSION

  "_For none on earth so lone as he
  Whose way of thought is high and free,
  Beyond the mist, beyond the cloud,
  Beyond the clamour of the crowd._"


I had long since had a high paling put round my garden to screen it
from the inquisitive eyes of persons who had, until this was done,
the impertinence to lean over the short stone wall and railings to
watch Parnell as he went in and out.  This new paling was seven feet
high.  On the carriage gates there was bronze ornamental work, thick
and heavy.  Once this was cut through by someone unknown and fell,
the next time the gate was opened, upon the head of the groom, as he
stooped to unbolt it.

This little "accident" was no doubt intended for Mr. Parnell's or for
my benefit, and the fact that the young man's arm was pushed against
the gate, above his head, as he stooped to ease the bolt, doubtless
saved him from a cracked skull.  As it was, he was badly bruised and
cut, some fifty pounds of bronze work falling partly upon him.  After
this he examined the work on the other gate, and, finding that this
also had been cut through, with the help of the gardener lifted it
off before further damage was done.  This pointless and malignant
spite might easily have had far more serious consequences, since my
children were going out by these gates driving their ponies, and it
was quite by chance that they had called {257} the groom to open the
gates for them, for one or other of them generally played at being
the "footman" on these occasions.  The police could not trace the
perpetrators of the little pleasantry.

I then made a beautiful, thick rose-hedge at one side of this garden,
and the roses grew and flourished to such an extent that it proved an
effectual screen from the too-pressing attention of persons, who had
not, I suppose, very many interests of their own.

On the morning that the (so-called) Parnell letters appeared in the
_Times_ (March 7, 1887), they were cut out and pasted on the gate by
a person or persons unknown; and here also the perspicacity of our
local police failed to find the merrymaker.

On that day I did not give Parnell the _Times_ opened as usual for
his glance over the political reports while he breakfasted.  He asked
for it, but I wanted him to finish his breakfast first, and replied:
"The _Times_ is unusually stodgy; do eat your breakfast first."

He said he must finish a bit of assaying he had left over-night
before going to London, and would not have time for papers
afterwards, so I told him of the letters, and propped the _Times_
against the teapot as usual.

He read the whole thing; meditatively buttering and eating his toast
the while.  I supplied him with marmalade, and turned over the folded
paper for him so that he could read more easily.

He made no remark at all till he had finished breakfast, and
carefully clipped the end off his cigar; then, with a smile, he
tossed the paper at me, saying, "Now for that assaying I didn't
finish!  Wouldn't you hide your head with shame if your King were so
stupid as that, my Queen?"

{258}

I helped him to set his chemicals right, urging on him that the thing
was very serious, and that he must attend to it; but he only replied:
"You think about it for me while I am finishing this.  Now don't
spoil this for me.  It will do presently!" and I subsided with the
_Times_ while he worked at his crucibles, and jotted down
results--absolutely absorbed for more than two hours, and only
brought back to politics by my call of "You absolutely must start
now."

He had a wonderful little machine--a balance that gave the weight of
almost infinitesimal parts of a grain--and this might be touched by
no one but himself.  He now reluctantly covered it with its glass
case and lovingly padded it round with a cloth, lest a rough movement
in the room should put it out of balance.

I said, "Now, my King, you must attend to the _Times_.  You must take
an action against them."

"No.  Why should I?" struggling into his coat as I held it for him.
"I have never taken any notice of any newspapers, nor of anyone.  Why
should I now?"

However, he promised me he would consult the "Party" about the
letters, and left assuring me that the English _Times_ was a paper of
no particular importance, after all.

He got home before I did that evening, and I found him on my return
weighing the infinitesimal specks of his morning's extraction of gold
with the utmost accuracy.  He gave me a smile and the fire-flame of
his welcoming eyes as usual, but murmured, "Don't speak for one
moment; I'll tell you the moment I have finished this," and I had to
sit with as much patience as I could muster while he finished his
calculations.  Then, coming over to me in triumph, he informed my for
once uninterested ears {259} that he had now completed the extraction
of something or other of a grain of the gold for my wedding ring.

On my firmly recalling his attention to the matter of the letters he
said wearily--all the interest and buoyancy gone--"They want me to
fight it, but it will be a terrible nuisance, my Queenie; I have seen
Lewis, and he is going to see Russell--Sir Charles, you know--and
then I am to see him again."

He was very undecided about the necessity of taking the action
against the _Times_, and more than once pointed out to me that the
opinion of that paper and its readers did not really interest him;
but, on my refusing to accept this at all, and urging that Ireland
required that he should defend himself in this, and that my view was
that of the Irish Party, he promised to take the matter seriously,
merely remarking with an amused cynicism that if Ireland wanted him
to cudgel a clean bill of health out of England she would find work
for all the blackthorns she grew.

Soon my absorbed study of the forged letters caught Parnell's
interest, he shook off his apathy, and joined my study of his
handwriting of many years, and those of the various possible (and
impossible) imitators.  Once he became interested he threw himself
into it as wholeheartedly as he did into any other hobby.  We spent
hours in this study of calligraphy, and made some interesting and
amusing discoveries.

After a couple of interviews with Mr. Lewis and Sir Charles Russell,
Parnell one evening asked me if I would mind seeing Lewis, as he had
expressed a wish to see me.  I went therefore to Ely Place, and had
an interview with Mr. (Sir George) Lewis.  After we had talked over
the situation he gave me tea, and made an appointment for another
interview in a few days' time.  I put before {260} him my various
conclusions as to handwritings, one of which he considered might be
useful.

We had frequent consultations after this, and, as the time of the
trial drew near, Lewis's offices and the passages leading to it, with
the waiting rooms, were filled with the witnesses from Ireland
concerned in the trial.  The case did not worry Parnell much--except
that it took up so much of our all too little leisure time, which was
so precious to us.

The following letters, written from Avondale during the anxious time
preceding the trial, will serve to show how little the matter
affected his ordinary interests.



  _August_ 30, 1887.

    MY OWN WIFIE,--I have been exceedingly anxious about you ever
    since I left.  You seemed so very ill that it has been haunting
    me ever since that I ought to have stayed in London.  My own
    darling may write to me whenever she pleases.  I was so longing
    for a telegram all day yesterday, but not getting one came to the
    conclusion that you had not been able to go to London.

    I have been round the place here, everything going on well.  The
    new mine is improving, so I have been tempted to continue it for
    a short while longer.

    It will not be necessary for me to remain here longer than a few
    days, so that whenever you are ready for me I can return.

    YOUR OWN LOVING HUSBAND.

    I am very well indeed.



  _January_ 4, 1888.

    I finished will before going to bed on Monday, and will execute
    it and send it north to-morrow.  Am pretty sure to be able to
    return next Monday or Tuesday at latest.

    MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--I got off all right yesterday morning,
    forgetting the lamp, however, until I was in train, when I
    decided upon telegraphing them from Chester to send it on at
    once, which I did.  I am having the carpenter to fix {261} a
    strong hook in the ceiling joist for it to hang upon, and it will
    be a great improvement on the present state of affairs, as the
    consumption of candles is enormous, while giving very little
    light.  They are undoubtedly the best and safest lamps out; in
    fact, absolutely safe.

    One of the little lamps here was broken since, so I have
    suspended the other one also, as it was no use by itself.

    The room will be very nice for a large suspended lamp; it is
    about 13½ feet high, by 24 feet by 20 feet.

    I had only half an hour to wait at Kingstown for the train, which
    I spent in the waiting-room, and a quarter of an hour at Bray.

    The sea was rather rough, but not too rough for me.  I studied
    the swinging of a lamp minutely during the passage, and derived
    valuable lessons for the new ship.[1]

    Am going to Arklow in the morning.  Everything going on here very
    well, notwithstanding which I have been advising and admonishing
    K.[2] all day.

    E.[3] is here all by herself, mother being expected to-night.

    Miss B. B. was very old, very ugly, and very vulgar; in fact, E.
    says the worst sponge that ever got hold of my mother.  She drank
    nothing but whisky, and took it to bed with her.

    There was dancing after theatricals till six in the morning.[4]

    I am very anxious about my own love, and so glad to get telegram
    to-day; expect letter to-morrow.  Raining torrents all day.  YOUR
    OWN HUSBAND.


A couple of weeks before the action came on Parnell came home in
great amusement.  Lewis had written asking him most particularly to
call, as he had had a consultation with Sir Charles Russell and
wished to report the result to Parnell.  On Parnell's calling,
thinking some {262} new phase of the case had been evolved, Mr. Lewis
had "hoped he would not be annoyed," but Sir Charles and he were
rather worried about his (Parnell's) clothes, and would he very much
mind having a new frock-coat from Poole's for the trial!  Parnell had
great fun with me over that Poole coat, and when it came home we
tried it on with great ceremony, Parnell stroking its silk facings
with pride, and insisting upon a back view of it in the long mirror
in my room.

Mr. Lewis inspired me with the greatest confidence, and his
charmingly deferential manner fascinated me, while the keen brown
eyes seemed to read the hidden secrets of the soul.  He was always
exquisitely dressed, and, when I made some playful remark about
Parnell's new coat, he told me in confidence that Parnell's Irish
homespuns were a great trial to him--this with such earnestness that
I tried to suppress my laughter, as I explained to him what a
pleasure it was to me to be possessed of a man who was above clothes;
not below them in slovenliness, but above them and unconscious of his
coverings.

Very many years after this, long after my husband's death, this
acquaintance with Sir George Lewis served me in good stead.
Circumstances arose which rendered me very doubtful and uneasy in
regard to the probity of my trustee and solicitor, who had charge of
my whole income and the capital thereof.  I had had no communication
with Sir George Lewis for very many years; but then the happy thought
struck me that he would advise me privately and disinterestedly.  My
son went to him on my behalf, and it is entirely owing to the prompt
action taken by Sir George that any part of my little income was
saved to me.

{263}

My trustee had been speculating wildly, and, among that of other
clients, every penny of my small fortune had been misappropriated.
Sir George compelled the repayment of what was possible by the
discredited and ruined man, and thus saved me by his kind and
energetic intervention from absolute destitution.  Apart from the
very serious loss it entailed upon me, the downfall of my trustee,
clever, good-looking and altogether charming, was a great blow to us
all.  He had been so much a friend, and I and my son and daughters
had trusted him so completely.

The result of the Parnell Commission is well known.  I continued to
see Mr. Lewis regularly before the case came on, and on one occasion
he asked me if I would mind going to Wood's Hotel, close by Ely
Place, to meet him on a matter that had to do with the case.  This I
did, and, being early, awaited him in the coffee room.  When he came
we had a long business talk about the case, and he assured me that
the issue was now completely secured.  People were passing in and out
as we talked, and several I noticed passed very close to us, and
stared curiously at me before going out.

Suddenly, on observing this, I asked Mr. Lewis why he had arranged
our interview in this place instead of at his office as usual.  He
made some evasive reply about a client of his who occupied a very
distinguished position--and he mentioned this personage by
name--having an appointment at the office, and disliking the fact of
any other person being received during the same hour of his visit.

I pointed out to Mr. Lewis that he was surely speaking at random, as
the person he mentioned could not be left about at his office like a
nobody while he talked to {264} me at an hotel.  At this he laughed,
and asked that I should be satisfied with his reply until he saw me
again, and with this I had to be content, though I was somewhat
ruffled at his not offering a sufficient explanation of his odd place
of appointment, and I curtly refused to make another at the office
for the following week.

Our interview had ostensibly been for the purpose of discussing
certain letters I had given into his care at a former interview, but,
as he afterwards told me, he had asked those persons, who had, I
thought, stared at me in the hotel, if they could identify me with
someone who had been impersonating me with the hope of better
entangling Parnell, and of preventing him from publicly protecting
his honour for fear of dragging me into the case.  The "gentlemen
from Ireland" who had had so good a look at me were forced to admit
that they had never seen me before in their lives.

Shortly before the case came on I asked Mr. Lewis if he would mind my
going to see Mr. Soames (solicitor for the _Times_).  He answered, "I
do not see why you should not do so if you wish it," and to Parnell,
who had just come in, "It will be quite safe for her to see Soames."
"Yes, of course, she knows best," answered Parnell, and off I went,
pursued by Mr. Lewis's "You must come straight back here, Mrs.
O'Shea," as he put me into the waiting cab.

My waiting cab was always an acute irritation to Lewis.  Alter his
first greeting of me he invariably asked me if my cab was waiting.
"Yes, of course, how else should get home?"  "You are not going to
drive home!" with horror.  "No, but to the station."  "Pay him off,
my dear lady, and I'll send for another when I have given you some
tea," encouragingly.  "But I _like_ this horse, he {265} has such
good legs."  Then dear Mr. Lewis used to get intensely irritated, and
send someone flying to pay my cab to go away at once.  I never dared
at this stage to tell him that I always made a compact with the
cabman that "waiting did not count."

On my arrival at Mr. Soames's office he saw me at once without any
pretence of being "too busy."  In fact his office appeared almost
deserted, and he welcomed me as his "cousin."  He took some time in
arranging the exact collateral degree of our relationship, but beyond
this our interview behind his closely shut glass-panelled door led to
nothing.  I was desirous of finding out which way his suspicions
tended--as obviously he did not really think that Parnell had written
the letters; he, on his part, was trying to find out why I had come.

On the 1st of March, 1889, Pigott shot himself in Madrid.  It was a
painful affair, and Parnell was sorry for the poor creature.

When Parnell attended the House for the first time after the result
of the Parnell Commission was made known, I was not well, and could
not get to the Ladies' Gallery, as I had hoped to do, but long before
he came I had had reports of the tremendous ovation he received; how
every section of the House--Ministers, Opposition--all rose at his
entry as one man, cheering themselves hoarse and shouting his name.
I asked him afterwards if he had not felt very proud and happy then,
but he only smiled, and answered, "They would all be at my throat in
a week if they could!"  I thought of that speech a little later on.

Soon after the death of Pigott Mr. Parnell met Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone
at Mrs. Sydney Buxton's[5] "at home." {266} Almost the only comment,
when he got home was: "That's over; thank goodness!"

On May 28th, 1889, Sir Charles and Lady Russell gave a reception in
honour of the hero of the fight.  Parnell hated these affairs, but,
as I pointed out to him, it would be very sad if all those people
assembled to meet him and he was not there.  The reception was a time
of adulation for him from first to last, I afterwards heard, but when
Parnell came home and told me all about it he remarked, "It was all
very kind and just as troublesome as usual--or would have been had I
not discovered a pretty little brown head with friendly eyes that
looked as shy as I felt."

I answered, "Dear me, who was this charming lady?  I should like to
know!"

"That is just what she was, a charming little lady, an Irishwoman.
You know, Queenie, you are the only Englishwoman I can bear!  This
was Katharine Tynan; you read some of her things to me," and he went
on to speak of others at the reception, afterwards reverting to the
pleasure he had felt in meeting Katharine Tynan, who he believed
genuinely felt what all "those others" were saying.

Presumably "those others" were perfectly sincere in their
appreciation of him, but Parnell, so English in his own nature, had a
constitutional distrust of English people, and, curiously enough, he
did not understand them well, while the Irish character was an open
book to him.  At a reception like this where the guests were, of
course, mostly English, Parnell would retire behind his coldest, most
aloof bulwark of exquisite courtesy, and, to use his own simile about
Katharine Tynan, "I felt as though a little friendly bird had made a
song for me in {267} an unfriendly land."  We often afterwards spoke
of the "little friendly bird," and, should Mrs. Hinkson (Katharine
Tynan) ever see this book, she will know that the "Chief" appreciated
both her loyalty and her song.

Directly the result of the Parnell Commission was made known Mr.
Parnell was elected a life member of the National Liberal Club; an
election which afforded him a certain grave amusement at the time and
a query later on, when the "National Liberals" wished to depose him,
as to whether a "life member" can dare be so illogical as to continue
life without the membership.

On the 8th March, 1889, he was entertained for the second time at the
Eighty Club, and, a few days later, at a great meeting at St. James's
Hall.  At both meetings the enthusiasm was so great that the whole
body of people present rose en masse as he entered, cheering, waving
handkerchiefs, and shouting his name for some time before they
allowed him to sit down.

Naturally these ovations of my hero gave me the greatest pride and
joy, but he would never allow me to say much about them.

"You see, my dear, these people are not really pleased with me," he
would say.  "They thought I had written those letters, and now they
are extolling their own sense of justice in cheering me because I did
not write them.  I might as wisely shout myself hoarse if a court of
law decided that Gladstone had not told somebody to rob a bank!"  And
I would reply: "Well, I love to hear and read about your being
properly appreciated," only to get a reproving "You are an illogical
woman.  These people do not appreciate me, they only howl with joy
because I have been found within the law.  The English make a law and
bow down and worship it till they find it {268} obsolete--long after
this is obvious to other nations--then they bravely make another, and
start afresh in the opposite direction.  That's why I am glad Ireland
has a religion; there is so little hope for a nation that worships
laws."

And when I persisted, "But don't you feel a little excited and proud
when they all cheer you, really you?" and the little flames showed in
his eyes as he said, "Yes, when it is really me, when I am in the
midst of a peasant crowd in Ireland.  Then I feel a little as I do
when I see you smile across the street at me before we meet, but for
these others it is then I know how I hate the English, and it is
then, if I begin to feel a little bit elated, I remember the howling
of the mob I once saw chasing a man to lynch him years ago.  Don't be
too pleased with the clapping of these law-lovers, Queenie.  I have a
presentiment that you will hear them another way before long, and I
am exactly the same, either way!"

At the National Liberal Club, at which Sir Frank Lockwood presided,
Mr. Parnell and Lord Spencer shook hands for the first time.  When
Parnell rose to speak he received a perfect ovation.  He said:

"There is only one way in which you can govern Ireland within the
Constitution, and that is by allowing her to govern herself in all
those matters which cannot interfere with the greatness and
well-being of the Empire of which she forms a part.  I admit there is
another way.  That is a way that has not been tried yet....  There is
a way in which you might obtain at all events some present success in
the government of Ireland.  It is not Mr. Balfour's bastard plan of a
semi-constitutional, a semi-coercive method.  You might find among
yourselves some great Englishman or Scotsman, who would go over to
Ireland--her Parliamentary representation having been taken away
{269} from her--and would do justice to her people notwithstanding
the complaints of Irish landlordism.  Such a man might be found who,
on the other hand, would oppose a stern front to the inciters of
revolution or outrage, and on the other hand would check the
exorbitant demands of the governing classes in that country, and
perhaps the result might be successful.  But it would have to be a
method outside the Constitution both on the one side and on the
other.  Your Irish Governor would have to have full power to check
the evil-doer; whether the evil-doer were a lord or a peasant,
whether the malefactor hailed from Westminster or New York, the power
should be equally exercised and constantly maintained.  In that way,
perhaps, as I have said, you might govern Ireland for a season.
That, in my judgment, from the first time when I entered political
life, appeared to me to be the only alternative to the concession to
Ireland of full power over her own domestic interests, and her
future.  In one way only, I also saw, could the power and influence
of a constitutional party be banded together within the limits of the
law; by acting on those principles laid down by Lucas and Gavan Duffy
in 1852, that they should hold themselves aloof from all English
political parties and combinations, that they should refuse place and
office for themselves or for their friends or their relations, and
that the Irish constituencies should refuse to return any member who
was a traitor to those pledges."

In July Parnell was presented with the freedom of the City of
Edinburgh.  In his speech of acknowledgment he said:

"In what way could Ireland, supposing she wished to injure you, be
more powerful to effect injury to your Imperial interests than she is
at present?  If you concede {270} to her people the power to work out
their own future, to make themselves happy and prosperous, how do you
make yourselves weaker to withstand wrongdoing against yourselves?
Will not your physical capacity be the same as it is now?  Will you
not still have your troops in the country?  Will you not still have
all the power of the Empire? ... In what way do we make you weaker?
In what way shall we be stronger to injure you?  What soldiers shall
we have?  What armed policemen shall we have?  What cannons shall we
have?  What single means shall we have, beyond the constitution, that
we have not now, to work you injury?"[6]



[1] He studied the balance of the lamp for the "new ship" he was
inventing--the one he was always trying at Brighton.  (See p. 277.)

[2] Kerr, Mr. Parnell's agent and bailiff.

[3] Emily Dickinson, Parnell's sister.

[4] Mrs. Delia Parnell was giving the theatricals and dance in the
great new cattle-shed he had had built from his own plans, modelled
on the plan of the new station at Brighton.

[5] Now Viscountess Buxton.

[6] A letter of this period from Parnell to Cecil Rhodes, dealing
with the Imperial aspect of Home Rule, is unfortunately the only
important document left of the correspondence between the two, the
rest having been accidentally destroyed.  Parnell had been greatly
interested in the political tactics of Rhodes in South Africa.  When
in London Rhodes sought an interview, which took place at the
Westminster Palace Hotel.  In the letter of June 23, 1888, Parnell
expresses his gladness at knowing that Rhodes considers that the
measure of Home Rule to be granted to Ireland should be
"thoroughgoing," and adds: "I cordially agree with your opinion that
there should be effective safeguards for the maintenance of Imperial
unity."  The two men had been discussing the question of the
exclusion or inclusion of Irish representation at Westminster.
Parnell judged exclusion to have been a defect of the Bill of 1886,
and shared Rhodes's view that inclusion would facilitate the larger
measure of Imperial federation.

Parnell returned to this point in 1891 in the course of his
correspondence with Dillon and O'Brien on the question of the
leadership of the Nationalist Party.  He asserted in a letter to
Gill, one of the intermediaries in these discussions, that he could
prove "by documentary evidence" that the second reading of the 1886
Bill was lost "because the Liberal leaders declined till too late to
agree to the retention of any Irish Members in any shape or for any
purpose."



{271}

CHAPTER XXVI

BRIGHTON HAUNTS

  "_We went as children joyous, or oprest,
  In some absorbing care, or blest,
  In nodding conversation--hand in hand._"
                        --HONORA SHEE (THE LOVER'S DIARY).


My aunt appeared to me to be failing in health a good deal at the
beginning of 1888, and, though she sometimes seemed to be stronger,
and chatted with all her old interest in the things of the past,
there were days when she was so quiet and drowsy that I feared to
rouse her by talking.  At other times she would like me to talk and
read to her as usual, but was so languid and tired that a little
smile and pressure of the hand I held was the only response she made.
In April she had a slight attack of bronchitis, and her doctor
ordered her opium to ease her lungs.  She much objected to all
opiates, but her doctor's treatment seemed to ease her.  She would
not let me sleep in her house, as she thought, as usual, that it
would "disorganize the household," but I went now nearly every night
across the park in the fragrant spring nights to inquire, under her
maid's window, if Mrs. "Ben" was asleep.

The owls had nested for years in a great tree by my aunt's bedroom
windows, and I loved to watch them in the moonlight hawking for the
food they had to supply in such abundance now to the screeching
owlets in the nest.  The old birds used to sit on Aunt Ben's
window-sill, and hoot, and had done so, much to her pleasure, for the
sixty {272} or seventy years of her residence in the house; but now
her maid shook her head sadly, as she leant out of the window to tell
me of her mistress's condition, saying "That's an omen, m'am; the
dear mistress must be going soon."  I answered irritably that the
owls had hooted there since Mr. Benjamin's time, as her mistress had
often told her, but felt her "Time will show, m'am," to be
unanswerable.

On these May nights, if he was at home, Parnell would walk across the
park with me and wait on a seat for me till I had obtained the latest
bulletin.

One morning, very early, when her night had been restless, I made
Mary Ann (my aunt's personal maid) come down and let me in.  On going
up to the great four-post bed where the dear little old lady lay,
looking as small and frail as a child, she put out one, now feeble,
white hand, and held mine.  I told the maid she could go and rest a
bit, and I would call her if my aunt wanted her.

When she was gone, my aunt, who was breathing with difficulty,
whispered as I bent down to kiss her hand, "You do believe, do you
not, my Swan?" I answered, "Yes, auntie, of course I do believe, most
firmly."  She said, "I am glad.  I wish you could come with me, my
darling!" and I sobbingly told her that I wished I could too.

I stayed by her side and smoothed her hand till she ceased to
breathe, and then waited by her as all her servants who had been with
her for many years filed past the bed, and took a last look at their
stern but just and much-loved mistress.

She left a great void in my life, and the sensation of being always
wanted and tied to one place that I had sometimes felt so keenly hard
I would now have given {273} much to feel again.  With this old lady
died, so far as my acquaintance went, the last of the old world--that
old world of leisure and books and gentle courtesy of days when men
might wear their gallantry without foolishness, and women knew the
value of their sex.

Through all those years in which I waited on my aunt I never heard
her use a clipped word, or use a sentence not grammatically perfect
and beautifully rounded off, and although in the hurry of modern life
I sometimes felt impatient when chided for some swallowed
pronunciation or ignored g's, I look back upon the years of my life
spent in that old-world atmosphere as a very precious memory.

After my aunt's death Eltham became intolerable to me, and I took a
small country house near Mottingham till I could let my own house.
Directly we left Eltham the pretty garden was devastated by
relic-hunters, who pulled the place to pieces in obtaining mementoes
of "the house where Parnell had lived."

The house at Mottingham was damp, and we longed for the sea.

For various reasons we had been obliged to relinquish any idea of
living in the little house we had finished, with so much pleasure, at
Eastbourne, and at last we had removed the few things we had stored
there, and in 1887 had finally decided to take the end house of
Walsingham Terrace (No. 10), Brighton.  Shortly after my aunt's death
we went down to live there.  The position then was attractive to us:
cornfields from one side of the house away up to Shoreham basin and
harbour, a waste of hay at the back of the house, an excellent train
service and a sufficient distance from Brighton proper to enable us
to avoid the crowd.  While we were living there people used to walk
and drive out to see "Parnell's house," but this was not {274}
particularly annoying, as when he was at home we went out early, or
late--anyhow, at a time when the average person is kept at home by
appetite.  Personally, if it was not glaringly inconvenient, I was
always rather proud and interested in the popular attention Parnell
attracted wherever he went.

Here Parnell had the dining-room as his own sitting-room, where he
kept the roll-top desk I had given him for all his papers and
political work, while down in the basement there was a room in which
he had a furnace fitted up, and where we used to burn the crushed ore
before assaying it.  We spent many hours down there, and I sometimes
feared the excessive heat must have been bad for him; but he did not
think so, and would become so absorbed in this work that I used to
have the greatest difficulty in getting him out for the gallop on his
horse President across the Downs, which did him so much good.

I found at length the only way was to get his cap and whip and show
them to the dogs.  Immediately I did this they would begin to bark
wildly and jump up at him to make him start for the run they loved so
much.  Parnell would then say reproachfully, "Oh, Queenie, how can
you deceive the poor dogs like that?" and I would answer that the
only way to keep them believing in us was to go at once for that
belated ride.  Once started none of the party, dogs or horses,
enjoyed it more than he.

In this house we had from the side windows of Parnell's and from my
room in which he afterwards died, a view of the most wonderful
sunsets I have ever seen in England.  Then the whole west was a
veritable fairyland of gold and crimson, and the harbour and Shoreham
town, with the little country church of Aldrington against the
setting of the Downs, were touched with a pearly mist of {275} light
that lifted them far out of the prosaic ugliness we knew by the blank
light of midday.  Parnell used to say to me as we walked away to the
golden harbour, "Is it really like this, my Queen, or as we see it at
noon?"  I could only reply that it was both--the both that made life
at once so interesting and so difficult.

Often in the following spring my King and I would drive out as far as
the foot of the Downs near the training stables beyond Southwick; and
then, climbing to the crest of the hills, go for long walks, away
over the Downs, walking or resting as we felt inclined, returning as
night fell, to drive home.

One sunny morning, lengthening into a brighter day, I especially
remember, when the south-west wind sent the flickering shadows across
the Downs where its sea-scents mingled with the sweet pungency of the
young herbage.  As we walked along hand in hand we were gay in the
glorious spring of the year, feeling that while love walked so
closely with us youth could not lag too far behind, and in the wide
expanse of the South Downs, which appealed so much to both our
natures, we forgot all care and trouble.

Very far away, standing clear against the skyline, there was a figure
of a shepherd, his flock a little lower showed grey against the dull
green distance.  He stood motionless, as these lonely Down shepherds
do.  The tumbled heap by him, we said, was his dog.  So we watched
him some miles away for more than an hour.  We wondered what he
thought of, and whether all this lonely loveliness meant anything to
him, or if he would be glad to change his quiet life for the rush and
hurry of a town.

Presently, from where we sat, at the highest point of the hills, we
saw some horses going at full gallop over the training ground, the
horses straining at the bit, and {276} seemingly glad to be alive.
The dull thud of the hoofs came up to us to mingle with the incessant
trilling of the skylarks and the bleating of the distant sheep.  Now
we turned seaward, overlooking Shoreham Harbour, and watched the
vessels going out to sea on voyages fraught with unknown
possibilities.

In spite of the excessive beauty of the scene, in the region of
thought it had a saddening effect on us; and, as the last gleams of
sunlight fell across the sea, lightly touching the sails as they
slipped out of the light into the wider darkness of the leaden waves,
we turned and retraced our steps, I leaning on his arm as we went
down to the valley again.

A favourite haunt of ours at Brighton was a little shop in Pool
Valley altogether devoted to the sale of pebbles and crystals of
various sorts, also of jet.  Parnell did not like the jet, but was
greatly interested in the pebbles and the polishing of them.

He spent much time after we had found this shop in watching the
process of cutting crystals and polishing the pebbles.  Onyx ball
beads he selected in sizes with the greatest care, and had a long
chain of them made for me with a gold ball between each two onyx
beads.  To these he had added a locket composed of crystal and onyx,
and was much pleased with the result.

The chain, when finished, was a little heavy, but he had had such a
happy time in selecting each bead and so carefully matching the
markings that I wore it with a light heart till he noticed it was
rubbing my neck, and insisted upon my taking it off there and then
for ever.

Another favourite haunt of ours was Smith's second-hand bookshop in
North Street, where he would stand for an hour at a time poring over
old books on mechanics, {277} or mining, while I dug out "bargains"
amongst the poets of a bygone age, and discussed books with the
proprietor.

Parnell always tried to get a few days' shooting every year in
Ireland on the grouse moors he hired at Anghavanagh, and I had much
pleasure in getting together hampers of provisions for him in London
to take over with him, as the arrangements he had been used to before
I met him were decidedly primitive and very trying to his health.  I
always found that a good supply of hams and tongues, with the very
best tea that I could procure, a new spirit kettle (every year) and a
goodly supply of rugs and blankets rendered him sufficiently
comfortable, and returned him to me without the acute attacks of
indigestion that had formerly rendered these holidays among the
mountains so little gain to him in health.

I had to insist upon his learning to make his own tea to save him
from the "stewed" tea made by his servant in Ireland, and I found it
better to label the tea I got for his personal use: "For presents,"
and that which he might give away: "For Mr. Parnell's own use," as he
said plaintively, "They seem to like my tea best!"

He used to love these shooting expeditions, but would never stay more
than a few days, as he could not bear to be away from me longer.  I
used to wish it were possible for me to go to Ireland with him in
order that he might enjoy his shooting to the full, but that was
impossible, and he always declared that "Three or four days broke the
back of that little shoot, anyhow!"

For many months Parnell tried to invent a vessel which would so cut
through the water as to obviate any sensation of the motion of the
waves.  When he had done this the ship was to be built, and I would
be enabled to cross the Atlantic as comfortably as I now made the
journey {278} to Brighton!  Incidentally this invention was also to
make our fortunes.  Although the building of the ship had to be
indefinitely postponed, the models made and tested by Parnell were
really wonderful.  He had had no training in mechanics, nor did he
know anything of shipbuilding or engineering, except such information
as he obtained from the various books he read for amusement at rare
intervals--but these models he made, and tried off the underdeck of
the Chain Pier at Brighton, were extraordinarily ingenious.

I do not venture to record this on my own authority, for I know
absolutely nothing of such matters, but the firm, who cast the copper
"floats" for him from his plans, and continually altered and
corrected the models after trials, came to the conclusion that Mr.
"Smith" was on the verge of a very useful invention; though, to his
annoyance, they would not dissociate the torpedo-like structure from
Portsmouth and the Admiralty.  I frequently took my children down to
Brighton for a few days' change, and on these occasions Mr. Parnell
would stay at a place near the Chain Pier, and we would spend most of
the day on the underdeck of the pier-head trying the "invention."

Once a hobby like this got hold of him he could think of nothing else
in his leisure time, and this note is a specimen of many sent round
from his hotel:--



    Am making new float, which will sink five feet, and shall have it
    ready to try to-morrow at 12.30.  Will meet you on Chain Pier at
    that hour.  Am anxious to make this trial before returning, and
    we will take Hassocks and Burgess Hill in afternoon on way back
    to look at houses to let.



This new model we tried in all weathers, and, as at last it seemed to
answer perfectly, with the exception of its lack of speed, he said he
would patent it, and get {279} someone who had more knowledge than he
to overcome the speed difficulty.  To my uninitiated mind the thing
looked like a treble torpedo-boat.  Had he lived I think he would
have gone further into the matter, but, by the time this was
finished, one thing after another occurred with such rapidity that it
was perforce laid aside.

I remember one rough, stormy day when we had been much worried and
were wondering whether the time of waiting we had imposed upon
ourselves (that Ireland might not risk the leadership which seemed
her only hope) till the way could be opened to our complete union
before the world, was not to be too long for our endurance.  It was a
wild storm, and Parnell had to hold me as we slowly beat our way to
the pier-head.  The chains were up to prevent anyone going on to the
lower deck, but Parnell lifted me over, and we tried the "float,"
though it was useless to do so, as the waves shattered the slight
thing against the pier before Parnell could sink it to the required
depth.

Then we stood looking out at the great waves--so near, and shaking
the whole pier-head in their surge.  Parnell remarked that the old
place could not last long, and as I turned to get a fresh hold on
him, for I could not stand against the wind, and the motion of the
sea sickened me, the blazing fires in his eyes leapt to mine, and,
crushing me roughly to himself, he picked me up and held me clear
over the sea, saying, "Oh, my wife, my wife, I believe I'll jump in
with you, and we shall be free for ever."

Had I shown any fear I think he would have done it, but I only held
him tight and said: "As you will, my only love, but the children?"
He turned then, and carried me to the upper deck, hiding my eyes from
the horrible roll and sucking of the sea beneath our feet.



{280}

CHAPTER XXVII

THE DIVORCE CASE [1]

  "Papel y tinta y poca justicia."
  ("Paper, ink, and a little justice.")
                          --OLD SPANISH PROVERB.


In November, 1890, Parnell was served with a copy of the petition in
the divorce case, O'Shea _v._ O'Shea and Parnell, by Wontner at
Messrs. Lewis and Lewis's.  I was served with the petition in the
same month at 10, Walsingham Terrace, Brighton.  Mr. George Lewis and
his confidential clerk came down, and took some evidence for the case
from me, but Parnell declined to instruct any solicitor from the
first to last.  He, however, accompanied me when I went to town to
consult Sir Frank Lockwood, my counsel, a junior counsel being also
present.

"The consultation broke up in peals of laughter," said one of the
less important of the evening papers of the time.  This was quite
true, but it had no bearing on the case at all, for the laughter was
caused by the extremely funny stories told us, in his own inimitable
way, by Sir Frank Lockwood.  The two or three times I saw him stand
out in my memory as hours of brilliant wit and nonsense, that cheered
and invigorated us far more than the advice we did not ask for could
have done.  Parnell would not fight the case, and I could not fight
it without him.  The last time I saw Sir Frank Lockwood, the day
before the case came on, he begged me to get Parnell to let him fight
it.  I was suffering acutely from neuralgic headache at the {281}
time, but I did my best to get Parnell to defend the case, though to
no purpose.

We left Sir Frank Lockwood with a promise to telegraph to him by
eight o'clock the next morning if we would go up and appear in Court
at all, as he had to be there by ten o'clock.

We had to return to Brighton in the Pullman car, as we could not get
a carriage to ourselves.  It was crowded, and Parnell was known; it
was therefore very difficult to talk without being overheard.
Parnell appeared absolutely unconscious of the eyes furtively
watching him from behind every newspaper, or, indeed, openly in the
carriage, and he had the power of putting himself absolutely beyond
and above self-consciousness.  This is what rendered him so
completely impervious to criticism.  But to me, with a splitting
headache, the gleam of so many eyes, seen through a mist of pain, had
the most uncanny effect.  They seemed like animals watching from
their lair.  Parnell gave me a cheerful little smile now and then,
and directly we got home he insisted upon my going to bed.  There he
fed me himself with the tiny amount I forced myself to take to please
him, and held the glass to my lips while I sipped the sparkling
Moselle I had been ordered to take for the bad attacks of neuralgia.

After he had had his own dinner he came up and smoked by my bedside.
I tried to persuade him to go up with me in the morning to the Court
and make some fight in the case, but he said:

"No, Queenie.  What's the use?  We want the divorce, and, divorce or
not, I shall always come where you are.  I shall always come to my
home every night whatever happens.  Now I'm going to read you to
sleep."

He was always the most gentle and tender of nurses, {282} and would
sit by my side for hours without moving when I was ill, reading or
thinking.  After a short sleep I lay awake wondering what it would be
best to say to Lockwood in the morning.  I had told him that anyhow I
would go up; but, as my lover said, what would be the use of it?  And
whatever I could make of Captain O'Shea's desertion--or practical
desertion--of me, I knew absolutely nothing of his private life, and
cared less.  Our position would be worse if we were not enabled to
marry, for we were inseparable while life lasted.

Then, after going over the pros and cons till my brain felt on fire,
I said irritably, "I don't believe you are listening to what I say!"
He replied, "I am not, beloved; here is the telegram all written out
for you while you slept.  We have been longing for this freedom all
these years, and now you are afraid!"

I broke down and cried, because I feared for him and for his work,
and he soothed me as one would a child as he told me that his
life-work was Ireland's always, but that his heart and his soul were
mine to keep for ever--since first he looked into my eyes that summer
morning, ten years before.

"Queenie," he went on, "put away all fear and regret for my public
life.  I have given, and will give, Ireland what is in me to give.
That I have vowed to her, but my private life shall never belong to
any country, but to one woman.  There will be a howl, but it will be
the howl of hypocrites; not altogether, for some of these Irish fools
are genuine in their belief that forms and creeds can govern life and
men; perhaps they are right so far as they can experience life.  But
I am not as they, for they are among the world's children.  I am a
man, and I have told these children what they want, and they clamour
for it.  {283} If they will let me, I will get it for them.  But if
they turn from me, my Queen, it matters not at all in the end.  What
the ultimate government of Ireland will be is settled, and it will be
so, and what my share in the work has been and is to be, also.  I do
wish you would stop fretting about me.  We know nothing of how or
why, but only that we love one another, and that through all the ages
is the one fact that cannot be forgotten nor put aside by us."

He spoke slowly, with many silences between sentence and sentence,
and presently I said: "But perhaps I have hurt your work."

"No, you have not.  I sometimes think that is why you came to me, for
I was very ill then and you kept the life in me and the will to go on
when I was very weary of it all; you have stood to me for comfort and
strength and my very life.  I have never been able to feel in the
least sorry for having come into your life.  It had to be, and the
bad times I have caused you and the stones that have been flung and
that will be flung at you are all no matter, because to us there is
no one else in all the world that matters at all--when you get to the
bottom of things."

Late next morning I awoke from the deep sleep of exhaustion to find
him sitting by me superintending the arrangement of "letters, tea and
toast," and to my anxious query as to the time I was answered by his
quiet laugh, and "I've done you this time, Queenie; I sent the
telegram long ago, and they must be enjoying themselves in Court by
now!"

That was Saturday, November 15th, and on Monday, the 17th, my
Brighton solicitor brought me down a copy of the "decree nisi."  We
were very happy that evening, and Parnell declared he would have the
"decree" framed.  We made many plans for the future that evening of
where {284} we should go when the six months had passed and the
decree made absolute.  I even ventured to suggest that he might marry
someone else once I was set completely free, but my lover was not
amused and scolded me for suggesting such disgusting ideas.

Sir Frank Lockwood was terribly distressed about us and his inability
to "save Parnell for his country," but he was very kind to me, and
did all he could to help me in certain legal matters.

On November 26th there was a meeting of the Irish Party, which my
King attended.  The meeting was adjourned until December 1st.  When
my lover came home to me that evening I would not let him speak till
he had changed his cold boots and socks; then he came over to me, and
took me into his arms, saying, "I think we shall have to fight,
Queenie.  Can you bear it?  I'm afraid it is going to be tough work."

I said, "Yes, if you can."  But I must confess that when I looked at
the frail figure and white face that was so painfully delicate, whose
only vitality seemed to lie in the deep, burning eyes, my heart
misgave me for I very much doubted if his health would stand any
prolonged strain.

I burst out passionately, "Why does it matter more now?  They have
all known for years," and his rare, low laugh came out with genuine
amusement as he replied, "My sweetheart, they are afraid of shocking
Mr. Gladstone."

"But Gladstone----" I began, bewildered.

"Just so, but we are public reprobates now, it just makes the
difference.  He is a 'devout Christian,' they tell me."

While Parnell sat down at work at his manifesto I {285} deliberated
for hours as to whether I ought to let him go on.  Should I urge him
to come abroad with me?  I knew he would come if I said I could not
bear the public fight.  I looked at him as he sat now absolutely
absorbed in what he was writing, and now looking across at me when he
had something ready to be pinned together.  He did not speak, only
the smoulder in his eyes grew deeper as he wrote.

I loved him so much, and I did so long to take him away from all the
ingratitude and trouble--to some sunny land where we could forget the
world and be forgotten.  But then I knew that he would not forget;
that he would come at my bidding, but that his desertion of Ireland
would lie at his heart; that if he was to be happy he must fight to
the end.  I knew him too well to dare to take him away from the cause
he had made his life-work; that even if it killed him I must let him
fight--fight to the end--it was himself--the great self that I loved,
and that I would not spoil even through my love, though it might
bring the end in death.

I looked up feeling that he was watching me, and met the burning
fire-flame of his eyes steadily, through my tears, as he said,
closing his hand over mine, "I am feeling very ill, Queenie, but I
think I shall win through.  I shall never give in unless you make me,
and I want you to promise me that you will never make me less than
the man you have known."  I promised it.

He was feeling very ill.  November was always a bad month for his
health, and the cold and damp gave him rheumatism.  His left arm
pained him almost continuously all this winter.  I used to rub it and
his shoulder with firwood oil, in which he had great belief, and pack
his arm in wool, which seemed to be some relief.

{286}

On Saturday morning, November 29th, his manifesto appeared in all the
papers.[2]

War was now declared, and the first battle was fought in Committee
Room 15, where all the miserable treachery of Parnell's
followers--and others--was exposed.  The Grand Old Man had spoken,
and his mandate must be obeyed.  Ever swift to take advantage of a
political opportunity, he struck at the right moment, remorselessly,
for he knew that without giving away the whole of his policy Parnell
could not point to the hypocrisy of a religious scruple so suddenly
afflicting a great statesman at the eleventh hour.  For ten years
Gladstone had known of the relations between Parnell and myself, and
had taken full advantage of the facility this intimacy offered him in
keeping in touch with the Irish leader.  For ten years.  But that was
a private knowledge.  Now it was a public knowledge, and an English
statesman must always appear on the side of the angels.

So Mr. Gladstone found his religion could at last be useful to his
country.  Parnell felt no resentment towards Gladstone.  He merely
said to me, with his grave smile: "That old Spider has nearly all my
flies in his web," and, to my indignation against Gladstone he
replied: "You don't make allowances for statecraft.  He has the
Non-conformist conscience to consider, and you know as well {287} as
I do that he always loathed me.  But these fools, who throw me over
at his bidding, make me a little sad."  And I thought of that old
eagle face, with the cruel eyes that always belied the smile he gave
me, and wondered no longer at the premonition of disaster that I had
so often felt in his presence.

For the Irish Party I have never felt anything but pity--pity that
they were not worthy of the man and the opportunity, and, seeing the
punishment that the years have brought upon Ireland, that their
craven hearts could not be loyal to her greatest son.  I have
wondered at the blindness of her mistress, England; wondered that
England should still hold out the reward of Home Rule to Ireland,
whose sons can fight even, it is said, their brothers, but who fight
as children, unknowing and unmeaning, without the knowledge of a
cause and without idea of loyalty.

How long the Irish Party had known of the relations between Parnell
and myself need not be here discussed.  Some years before certain
members of the Party opened one of my letters to Parnell.  I make no
comment.

Parnell very seldom mentioned them.  His outlook was so much wider
than is generally understood and his comment on members of the Party
was always, both before and after the split, calm, considerate, and
as being impersonal to himself.

He regarded the Catholic Church's attitude towards him as being the
logical outcome of her profession.  He was not, even in the last
months, when the priests' veto to their people turned the fight
against him in Ireland, bitter against them, even though I was.  His
strongest comment was:--"They have to obey their bishops, and they
Rome--and that's why the whole system of their interference in
politics is so infernal!"

{288}

Mr. Gladstone sent the following letter to Mr. Morley on November
24th:--



    ... While clinging to the hope of communication from Mr. Parnell
    to whomsoever addressed, I thought it necessary, viewing the
    arrangements for the commencement of the Session to-morrow, to
    acquaint Mr. McCarthy with the conclusion at which, after using
    all the means of observation and reflection in my power, I had
    myself arrived.  It was that, notwithstanding the splendid
    services rendered by Mr. Parnell to his country, his continuance
    at the present moment in the leadership would be productive of
    consequences disastrous in the highest degree to the cause of
    Ireland.

    I think I may be warranted in asking you so far to expand the
    conclusion I have given above as to add that the continuance I
    speak of would not only place many hearty and effective friends
    of the Irish cause in a position of great embarrassment, but
    would render my retention of the leadership of the Liberal Party,
    based as it has been mainly upon the presentation of the Irish
    cause, almost a nullity.



Thus Mr. Gladstone signed the death-warrant of Home Rule for Ireland.

On November 18th, 1890, there was a meeting of the National League in
Dublin.  On the same day the following paragraph appeared in the
London letter of the _Freeman's Journal_:--



    "I have direct authority for stating that Mr. Parnell has not the
    remotest intention of abandoning either permanently or
    temporarily his position or his duties as leader of the Irish
    Parliamentary Party.  This may be implicitly accepted as Mr.
    Parnell's firm resolution, and perhaps by learning it in time the
    Pigottist Press may be spared the humiliation of indulging in a
    prolonged outburst of useless vilification.  In arriving at this
    determination, I need not say that Mr. Parnell is actuated
    exclusively by a sense of his responsibility to the Irish people,
    by whose suffrages he holds his public position, {289} and who
    alone have the power or the right to influence his public action.
    The wild, unscrupulous, and insincere shriekings of the
    Pigottists on the platform and in the Press can and will do
    nothing to alter Mr. Parnell's resolve."



Parnell wrote to me from London after the meeting in Committee Room
15.



    MY OWN DARLING WIFIE,--I have received your letter through
    Phyllis, and hope to return to Brighton to-night per last train
    and tell you all the news.  Meanwhile I may say that I am
    exceedingly well, having had twelve hours' sleep last night.

    The meeting adjourned to-day till to-morrow at 12 or 1 to
    consider an amendment moved by one of my side that Gladstone,
    Harcourt, and Morley's views should be obtained as to their
    action on certain points in my manifesto.

    YOUR OWN KING.

    December 3, 1890.


The following letters speak for themselves:--



    PARNELL _to_ MR. WILLIAM REDMOND.

    MY DEAR WILLIE,--Thanks very much for your kind letter, which is
    most consoling and encouraging.  It did not require this fresh
    proof of your friendship to convince me that I have always justly
    relied upon you as one of the most single-minded and attached of
    my colleagues.--Yours very sincerely,

    CHAS. S. PARNELL.



    PARNELL _to_ DR. KENNY.

  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _Saturday._

    MY DEAR DOCTOR,--I shall be very much obliged if you can call
    over to see me this afternoon, as I am not feeling very well, and
    oblige, yours very truly,

    CHARLES S. PARNELL.

    Don't mention that I am unwell to anybody, lest it should get
    into the newspapers.---C. S. P.



To all his brothers and sisters, and, most of all, to his mother,
Parnell was most generous and affectionate, {290} and of that
generosity and affectionate regard I have abundant proof.

One of the last letters he wrote was to his mother:--



    I am weary, dear mother, of these troubles, weary unto death; but
    it is all in a good cause.  With health and the assistance of my
    friends I am confident of the result.  The statements my enemies
    have so often made regarding my relations with you are on a par
    with the endless calumnies they shoot upon me from behind every
    bush.  Let them pass.  They will die of their own venom.  It
    would indeed be dignifying them to notice their existence!


------------------


    NOTE.--Mrs. Parnell preserved a long series of letters from
    Captain O'Shea, dating from 1882 to 1891.  The earlier ones are
    mainly concerned with tactical political movements, the most
    important of which are the conversations between O'Shea and
    Chamberlain, noted on page 197.  Those of the 1885 period deal
    chiefly with O'Shea's grievance against Parnell in connexion with
    the Clare election.  In one he complains of the "absolute
    baseness" of Parnell's conduct.  To all who spoke to him of it he
    says, "I replied, 'Poor devil, he is obliged to allow himself to
    be kicked to the right or the left and look pleasant.  But he has
    the consolation of having been well paid for the pain--£40,000,
    the tribute of the priests and people of Ireland!'"  The
    reference was to the great Irish subscription, headed by the
    Archbishop of Cashel, made in order to enable Parnell to clear
    his estates from the mortgages which oppressed them.

    The later letters, from the end of 1886 onwards, reveal the
    violent strain in the relations of Captain and Mrs. O'Shea.
    Beginning with a private letter to Mr. Stead, objecting to a
    statement in _The Pall Mall Gazette_ that Parnell was staying on
    a visit with him, O'Shea went on to write to his wife's
    solicitor, Mr. H. Pym, suggesting that she should, for her
    children's sake, "declare her renunciation of communication with"
    Parnell, and then consulted Chamberlain on his difficulties.

    Finally, as a Catholic, he turned to Cardinal Manning for advice.
    His first interview with the head of the Roman Catholic {291}
    Church in England was on October 19th, 1889, when the question of
    separation as against divorce was discussed.  A long
    correspondence followed.  Manning was reluctant to agree to the
    proceedings for divorce, and delayed his decision till December
    4th, when he laid down the course to be pursued, viz., (1) to
    collect all evidence in writing; (2) to lay it before the Bishop
    of the Diocese and ask for trial; (3) the latter would appoint a
    day for hearing; (4) judgment having been given, the case would
    go to Rome with a full report of the proceedings.  O'Shea had
    already become impatient, and when, in another interview, Manning
    described to him the constitution of the Ecclesiastical Court
    which would report to Rome, he declared that he hesitated to
    approach a tribunal not having the right to administer the oath,
    and respectfully intimated his intention to take the case into
    the English Divorce Court.

    The letters close in 1891 with a correspondence between Captain O
    Shea and the Primate of Ireland in which the former repudiates a
    suggestion made by the Bishop of Galway (Dr. MacCormack) in
    February of that year that "in 1886 after having failed to foist
    Captain O'Shea upon a neighbouring county, the then leader had
    the effrontery of prostituting the Galway City constituency as a
    hush gift to O'Shea."  Describing this as a "grotesquely false"
    libel, Captain O'Shea details the course of events before the
    election, his refusal to take the Nationalist pledge, and his
    support by the then Bishop of Galway (Dr. Carr) and his clergy.

    Mr. Healy, in a speech at Kilkenny, had made an attack on Captain
    O'Shea on the same lines.  O'Shea was defended by Lord Stalbridge
    (formerly Lord Richard Grosvenor) and also by Chamberlain.  The
    former related the part he played in the promotion of O'Shea's
    candidature at Liverpool as a supporter of Mr. Gladstone and the
    latter quoted a letter in which on January 22, 1896, he had urged
    O'Shea to "get Mr. Parnell's exequatur for one of the vacant
    seats" in Ireland, as "it is really the least he can do for you
    after all you have done for him."  "Surely," wrote Chamberlain,
    "it must be to the interest of the Irish Party to keep open
    channels of communication with the Liberal leaders."  The point
    was clinched by a letter addressed by Mr. Timothy Harrington to
    the _Freeman's {292} Journal_, stating that "Mr. Parnell, during
    the Galway election in 1886, explained to his followers that he
    had only adopted Captain O'Shea as candidate for Galway at the
    special request of Mr. Chamberlain....  The strongest
    confirmation was given to it immediately after the election, when
    Captain O'Shea followed Mr. Chamberlain out of the House of
    Commons, and refused to vote on the Home Rule Bill."  On this
    aspect of the question, O'Shea himself says, in his letter to the
    Primate: "If I were such a man as Dr. MacCormack insinuates--a
    man who would buy a seat in Parliament at the price of his
    honour--I need only have given a silent vote for Mr. Gladstone's
    Home Rule Bill and my seat was as safe as any in Ireland."



    [1] See Note, page 290.

    [2] Parnell dealt in detail with the question of the
    Parliamentary independence of the Irish Party, and repudiated the
    right of any English party to exercise a veto on the Irish
    leadership.  He described his conversations at Hawarden with
    Gladstone in the previous November on the details of the scheme
    to be fathered by the Liberal Party when it returned to office,
    related the circumstances of Morley's suggestion to him that he
    should become Chief Secretary for Ireland, and referred
    scornfully to "the English wolves now howling for my
    destruction."  He thought the Irish people would agree with him
    that even if their threats of the indefinite postponement of a
    Home Rule scheme were realized, postponement would be preferable
    to a compromise of Irish national rights.



    {293}

    CHAPTER XXVIII

    A KING AT BAY

    "_Vulneratus non victus._"


    In December a vacancy occurred in Kilkenny, and, on December 9th,
    my King started for Ireland, and stayed with Dr. Kenny for the
    night in Dublin.  Of the great meeting in the Rotunda I give Miss
    Katharine Tynan's description, because of all the eye-witnesses'
    accounts of it that I have kept, none gives the true glimpse of
    Parnell as she does.

    "It was nearly 8.30 when we heard the bands coming; then the
    windows were lit up by the lurid glare of thousands of torches in
    the street outside.  There was a distant roaring like the sea.
    The great gathering within waited silently with expectation.
    Then the cheering began, and we craned our necks and looked on
    eagerly, and there was the tall, slender, distinguished figure of
    the Irish leader making its way across the platform.  I don't
    think any words could do justice to his reception.  The house
    rose at him; everywhere around there was a sea of passionate
    faces, loving, admiring, almost worshipping that silent, pale
    man.  The cheering broke out again and again; there was no
    quelling it.  Mr. Parnell bowed from side to side, sweeping the
    assemblage with his eagle glance.  The people were fairly mad
    with excitement.  I don't think anyone outside Ireland can
    understand what a charm Mr. Parnell has for the Irish heart; that
    wonderful personality of his, his proud {294} bearing, his
    handsome, strong face, the distinction of look which marks him
    more than anyone I have ever seen.  All these are irresistible to
    the artistic Irish.

    "I said to Dr. Kenny, who was standing by me, 'He is the only
    quiet man here.'  'Outwardly,' said the keen medical man,
    emphatically.  Looking again, one saw the dilated nostrils, the
    flashing eye, the passionate face; the leader was simply drinking
    in thirstily this immense love, which must have been more
    heartening than one can say after that bitter time in the English
    capital.  Mr. Parnell looked frail enough in body--perhaps the
    black frock-coat, buttoned so tightly across his chest, gave him
    that look of attenuation; but he also looked full of indomitable
    spirit and fire.

    "For a time silence was not obtainable.  Then Father Walter
    Hurley climbed on the table and stood with his arms extended.  It
    was curious how the attitude silenced a crowd which could hear no
    words.

    "When Mr. Parnell came to speak, the passion within him found
    vent.  It was a wonderful speech; not one word of it for
    oratorical effect, but every word charged with a pregnant message
    to the people who were listening to him, and the millions who
    should read him.  It was a long speech, lasting nearly an hour;
    but listened to with intense interest, punctuated by fierce cries
    against men whom this crisis has made odious, now and then marked
    in a pause by a deep-drawn moan of delight.  It was a great
    speech, simple, direct, suave--with no device and no
    artificiality.  Mr. Parnell said long ago, in a furious moment in
    the House of Commons, that he cared nothing for the opinion of
    the English people.  One remembered it now, noting his passionate
    assurances to his own people, who loved him too well to ask him
    questions."

    {295}

    During this meeting the anti-Parnellites took the opportunity to
    seize Parnell's paper, _United Ireland_, and the offices.  A
    witness's account of the incident contained in Mr. Barry
    O'Brien's "Life of Charles Stewart Parnell" appealed to me
    immensely, because this little affair was of intense interest to
    me, and all, or nearly all, I could get out of Parnell himself on
    the subject was a soft laugh and, "It was splendid fun.  I wish I
    could burgle my own premises every day!"

    Something like this appears to have happened.  The
    anti-Parnellite garrison was strongly entrenched in the offices
    of the newspaper--doors and windows all barred.  The streets were
    filled with a crowd of Parnellites crying death and destruction
    on the enemy, and pouring in faster from the side streets.  Men
    threading their way through the mass were distributing sticks and
    revolvers.

    Parnell had been apprised of the event at the meeting, and a
    pony-trap was waiting for him outside the Rotunda.  He got into
    it with Dr. Kenny, and they dashed off to the scene of action.
    At the sight of their Chief the crowd went wild; cheers for
    Parnell and curses for his enemies filled the air.  At full
    gallop the pony-trap dashed through the mass of people (which
    gave way as if by magic), and was brought up before the offices
    with a jerk that sent the horse sprawling on the ground.  Parnell
    jumped out of the trap, sprang up the steps, and knocked loudly
    at the door of the offices.  There was a dramatic moment of
    silence--the crowd hushed and expectant.  Then Parnell quietly
    gave some orders to those nearest him.  In a brief space they
    were off and back again with pickaxe and crowbar.  Parnell wished
    to vault the area railings and attack the area door, but he was
    held back.  So several of his followers dropped into the area,
    while Parnell {296} himself attacked the front door with the
    crowbar.  The door yielded, and he and many others rushed into
    the house.  A second party came from the area, and the united
    force dashed upstairs.  The rest was a Homeric struggle between
    garrison and besiegers, fought from staircase to staircase and
    story to story.  At length the garrison was downed to the last
    man.  A window of the second story was removed, and Parnell came
    out to his people.  He had lost his hat, his hair was tumbled,
    his face was quite white, his eyes were filled with the wild joy
    of the battle.  His face and clothes were powdered with dust and
    plaster.  For a moment again the crowd was silent; then it burst
    into a roar.

    Parnell made a short speech, came down, got into the trap, and
    drove to the railway station.

    On the 11th, when he nominated Mr. Vincent Scully, he stayed at
    Kilkenny.  That day he wrote to me that he was feeling ill, and
    his telegram of "good night" was weary in tone.  But the next day
    he wrote that he was feeling far better, and his letter was very
    hopeful of success.  He insisted on returning to me every
    Saturday, if it was in any way possible, during these months of
    fighting, and going back to Ireland on the next evening, Sunday.
    I begged him to spare himself the fatigue of this constant
    journeying, but he could not rest away; so, in despair, I gave up
    the fight against my own desire to have him at home for even
    these few hours.  This election lasted ten days.  Polling took
    place on December 22, and that morning he telegraphed to me not
    to expect victory, so I knew he was sure of defeat long before
    the poll was declared.  He returned to Dublin that night, and
    addressed a meeting outside the National Club.

    {297}

    It was during one of these last meetings that someone in the
    crowd threw lime in the Chief's face.  It has been said that the
    thing was a hoax, and that the substance thrown was flour.  It
    was not flour, but lime, and had not Parnell shut his eyes in
    time he would undoubtedly have been blinded.  As it was his eyes
    were not injured, and but for a tiny scar on the outer edge of
    his right eye he was not hurt.  I well remember the awful hours I
    passed pacing up and down my room at Brighton waiting, waiting
    for news after seeing the morning paper.  He had telegraphed to
    me directly after the cowardly assault was made, but he could not
    send it himself as he could not leave his friends.  The man to
    whom he gave the telegram for dispatch boasted to his fellows
    that he had a message from Parnell, and in the crowd and scuffle
    it was taken from him; so it was not until midday, when my own
    telegram of inquiry reached him, that Parnell knew that I had not
    received his; and by the time his reassuring message arrived I
    was nearly out of my mind.  The newspapers had made the very most
    of the affair, and I thought my husband was blinded.

    At the end of December Mr. William O'Brien returned from America,
    but, as a warrant was out for his arrest, he could not enter
    Ireland.  Much against his own wish Parnell went over to Boulogne
    to see him, as the Party were so anxious that he should go.  He
    did not think that it would do any good, and, feeling ill, he
    hated undertaking the extra fatigue.  He felt, too, that he would
    have to fight "all along the line" in Ireland, and continued the
    war without cessation, although he went over to Boulogne several
    times to hear what Mr. O'Brien had to say.  He was, however, on
    good terms with O'Brien, and suggested him as leader of the Party
    in the {298} event of his own resignation.  The suggestion did
    not prove acceptable to the Party.[1]

    Throughout this time he occasionally attended the sittings of the
    House, and, on returning home one sad evening, he did not speak
    much after his first greeting.  I felt that something had
    troubled him unusually, but forbore to worry him, knowing that he
    would tell me presently.  After a while he turned to me, and all
    he said was, "O'Kelly has gone too."

    I did not answer in words, for my heart bled for him in this the
    only personal sorrow he had suffered in the disloyalty of his
    Party.  Anger, scorn, and contempt, yes! but this was the first
    and only blow to his affections.  For the first time since that
    miserable and most cowardly exhibition of treachery in Committee
    Room 15 there was a little break in his voice.  They had been
    friends for so long, and had worked with each other in American
    and Irish politics so intimately.  He had loved him, and now
    O'Kelly had "gone too."

    When Mr. Gladstone gave the word, and the insecure virtue of the
    country obeyed it, because it is a very shocking thing to be
    found out, the anti-Parnellites were {299} extremely ingenious in
    inventing new forms of scurrility in connexion with my supposed
    name.  From one end of chivalrous Ireland to the other--urged on
    more especially by a certain emotional Irish member of
    Parliament--the name of "Kitty" O'Shea was sung and screamed,
    wrapped about with all the filth that foul minds, vivid
    imaginations, and black hatred of the aloof, proud Chief could
    evolve, the Chief whom they could not hurt save through the woman
    he loved!

    They hurt him now a little, it is true, but not very greatly.  My
    husband said to me after the Kilkenny election, "It would really
    have hurt, my Queen, if those devils had got hold of your real
    name, my Queenie, or even the 'Katie' or 'Dick' that your
    relations and Willie called you."  And then I was glad, so very
    glad that the gallant company of mud-slingers had with one accord
    leapt to the conclusion that those who love me called me "Kitty"
    because my name was Katharine.  For me it was a little thing to
    bear for the man who loved me as never woman has been loved
    before, and the only thing that I could not have borne would have
    been the thought that one of those who hated him had pierced the
    armour of his pride and touched his heart.

    * * * * * *

    On 22nd April, 1891, Mr. Frederick Kerley wrote from 10, Broad
    Court, Bow Street, W.C., to Mr. Thomson, to say that he had
    succeeded that day in serving Mr. Parnell with a copy of the
    Judge's Order, which Mr. Thomson had handed to him on the evening
    of the 20th instant.  He saw Mr. Parnell at 7.5 p.m. pass through
    the barrier on to the Brighton platform at Victoria Station.  He
    walked by his side and, addressing him, {300} said, "Mr. Parnell,
    I believe?"  Parnell replied, "Yes."  He said he was desired to
    hand him that paper, at the same time handing him the copy, when
    the following conversation ensued:

    Parnell: "What is it?"

    Kerley: "It is a Judge's Order."

    P.: "Oh, it is the costs."

    K.: "Yes, it is.  That is a copy, this is the original, and the
    signature of Mr. Justice Butt," and Kerley showed the original to
    him.

    P.: "Oh, very well."

    K.: "This is Mr. Wontner's card, who is the solicitor in the
    matter."

    Mr. Parnell took the card and said, "Thank you."

    It had all been clone very quietly.  No one saw what was done,
    and Parnell was not subjected to the slightest annoyance, and he
    did not appear to be the least annoyed.  Kerley did not enclose
    the original, as he was afraid to trust it through the post, but
    would hand it to Mr. Thomson personally.


  WONTNERS, 19 LUDGATE HILL., E.C.
    _Wired_ 10 _a.m.,_ 23 _April,_ '91.

    Copy Order costs P. served personally last evening.  Letter
    follows.



[1] The conversations with O'Brien and Dillon in France and the
correspondence which followed were concerned with the attitude of the
Irish Party towards the details of the Home Rule Bill to be
introduced when the Liberals came into power.  Mr. Justin McCarthy
had been elected leader of the party, but Parnell insisted on his
traditional right to a predominant voice in its decisions.  At the
beginning of 1891 there were anxious discussions about Gladstone's
intentions as to the number of Irish Members to be retained at
Westminster and as to the basis of a public declaration of Liberal
policy.  The proposals made to him were not satisfactory either to
Parnell's political judgment or to his _amour propre_.  They came to
nothing, however, and both O'Brien and Dillon were arrested on their
return to Ireland and put "out of the way for a bit," as Parnell
said.  He complained of the "depressing effect" these two colleagues
had upon him; it was "so hard to keep them to the difficulties of the
moment while they were so eagerly passing on the troubles of
to-morrow."



{301}

CHAPTER XXIX

PARNELL AS I KNEW HIM

"_If I must speake the schoole-master's language, I will confess that
character comes of the infinite moode_ [Greek: charázo], _which
signifieth to ingrave or make a deep impression._"--(CHARACTERS)
OVERBURY.


When I first met Mr. Parnell in 1880 he was unusually tall and very
thin.  His features were delicate with that pallid pearly tint of
skin that was always peculiarly his.  The shadows under his deep
sombre eyes made them appear larger than they were, and the eyes
themselves were the most striking feature of his cold, handsome face.
They were a deep brown, with no apparent unusualness about them
except an odd compulsion and insistence in their direct gaze that,
while giving the impression that he was looking through and beyond
them, bent men unconsciously to his will.  But when moved by strong
feeling a thousand little fires seemed to burn and flicker in the
sombre depths, and his cold, inscrutable expression gave way to a
storm of feeling that held one spellbound by its utter unexpectedness.

His hair was very dark brown, with a bronze glint on it in sunlight,
and grew very thickly on the back of the shapely head, thinning about
the high forehead.  His beard, moustache and eyebrows were a lighter
brown.  His features were very delicate, especially about the
fine-cut nostrils; and the upper lip short, though the mouth was not
particularly well shaped.  His was a very {302} handsome,
aristocratic face, very cold, proud and reserved; almost all the
photographs of him render the face too heavy, and thicken the
features.

He had an old-world courtliness of manner when speaking to women, a
very quiet, very grave charm of consideration that appealed to them
at once in its silent tribute to the delicacy of womanhood.  I always
thought his manner to women, whether equals or dependents, was
perfect.  In general society he was gracious without being familiar,
courteous but reserved, interested yet aloof, and of such an
unconscious dignity that no one, man or woman, ever took a liberty
with him.

In the society of men his characteristic reserve and "aloofness" were
much more strongly marked, and even in the true friendship he had
with at least two men he could more easily have died than have lifted
the veil of reserve that hid his inmost feeling.  I do not now allude
to his feeling for myself, but to any strong motive of his heart--his
love for Ireland and of her peasantry, his admiration that was almost
worship of the great forces of nature--the seas and the winds, the
wonders of the planet worlds and the marvels of science.

Yet I have known him expand and be thoroughly happy, and even boyish,
in the society of men he trusted.  Immensely, even arrogantly proud,
he was still keenly sensitive and shy, and he was never gratuitously
offensive to anyone.  In debate his thrusts were ever within the
irony permitted to gentlemen at war, even if beyond that which could
be congenial to the Speaker of the House or to a chairman of
committee.

He was never petty in battle, and all the abuse, hatred and
execration showered upon him in public and in private, whether by the
opponents of his political life or by the {303} (self-elected) judges
of his private life, caused no deviation in the policy that was his
or on the path that he meant to tread.  His policy was the outcome of
long, silent deliberation, with every probable issue considered,
every possible contingency allowed for, and then followed up with
quiet, unwearying persistency and determination.  When he succeeded
in forcing his will upon the House it was well, but he was not
elated, passing on to the next point to be gained.  When he failed,
he had done his best; but "the fates" willed otherwise than he, and
again he passed on to the next thing without perturbation.  No one
could flatter Parnell, neither could anyone humiliate him.  "What I
am, I am, what I am not I cannot be," was his summing up of his own
and of every other man's personality.

His cold, scientific way of sorting out and labelling his own Party
at first made me hesitatingly complain, "But, after all, they are
human beings!" and his characteristic answer was "In politics, as in
war, there are no men, only weapons."

In regard to "Nationalization," he declared that, while there must be
growth, there could be no change, and when I would point out in
friendly malice that his "nationalism" of one year need not
necessarily be that of another, and could very easily be less
comprehensive, he would answer with smiling scorn, "That only means
that lack of judgment is righted by growth in understanding!"

Parnell went into nothing half-heartedly, and was never content till
he had grasped every detail of his subject.  For this reason he gave
up the study of astronomy, which had become of engrossing interest to
him, for he said that astronomy is so enormous a subject that it
would have demanded his whole time and energy to satisfy him.  He
{304} was constitutionally lazy, and absolutely loathed beginning
anything, his delicate health having, no doubt, much to do with this
inertia, of which he was very well aware.  He always made me promise
to "worry" him into making a start on any important political work,
meeting or appointment, when the proper time came, and often I found
this a very sad duty, for he was so absolutely happy when working at
one of his many hobbies, or sitting quietly in his chair "watching"
me, and talking or keeping silent as the mood possessed him, that it
was misery to me to disturb him and send him off to do something that
was not interesting to him.  He used to comfort me by assuring me
that it was only the "beginnings" he hated, and that he was all right
when he was "once started."

He was extraordinarily modest about his own intellectual ability, and
decidedly underrated the wonderful powers of his mind, while he had
the utmost admiration for "brain," whether of friend or foe.
Frequently he would say that that "Grand Old Spider" (his private
name for Mr. Gladstone) was worth fighting because he was so
amazingly clever.  His own followers he picked with careful
consideration of their usefulness to his policy, and appreciated to
the full the occasionally brilliant ability some of them showed.  His
mind, in politics at least, was analytical, and he would sift, and
sort, and mentally docket each member of the Irish Party, in company
with the more prominent of the Liberal Party, till the whole assumed
to him the aspect of an immense game, in which he could watch and
direct most of the more important moves.  The policy of the
Conservatives he considered to be too obvious to require study.

In character Parnell was curiously complex.  Just, {305} tender and
considerate, he was nevertheless incapable of forgiving an injury,
and most certainly he never forgot one.  His code of honour forbade
him to bring up a wrong of private life against a public man, and he
had the subtle love of truth that dares to use it as the shield of
expediency.

Physically Parnell was so much afraid of pain and ill-health that he
suffered in every little indisposition and hurt far more than others
of less highly strung and sensitive temperament.  He had such a
horror of death that it was only by the exercise of the greatest
self-control that he could endure the knowledge or sight of it; but
his self-control was so perfect that never by word or deed did he
betray the intense effort and real loathing he suffered when obliged
to attend a funeral, or to be in any way brought into contact with
death or the thought thereof.  Whenever we passed, in our drive, a
churchyard or cemetery he would turn his head away, or even ask me to
take another road.  The only exception to this very real horror of
his was the little grave of our baby girl at Chislehurst, which he
loved; but then he always said she did not die, "she only went to
sleep."

Oppression of the weak and helpless, or any act of cruelty, filled
him with the deep hatred and indignation that had first led him to
make the cause of his hapless country his own, and he would spend
hours in silent, concentrated thought, altogether oblivious of his
surroundings, working out some point or way to lift a little of the
burden of the wronged.

Parnell was very fond of animals, and was their very good friend
always, taking every care himself to see that his horses and dogs
were properly looked after.  During one of the last meetings he
attended in Ireland he jumped {306} off his car in the midst of a
hostile crowd to rescue a terrier that was being kicked and run over
by the mob.

His will was autocratic, and once he had made up his mind to any
course he would brook no interference, nor suffer anything to stand
in his way.  Yet, in his home life, he would come to no decision
without seeking my approval, and was absolutely unselfish and
considerate.  I have known him deadly white, with the still, cold
passion that any deliberate thwarting of his will produced in him,
sweep aside out of "the Party" and out of all further recognition in
any capacity a man who had done useful work, and who, thus thrown
out, might have been--and was--dangerous to Parnell's political
policy in many ways.  He had gone against Parnell's explicit
instructions in a certain matter.  I ventured to point out that this
man might be dangerous as an enemy, and he answered: "While I am
leader they (the Party) are my tools, or they go!"  From his servants
also he exacted prompt, unquestioning obedience always, but he was
the most gentle and considerate of masters, and they, as a rule,
almost worshipped him.

He had much pride of family and family affection, but he was utterly
undemonstrative and shy.  Even when he nursed his brother John
through a long and painful illness, caused by a railway accident in
America when they were both very young men, the wall of reserve was
never broken down, and I do not think his family ever realized how
strong his affection for them was.

Parnell was not in the least a well-read man.  His genius was natural
and unaided; he was a maker of history, not a reader of it.  He took
no interest in literature as such, but for works on subjects
interesting to him--mining, mechanics, or engineering and (later)
astronomy--he {307} had an insatiable appetite and such a tremendous
power of concentration that he absolutely absorbed knowledge where he
chose.  I have known him to argue some intricate and technical point
of engineering with a man of thirty years' practical experience (in
America and India), who at length admitted Parnell to be right and
himself mistaken, though on this particular point Parnell's
deductions were made from a two hours' study of the subject some
three years or more before.

For pictures he cared not at all, and music he absolutely disliked;
though to amuse me he would sometimes "sing," in a soft undertone and
with much gravity, funny little nursery rhymes and snatches of the
songs of his college days.

His dislike of social life was so great that he would never accept
any invitation that could be in any way avoided; and if sometimes I
absolutely insisted upon his going to any reception or dinner party,
he would go with the grim determination of one fulfilling a most
unpleasant duty.  He often told me that it was because he hated
"Saxons" (a hatred which years of tradition had fostered) so much,
and felt ill at ease in any gathering of English people.

He certainly did not feel this with the working classes, with whom he
would constantly converse and watch at work when we were out
together.  Agricultural labourers did not interest him so much, but
he used to spend hours talking to mechanics of all classes, seamen,
road-menders, builders, and any and every kind of artisan.  To these
he always spoke in an easy, friendly way of their work, their wages,
and the conditions of labour, and I never remarked that
suspiciousness and reserve, characteristic of the English wageworker,
in these men when Parnell talked {308} with them.  They seemed to
accept him, not as one of themselves, but as an interesting and an
interested "labour leader," who had the unusual merit of wishing to
hear their views instead of offering them his own.

Parnell was intensely superstitious, with all the superstition of the
Irish peasant, and in this he was unreasoning and unreasonable.  This
trait was evidently acquired in earliest childhood and had grown with
his growth, for some of these superstitions are the heritage of ages
in the Irish people, and have their origin in some perfectly natural
fear, or association, that has, generation by generation, by
alteration of habit or circumstance, lost its force while retaining,
or even adding to, its expression.

Parnell would agree perfectly that this was a fact, nevertheless to
do so-and-so was "unlucky," and there was the end of it--it must not
be done.  Certain combinations of numbers, of lights or
circumstances, were "omens," and must be carefully avoided.
Evidently, as an intelligent child will, he had eagerly caught up and
absorbed all and every suggestion offered him by the converse of his
nurse and her associates, and the impressions thus made were
overlaid, but not erased, as he grew up isolated, by the very
reticence of his nature, from his fellows.  His dislike of the colour
green, as being unlucky, he could not himself understand, for it is
certainly not an Irish feeling, but it was there so decidedly that he
would not sit in any room that had this colour in it, nor would he
allow me to wear or use any of the magnificent silks or embroideries
that were so often presented to him, if, as was generally the case,
they had green in their composition.

Parnell had no religious conviction of creed and {309} dogma, but he
had an immense reverence, learnt, I think, from the Irish peasantry,
for any genuine religious conviction.  He personally believed in a
vast and universal law of "attraction," of which the elemental forces
of Nature were part, and the whole of which tended towards some
unknown, and unknowable, end, in immensely distant periods of time.
The world, he considered, was but a small part of the unthinkably
vast "whole" through which the "Spirit" (the soul) of man passed
towards the fulfilment of its destiny in the completion of
"attraction."  Of a first "Cause" and predestined "End" he was
convinced, though he believed their attributes to be unknown and
unknowable.

As I have said before, he was not a man who read, or sought to
acquire the opinions or knowledge of others, unless he had some
peculiar interest in a subject.  He considered, and formed his own
beliefs and opinions, holding them with the same quiet, convinced
recognition of his right of judgment that he extended to the judgment
of others.

Parnell's moral standard was a high one, if it is once conceded that
as regards the marriage bond his honest conviction was that there is
none where intense mutual attraction--commonly called love--does not
exist, _or where it ceases to exist_.  To Parnell's heart and
conscience I was no more the wife of Captain O'Shea when he (Parnell)
first met me than I was after Captain O'Shea had divorced me, ten
years later.  He took nothing from Captain O'Shea that the law of the
land could give, or could dispossess him of, therefore he did him no
wrong.  I do not presume to say whether in this conviction he was
right or wrong, but here I set down Parnell's point of view, with the
happy knowledge that never for one moment have I {310} regretted that
I made his point of view my own in this as in all things else.

Parnell's political life was one single-minded ambition for the good
of his country.  He was no place or popularity hunter.  Stung to the
quick in early manhood by the awful suffering of the Irish peasantry
and by the callous indifference of the English Government, he, with
all the pure chivalry of youth, vowed himself to their service, and,
so far as in him lay, to the forcing of the governing country to a
better fulfilment of her responsibilities.  In the course of years
the gaining of Home Rule for Ireland became for him the only solution
of the problem.  To this end he devoted all his energies, and for
this end men became as tools to him, to be used and thrown aside, so
that he could carve out the liberation of Ireland from the great
nation whom he declared could "rule slaves as freemen, but who would
only rule free men as slaves."

Some have said that Parnell was avaricious.  He was not.  In small
matters he was careful, and on himself he spent the very smallest
amount possible for his position.  He indulged himself in no luxuries
beyond the purchase of a few scientific books and instruments, on
which indulgence he spent many moments of anxious deliberation lest
he should need the money for political purposes.  His own private
income was spent in forwarding his political work, in the "relief
funds" of Ireland's many needs, and on his estates in Ireland, where
he did his utmost to promote industries that should prove to be of
real benefit to the people.  To his mother and other near relations
he was always generous, and to the many calls upon his charity _in
Ireland_ he was rarely unresponsive.

In temper Parnell was quiet, deep and bitter.  He was {311} so
absolutely self-controlled that few knew of the volcanic force and
fire that burned beneath his icy exterior.

In the presence of suffering he was gentle, unselfish and helpful.
Indeed, I may say that at all times at home he was the most unselfish
man I have ever met.

Of his moral courage all the world knows, yet no one, I think, but
myself can know how absolute it was; how dauntless and unshaken, how
absolutely and unconsciously heroic Parnell's courage was.  Through
good report, or ill report, in his public life, or in his private
life, he never changed, never wavered.  Hailed as his country's
saviour, execrated as her betrayer, exalted as a conqueror, or judged
and condemned by the self-elected court of English hypocrisy, he kept
a serene heart and unembittered mind, treading the path he had
chosen, and doing the work he had made his own for Ireland's sake.

And there are those who can in no way understand that some few men
are born who stand apart, by the very grandeur of Nature's plan--men
of whom it is true to say that "after making him the mould was
broken," and of whom the average law can neither judge aright nor
understand.  In his childhood, in his boyhood, and in his manhood
Parnell was "apart."  I was the one human being admitted into the
inner sanctuaries of his soul, with all their intricate glooms and
dazzling lights; mine was not the folly to judge, but the love to
understand.



{312}

CHAPTER XXX

MARRIAGE, ILLNESS AND DEATH

  "_O gentle wind that bloweth south
    To where my love re-paireth,
  Convey a kiss to his dear mouth
    And tell me how he fareth._"
                              --OLD BALLAD.

"_He that well and rightly considereth his own works will find little
cause to judge hardly of another._"--THOMAS À KEMPIS.


On June 24th, 1891, Mr. Parnell drove over to Steyning to see that
all the arrangements for our marriage at the registrar's office there
on the next day were complete.  Mr. Edward Cripps, the registrar, had
everything in order, and it was arranged that we should come very
early so as to baffle the newspaper correspondents, who had already
been worrying Mr. Cripps, and who hung about our house at Brighton
with an inconvenient pertinacity.  We had given Mr. Parnell's servant
elaborate orders to await us, with Dictator in the phaeton, at a
short distance from the house about eleven o'clock on the 25th, and
told him he would be required as a witness at our wedding.  This
little ruse gave us the early morning of the 25th clear, as the
newspaper men soon had these instructions out of the discomfited
young man, who had been told not to talk to reporters.

On June 25th I was awakened at daybreak by my lover's tapping at my
door and calling to me: "Get up, get up, it is time to be married!"
Then a humming and excitement began through the house as the maids
flew {313} about to get us and breakfast ready "in time," before two
of them, Phyllis Bryson, my very dear personal maid--who had put off
her own marriage for many years in order to remain with me--and my
children's old nurse, drove off to catch the early train to Steyning,
where they were to be witnesses of our marriage.  Phyllis was so
determined to put the finishing touches to me herself that she was at
last hustled off by Parnell, who was in a nervous fear that everyone
would be late but the newspaper men.  Phyllis was fastening a posy at
my breast when Parnell gently but firmly took it from her and
replaced it with white roses he had got for me the day before.
Seeing her look of disappointment he said, "She must wear mine
to-day, Phyllis, but she shall carry yours, and you shall keep them
in remembrance; now you must go!"

He drove the maids down the stairs and into the waiting cab, going
himself to the stables some way from the house, and returning in an
amazingly short time with Dictator in the phaeton and with a
ruffled-looking groom who appeared to have been sleeping in his
livery--it was so badly put on.  Parnell ordered him in to have a cup
of tea and something to eat while he held the horse, nervously
calling to me at my window to be quick and come down.  Then, giving
the groom an enormous "buttonhole," with fierce orders not to dare to
put it on till we were well on our way, Parnell escorted me out of
the house, and settled me in the phaeton with elaborate care.

As a rule Parnell never noticed what I wore.  Clothes were always
"things" to him.  "Your things become you always" was the utmost
compliment for a new gown I could ever extract from him; but that
morning, as he climbed in beside me and I took the reins, he said,
{314} "Queenie, you look lovely in that lace stuff and the beautiful
hat with the roses!  I am so proud of you!"

And I was proud of my King, of my wonderful lover, as we drove
through that glorious June morning, past the fields of growing corn,
by the hedges heavy with wild roses and "traveller's joy," round the
bend of the river at Lancing, past the ruined tower where we had so
often watched the kestrels hover, over the bridge and up the street
of pretty, old-world Bramber into Steyning, and on to the
consummation of our happiness.

Parnell hardly spoke at all during this drive.  Only, soon after the
start at six o'clock, he said, "Listen," and, smiling, "They are
after us; let Dictator go!" as we heard the clattering of horses far
behind.  I let Dictator go, and he--the fastest (driving) horse I
have ever seen--skimmed over the nine miles in so gallant a mood that
it seemed to us but a few minutes' journey.

Mr. Cripps was in attendance, and Mrs. Cripps had very charmingly
decorated the little room with flowers, so there was none of the
dreariness usual with a registry marriage.  As we waited for our
witnesses to arrive--we had beaten the train!--my King looked at us
both in the small mirror on the wall of the little room, and,
adjusting his white rose in his frock-coat, said joyously, "It isn't
every woman who makes so good a marriage as you are making, Queenie,
is it? and to such a handsome fellow, too!" blowing kisses to me in
the glass.  Then the two maids arrived, and the little ceremony that
was to legalize our union of many years was quickly over.

On the return drive my husband pulled up the hood of the phaeton,
and, to my questioning look--for it was a hot morning--he answered
solemnly, "It's the right thing to do."  As we drove off, bowing and
laughing {315} our thanks to Mr. Cripps and the others for their kind
and enthusiastic felicitations, he said, "How could I kiss you good
wishes for our married life unless we were hooded up like this!"

Just as we drove out of Steyning we passed the newspaper men arriving
at a gallop, and we peered out doubtfully at them, fearing they would
turn and come back after us.  But I let Dictator have his head, and,
though they pulled up, they knew that pursuit was hopeless.  My
husband looked back round the hood of the phaeton, and the groom
called out delightedly, "They've give up, and gone on to Mr. Cripps,
sir."

On our return to Walsingham Terrace we had to run the gauntlet
between waiting Pressmen up the steps to the house, but at my
husband's imperious "Stand back; let Mrs. Parnell pass!  Presently,
presently; I'll see you presently!" they fell back, and we hid
ourselves in the house and sat down to our dainty little wedding
breakfast.  Parnell would not allow me to have a wedding cake,
because he said he would not be able to bear seeing me eat our
wedding cake without him, and, as I knew, the very sight of a rich
cake made him ill.

Meanwhile the reporters had taken a firm stand at the front door, and
were worrying the servants to exasperation.  One, a lady reporter for
an American newspaper, being more enterprising than the rest, got
into the house adjoining ours, which I also rented at that time, and
came through the door of communication on the balcony into my
bedroom.  Here she was found by Phyllis, and as my furious little
maid was too small to turn the American lady out, she slipped out of
the door and locked it, to prevent further intrusion.

Then she came down to us in the dining-room, found {316} on the way
that the cook had basely given in to bribery, having "Just let one of
the poor gentlemen stand in the hall," and gave up the battle in
despair--saying, "Will Mrs. O'Shea see him, Mr. ---- wants to know?"

"Phyllis!" exclaimed my husband in a horrified voice, "what do you
mean?  _Who_ is Mrs. O'Shea?"

Poor Phyllis gave one gasp at me and fled in confusion.

Then my King saw some of the newspaper people, and eased their minds
of their duty to their respective papers.  The lady from America he
utterly refused to see, as she had forced herself into my room, but,
undaunted, she left vowing that she would cable a better "interview"
than any of them to her paper.  They were kind enough to send it to
me in due course, and I must admit that even if not exactly accurate,
it was distinctly "bright."  It was an illustrated "interview," and
Parnell and I appeared seated together on a stout little sofa, he
clad in a fur coat, and I in a dangerously _décolleté_ garment,
diaphanous in the extreme, and apparently attached to me by large
diamonds.  My sedate Phyllis had become a stage "grisette" of most
frivolous demeanour, and my poor bedroom--in fact, the most solid and
ugly emanation of Early Victorian virtue I have ever had bequeathed
to me--appeared to an interested American State as the "very utmost"
in fluffy viciousness that could be evolved in the united capitals of
the demi-mondaine.

I showed this "interview" to my husband, though rather doubtful if he
would be amused by it; but he only said, staring sadly at it, "I
don't think that American lady can be a very nice person."

After he had sent the reporters off my King settled into his old coat
again, and subsided into his easy chair, smoking and quietly watching
me.  I told him he must {317} give up that close scrutiny of me, and
that I did not stare at him till he grew shy.

"Why not?" he said.  "A cat may look at a king, and surely a man may
look at his wife!"

But I refused to stay indoors talking nonsense on so lovely a day,
and we wandered out together along the fields to Aldrington.  Along
there is a place where they make bricks.  We stood to watch the men
at work, and Parnell talked to them till they went off to dinner.
Parnell watched them away till they were out of sight, and then said,
"Come on, Queenie, we'll make some bricks, too.  I've learnt all
about it in watching them!"  So we very carefully made two bricks
between us, and put them with the others in the kiln to burn.  I
suggested marking our two bricks, so that we might know them when we
returned, but when we looked in the kiln some hours later they all
appeared alike.

Then we got down to the sea and sat down to watch it and rest.  Far
beyond the basin at Aldrington, near the mouth of Shoreham Harbour,
we had the shore to ourselves and talked of the future, when Ireland
had settled down, and my King--king, indeed, in forcing reason upon
that unreasonable land and wresting the justice of Home Rule from
England--could abdicate; when we could go to find a better climate,
so that his health might become all I wished.  We talked of the
summer visits we would make to Avondale, and of the glorious days
when he need never go away from me.  Of the time when his hobbies
could be pursued to the end, instead of broken off for political
work.  And we talked of Ireland, for Parnell loved her, and what he
loved I would not hate or thrust out from his thoughts, even on this
day that God had made.

Yet, as we sat together, silent now, even though we {318} spoke
together still with the happiness that has no words, a storm came
over the sea.  It had been very hot all day and a thunderstorm was
inevitable; but, as we sheltered under the breakwater, I wished that
this one day might have been without a storm.

Reading my thoughts, he said: "The storms and thunderings will never
hurt us now, Queenie, my wife, for there is nothing in the wide world
that can be greater than our love; there is nothing in all the world
but you and I."  And I was comforted because I did not remember death.

The news of our marriage was in all the evening papers, and already
that night began the bombardment of telegrams and letters of
congratulation and otherwise!  The first telegram was to me, "Mrs.
Parnell," and we opened it together with much interest and read its
kind message from "Six Irish Girls" with great pleasure.  The others,
the number of which ran into many hundreds, varied from the heartiest
congratulation to the foulest abuse, and were equally of no moment to
my husband, as he made no attempt to open anything in the
ever-growing heap of correspondence that, for weeks I kept on a large
tray in my sitting-room, and which, by making a determined effort
daily, I kept within bounds.

"Why do you have to open them all?" he asked me, looking at the heap
with the indolent disgust that always characterized him at the sight
of many letters.

"Well, I like reading the nice ones, and I can't tell which they are
till they're opened," I explained.  "Now here is one that looks the
very epitome of all that is good and land outside-thick, good paper,
beautiful handwriting--and yet the inside is unprintable!"

Parnell held out his hand for it, but I would not give {319} anything
so dirty into his hand, and tore it across for the wastepaper basket,
giving him instead a dear little letter from a peasant woman in
Ireland, who invoked more blessings upon our heads than Heaven could
well spare us.

Little more than three months afterwards the telegrams and letters
again poured into the house.  This time they were messages of
condolence, and otherwise.  And again their message fell upon
unheeding ears, for the still, cold form lying in the proud
tranquillity of death had taken with him all my sorrow and my joy;
and as in that perfect happiness I had known no bitterness, for he
was there, now again these words of venom, speaking gladness because
he was dead, held no sting for me, for he was gone, and with him took
my heart.

The very many letters of true sympathy which reached me after my
husband's death were put away in boxes, and kept for me till I was
well enough for my daughter to read them to me.  Among these were
many from clergymen of all denominations and of all ranks in the
great army of God.  As I lay with closed eyes listening to the
message of these hearts I did not know I seemed to be back in the
little church at Cressing, and to hear my father's voice through the
mists of remembrance, saying: "And now abideth faith, hope, charity,
these three; but the greatest of these is _Charity_." ...

Among our many wedding presents was a charming little alabaster clock
from my husband's sister, Emily Dickinson.  It was a ship's "wheel,"
and we were very gay over its coming, disputing as to which of us
should henceforth be the "man at the wheel."  Parnell's mother also
was very sweet and kind to me, sending me several much prized
letters.  Other members of my husband's family also wrote very kindly
to me, and I can still see {320} his tender smile at me as he saw my
appreciation of his family's attitude.

The presents we liked best, after Mrs. Dickinson's clock, were the
little humble offerings of little value and much love sent by working
men and women, by our servants, and by others of far countries and
near.  Parcels arrived from the four quarters of the globe, and many
were beyond recognition on arrival, but the fragments were grateful
to me as bearing a message of true homage to my King.

Of other feeling there was little among these wedding gifts, though
one evening my eldest daughter who was with me, remarked casually to
me that she had confiscated a newly arrived "registered" parcel
addressed to me.  "Oh, but you must not," I exclaimed, "I want them
all!"  But she answered gloomily that this parcel had contained a
mouse, and "not at all the kind of mouse that anyone could have
wanted for days past."  So I subsided without further interrogation.

Once when Parnell and I were staying at Bournemouth we became very
fond of some old engravings hanging in our hotel sitting-room,
illustrating "The Dowie Dens of Yarrow," and now, through these
fighting months in Ireland, we used this old ballad as a medium for
private telegrams, as we could not be sure they would not fall into
other hands.  The idea took root when he first left me to attend what
I feared would be a hostile meeting in Ireland.  He had wired the
political result to me, but had not said how he was feeling.  I
telegraphed to him: "O gentle wind that bloweth south," and promptly
came the reply to me: "He fareth well."

All through these fighting months in Ireland he telegraphed to me
always in the morning and also in the {321} evening of every day he
was away from me, and whenever he could snatch a moment he wrote to
me.  He was in no way unhappy in this last fight, and had only the
insidious "tiredness" that grew upon him with such deadly
foreshadowing of the end we would not see given him a little respite,
he could, he said, have enjoyed the stress and storm of battle.  To
bend these rebels in Ireland to his will became but a secondary
driving force to that of gaining for Ireland the self-government to
which he had pledged himself for her, and I think it gave that zest
and joy in hardness to the battle that all the great fighters of the
world seem to have experienced.

I am not giving all his letters of this time; just a few of the
little messages of my husband's love in these last days I must keep
for my own heart to live upon; but the two or three that I give are
sufficient to show the high, quiet spirit of the man who was said to
be "at bay."  Letters, I think, rather of a king, serene in his
belief in the ultimate sanity of his people and of the justice of his
cause.



  BALLINA,
    _March_ 24, 1891.

    The reception here yesterday was magnificent, and the whole
    country for twenty-five miles from here to the town of Sligo is
    solid for us, and will vote 90 out of 100 for us, the priests
    being in our favour with one exception, and the seceders being
    unable to hold a meeting anywhere.  I am to keep in this friendly
    district, and to hold meetings there, and shall not go outside of
    it.

    The town of Sligo, and the district from there to Cliffony, is
    hostile, the priests being against us, and I shall not go into
    it, but we have a good friendly minority even in this district,
    whom our agents will canvass privately.  You will see the
    situation on the map.

    Wire me to Ballina, every day, which will be my headquarters;
    also write particulars if any news.


{322}


  BIG ROCK QUARRIES, ARKLOW, Co. WICKLOW,
    _August_ 15, 1891.

    MY OWN WIFIE,--Your telegram only received this evening, in
    consequence of my being at the mine.

    I think you might fix the end of the year as the time you and I
    would guarantee the payment of the costs.[1]  If Wontner accepts
    this or any modification of it which would give me, say, three
    months to pay, telegraph Pym as follows: "No."  If he declines to
    accept, or you cannot come to any definite arrangement with
    Wontner by Tuesday at midday, telegraph Pym "Yes."  I have
    written Pym advising him accordingly about the appeal, and
    sending the lodgment money, but it would be better if possible
    that you should telegraph Pym on Monday afternoon.  I trust to be
    able to cross on Tuesday morning or evening at latest.  It is
    very fine here, but I have had no shooting, and do not expect
    any, as I have to be in Dublin all day Monday arranging about new
    paper.---With best love, YOUR OWN HUSBAND.

    You should ask Wontner to telegraph you definitely as early as
    possible on Monday.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _September_ 1, 1891.

    MY OWN WIFIE,--I have received Magurri's letter safely, and hope
    to be able to leave here on Wednesday (to-morrow) evening,
    sleeping at Holyhead, and visiting the place in Wales[2] next
    morning on my way back to London.

    MacDermott says he does not think I can get the loan from
    Hibernian Bank concluded within a fortnight, but will hasten
    matters as much as possible.  The bank and their solicitors
    approve the security and proposal generally, but it will take a
    little time to make the searches and go through other formalities
    which lawyers always insist upon in such cases.

    By to-morrow I expect to have done as much as I possibly can for
    the present in the matter of the new paper.  It has been a very
    troublesome business, as a dispute has arisen between different
    sections of my own friends as to who shall {323} have the largest
    share in the management of the new organ.  This dispute somewhat
    impedes progress and increases the difficulties.  However, the
    matter is not so pressing, as the _Freeman_ question is again
    postponed for another fortnight.  I expect to make a satisfactory
    arrangement about my _Freeman_ shares, under which I shall lose
    nothing by them.  Kerr is making progress in getting up a small
    company to buy a steamer, and I think he may succeed.

    I have been very much bored, as I am obliged to remain in the
    hotel all day every day, waiting to see people who may call about
    the different undertakings.  I wonder whether you have been
    driving at all, and how the eyes are, and how you have been
    doing.  You have not written to tell me.--With much love,

    MY OWN LITTLE WIFIE'S HUSBAND.



  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    _Monday, September_ 7, 1801

    MY OWN WIFIE,--I have told Kerr that he cannot have any of the
    first thousand, so he is going to manage without it for the
    present, so you may reckon on that amount

    The bank was to have given me that sum to-day, but a hitch
    occurred on Saturday which I removed to-day, and the board will
    meet to-morrow and ratify the advance.

    YOUR OWN HUSBAND.

    In great haste.

    The trouble about the jealousies of would-be directors on the new
    board still continues, and have postponed selection till next
    week--crossing to-morrow night.


On my husband's return home from Ireland in September, after having
established the _Irish Daily Independent_, he was looking so worn out
and ill that I was thoroughly alarmed about his health.  He was very
cheerful and happy while he was at home, and I had much difficulty in
keeping him quietly lying down to rest on the sofa.  But, though he
protested while following my wishes, I saw as I sat watching him
while he slept that {324} the tired, grey shadows were growing deeper
upon his beautiful face, and that in sleep he had that absolute
stillness which one only finds in very healthy children or in the
absolutely exhausted sleep of adults.

I tried to induce him to see Sir Henry Thompson in town, but he would
not consent--saying that he could not waste a moment of his little
time at home, and that, though he did feel tired, that was all.

"I am not ill," he said, "only a little tired.  Queenie, my wife, you
do not really think I am ill, do you?"

Knowing the one weakness of his brave heart, his anger and terror at
the idea of illness and of the far-off death that might divide us, I
answered only that I thought he was too tired, that nothing, not even
Ireland, was worth it, and I besought him now at last to give it all
up, and to hide away with me till a long rest, away from the turmoil
and contention, had saved him from the tiredness that would, I
feared, become real illness if he went on.

He lay watching me as I spoke, and, after a long pause, he answered,
"I am in your hands, Queenie, and you shall do with me what you will;
but you promised."

"You mean I promised that I would never make you less than-----"

"Less than your King," he interrupted, "and if I give in now I shall
be less than that.  I would rather die than give in now--give in to
the howling of the English mob.  But if you say it I will do it, and
you will never hear of it again from me, my love, my own wife."  And
as I gazed down into the deep, smouldering eyes, where the little
flames always leapt out to meet mine, I knew I could not say it, I
knew that in the depths of those eyes was more than even my love
could fathom, that in the martyrdom of our love was to be our
reparation.

{325}

I sent him off bright and happy to the last meeting at Creggs.  As he
drove off to the station and Dictator rounded the corner of the
house, he turned, as usual, to wave to me, and raised the white rose
in his buttonhole to his lips with an answering smile.

He sent me a telegram from London as he was starting from Euston
Station, one from Holyhead, and another from Dublin.  For the Creggs
meeting he stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney, and his telegram from
their house was cheerful, though he said he was not feeling very well.

In the few lines I had from him here I knew he was in much pain again
from the rheumatism in his left arm.  He always told me exactly how
he was feeling, as he knew that unless he did this I would have
suffered untold misery from apprehension while he was away.  From
Creggs he telegraphed that he was about to speak, and it was
"terrible weather."  I thought with satisfaction that I had put a
special change into a bag for him, and he had promised not to be
parted from it, so I knew he would find means of changing his things
directly after the meeting.  His "good night" telegram did not
reassure me; he was in bad pain from the rheumatism, but hoped to get
it out with a Turkish bath on the way home.

He stayed in Dublin to see about the new paper which though "going"
well, was a perpetual trouble to him owing to the petty jealousies of
the staff.  He crossed over from Ireland feeling very ill, with
violent pains all over him; he was implored to go to bed, and remain
there for a few days till he felt better, before starting for
England; but he only replied: "No, I want to get home; I must go
home!"

He telegraphed to me from Holyhead as usual, and {326} directly he
got to London, and before coming on to Brighton he had a Turkish bath
in London.

He seemed to me very weak when he got out of the buggy.  I had sent a
closed fly to meet him, as well as the buggy, but as a forlorn hope,
for he would always be met by Dictator in the buggy at the station

I helped him into the house, and he sank into his own chair before
the blazing fire I had made, in spite of the warm weather, and said:
"Oh, my Wifie, it is good to be back.  You may keep me a bit now!"

I was rather worried that he should have travelled immediately after
a Turkish bath, but he said it had done him much good.  I did not
worry him then, but after he had eaten a fairly good dinner I told
him that I wanted him to have Sir Henry Thompson down the next day.
He laughed at the idea, but I was very much in earnest, and he said
he would see how he felt in the morning.

He told me that he had had to have his arm in a sling all the time he
was away, but that he thought he had become so much worse because the
change of clothes I had packed separately in a small bag (which he
had promised not to be parted from) in case he had to speak in the
rain, had been taken home in error by his host, and he had had to sit
in his wet things for some hours.

I was much vexed when I heard this, for I always made such a point of
his not keeping on damp things, and provided against it so carefully
when starting him off.

He said: "It is no matter, really, I think, and I won't go away again
till I'm really well this time.  They were all so kind to me, but I
was feeling so ill that I had to point out that breakfast was made
for me, not I for breakfast, when I was expected to come down quickly
for it.  {327} I do hate being away from home, especially when I feel
ill."

After dinner that night he sat before the fire trying to smoke a
cigar, but he did not care for it as usual, and presently threw it
away half smoked.  He wanted to "feel" I was there, he said, so I sat
by his feet on the rug, and leant my head against his knee while he
stroked my hair.  I stopped his hand because I feared the pain might
come on again, and held it while he smiled assent to my suggestion
that he should try to sleep a little.  Grouse and Pincher, our setter
and terrier, had to come close by us, and, as they settled by his
feet, he said: "This is really a beautiful rest."

He dozed now and then, and I could see how wan and exhausted the
still, clear-cut face was, and I vowed to myself that he should not
again leave my care until his health was completely re-established.

Presently he asked for his stick and wanted to go into the other room
for a while, but he could not walk without my assistance, his legs
were too weak to support him.  I was terribly worried now, but did
not let him see it, and only said: "Now you are up you must let me
help you to bed, so that you can get all the rest you need--and you
are not going to leave home again till you take me for a real
honeymoon in a country where the sun is strong enough to get the cold
out of your bones.  We will get out of England this winter."  And he
answered: "So we will, Wifie, directly I get that mortgage through."

Then, as we made our painful way up the stairs--for the last time--he
laughed at the Irish setter, who was trying to help him lift the
stick he used, and said: "Grouse thinks we are doing this for his own
special benefit."  I undressed him, and got him into bed, and he
said: "Come {328} and lie down as quickly as you can, Wifie," but I
rubbed him with the firwood oil, and packed his arm in the wool he so
much believed in, before I lay down.

He dozed off, but woke shortly, and could not sleep again.  He asked
me if I thought the champagne Dr. Kenny had made him take in Dublin
had made him worse, but I reassured him, for he had been so exhausted
he had required something, and no doubt Dr. Kenny had known that it
would do him good, although in a general way it was bad for him.

During the night I made him promise he would see a doctor in the
morning.  Presently he said: "I would rather write to Thompson, as he
understands me."  I said I would telegraph to him to come down, but
this excited my husband, who said, "No, the fee would be enormous at
this distance."  I pointed out that his health was more precious than
the quarries and saw-mills at Arklow, on which he was just proposing
to spend some hundreds of pounds, but he put me off with, "We'll make
it all right in the morning, Wifie."

Finding he still did not sleep, I gently massaged his shoulders and
arms with oil, and wrapped him in wool again.

He talked a good deal, chiefly of the Irish peasantry, of their
privations and sufferings, the deadly poverty and the prevalence of
the very pain (rheumatism) from which he was suffering, in their case
aggravated by the damp, insanitary cabins in which they lived.  And
he murmured under his breath: "There are no means at hand for
calculating the people who suffered in silence during those awful
years of famine."  That was what J. H. Mohonagy said of the famine,
from '79 to '80.  And he went on: "I wish I could do something for
them--the Irish {329} peasantry--they are worth helping.  I have
always wished it, but there is so much between--and they 'suffer in
silence,' Wifie."

In the morning he felt better, and was much happier about himself.
He absolutely refused to let me send for Sir Henry Thompson, and,
sitting up in bed after a good breakfast, smoked a cigar while he
wrote notes for a speech.  During his last absence I had bought a
large engraving of Lord Leighton's picture "Wedded," and, seeing this
hanging in the room, he made me bring it and put it up at the foot of
the bed for him to see.  He was very much amused at the muscular
young couple in the picture, and waving his cigar at it said: "We are
a fine pair, Wifie; hang us up where I can look at us."

I had ready for him to sign an agreement to rent a house near
Merstham, Surrey, that we had arranged to take so that he could get
to London more quickly, and have a change from the sea.  It was a
pretty little country house, and he had taken great interest in it.
I would not let him sign it now, or do any business, but he made me
read the agreement over to him, and said that part of our real
"honeymoon" should be spent there.  He later insisted upon writing to
his solicitor (his brother-in-law, Mr. MacDermott) about a mortgage
he was raising on his estate, as he wished to have the matter
completed quickly.  (It was not completed, owing to his death.)

On Sunday he was not so well, but insisted that what he had written
to Sir Henry Thompson was enough, as he would answer at once.  My
persistence seemed to fret him so much that I desisted, and told him
that I had sent for a local doctor, as I could not bear to be without
advice about the pain.

He was a good patient in one way, scrupulously {330} following his
doctor's directions, but in another a very difficult patient, as he
was so very easily depressed about himself, all the fatalism that was
natural to him tending to overcome his immense desire for health.  A
short talk with the doctor who saw him seemed to inspire him with
confidence, and he said he felt better.

That night (Sunday) he did not sleep, and this worried him a great
deal, as he had a superstition that if he did not sleep for two
consecutive nights he would die.  I tried at first to reason him out
of this idea, but he said he had always "felt" this, and had never
before failed to sleep.  I besought him to let me telegraph for Sir
Henry Thompson now, but he would not allow it, and became so feverish
at the idea that I did not press the point, though I determined to
consult the doctor in attendance about this in the morning.  Towards
morning he became very feverish, and it was difficult to keep his
skin in the perspiration that he desired.

That morning Sir Henry Thompson telegraphed recommending me to call
in Dr. Willoughby Furner, but as Dr. Jowers was already in
attendance, and my husband liked him, there was no reason to change.
That day he was in much pain, afraid to move a finger because of it.
He heard from Sir Henry Thompson and, after I read the letter to him,
he said: "You see, sweetheart, I was right; Thompson says just what
Jowers does; there's no need to have him down."

After my husband's death I received the following letters from Sir
Henry Thompson:--


  35 WIMPOLE STREET, W.,
    _October_ 7, 1891.

    DEAR MRS. PARNELL,--I am indeed shocked and distressed by the
    news which the afternoon journals announce here to-day.

    {331}

    So little did I think when I received the letter written by my
    old esteemed patient, dated October 3, that his end was so near.

    With the feelings which this shock have aroused I cannot do
    otherwise than ask permission to express my sincere sympathy and
    condolence in the terrible and, I imagine, even to you who must
    have known more of his health than anyone else, this sudden
    affliction.  The more so as I think you accompanied him once, if
    not more than once, in his visits to me in Wimpole Street.  Of
    such expression of feeling towards you in this great trial you
    will at least find multitudes ready to join, and may find some
    slight consolation in the knowledge that sympathy with you will
    be widely felt both here and in America.

    Under present circumstances I cannot expect or wish to trouble
    you to communicate with me.  But I should be deeply interested in
    knowing (for my private interest in him and in what befell him)
    what followed the communication I made to you, whether you had
    attendance (professional) on the spot before my letter arrived,
    and what was said, or supposed, to have been the cause of the
    fatal result, or any details which some friend could send me.

    With renewed assurance of my deep sympathy,--Believe me, yours
    truly, HENRY THOMPSON.

    I think I must have received one of his very last letters, if not
    his last.



  35 WIMPOLE STREET, W.,
    _Saturday afternoon, October_ 10, 1891.

    DEAR MRS. PARNELL,--I am very glad you have written me, if the
    doing so, or if the reply I may be able to send you, can in any
    way help to mitigate any one of the numerous and infinitely
    painful circumstances, or their influence, rather, on your mind
    just now.

    Such inquiries as those which suggest themselves to you are so
    natural that it is impossible to repress them.

    One never knows exactly what might have happened in any incident
    of life had some other course been taken.  But whatever course
    may be supposed, it is useless to pursue it, {332} since only one
    can ever be taken in this life, namely, that one which is chosen
    by the individual in every case.

    In reference to that asked by you, I feel very strongly that the
    sad catastrophe was by no means the outcome of any one act--or
    omission to act--and is far more truly indicated in that passage
    in yours which describes him as saying to Dr. Jowers, "had he
    only been able to follow my advice during the last few months,"
    etc.  There is the gist of the matter!  I doubt whether anything
    would have saved him when passing through London.  A blow had
    been struck--not so heavy--apparently a light one; but his
    worn-out constitution, of late fearfully overtaxed by a spirit
    too strong for its bodily tenement, had no power to resist, and
    gave way, wholly unable to make any fight for itself against the
    enemy.  Hence what would in a fairly robust state of health have
    been only a temporary conflict with a mild attack of
    inflammation, developed into a severe form, overwhelming the
    vital force with great rapidity and rendering all medical aid
    powerless.  I don't believe that any medicine, any treatment,
    could have enabled his weakened condition to resist successfully.
    He wanted no medicine to combat the complaint.  He wanted
    physical force, increased vitality to keep the attack at bay.  I
    have nothing to say of the prescription, except that it appears
    to me quite appropriate under the circumstances and these I have
    learnt from the public Press.  Dr. Jowers is an experienced and
    most capable man, and I think you may rest assured that he could
    scarcely have been in safer hands.

    If I were to regret anything it would be that he had not found a
    spare half-hour to come and see me _some time ago_.  Let me see
    then how his strength was and whether he could not be fortified a
    little for the wearing life he was leading.  But then these are
    acts of prudence and foresight which very few ardent men of
    action ever find time to take.  Nevertheless, it is then that
    advice is really efficient.  It is in nine times out of ten
    sought too late; when it is indeed a matter of little consequence
    what prescription is written, or, indeed, who has written it,
    provided only that it does no mischief.

    I should very much have liked to see him again at any time.
    After the first visit I always knew my patient, and felt much
    interested in him, although I never showed any {333} reference to
    the fact, preferring to follow his own lead in reference to name,
    a matter he refers to in the letter of the 3rd inst.

    By the way, you know, of course, I received that letter only on
    Monday morning, and lost not an instant in replying, telegraphing
    that I was doing so.

    You ask me to return it--"_his last letter_"--as I suspected.  I
    cannot tell you how I was valuing it, and that I intended to
    place it among my most treasured souvenirs, of which I have many.
    But I cannot refuse it to his suffering and heart-broken widow,
    if she desires me to return it, and will do so.  It consists only
    of a few professional words, a patient to his doctor--nothing
    more, and it is addressed by yourself--as I believe.  It is not
    here--I am writing at the club; but if you still ask me I cannot
    hesitate an instant, and will send it to you.

    Come and see me any time you are able, by and by.  I will answer
    any inquiries you may wish to make.  I am at home (only let me
    know a day beforehand, if you can) every morning from 9.30 to
    12--not after, except by quite special arrangement.

    With sincere sympathy, believe me, dear Mrs. Parnell, yours
    truly, HENRY THOMPSON.


My husband was in great pain on the Monday, and seemed to feel a
sudden horror that he was being held down by some strong unseen
power, and asked my help--thank God, always my help--to fight against
it.  He tried to get out of bed, although he was too weak to stand,
and I had to gently force him back, and cover him up, telling him how
dangerous a chill would be.  He said: "Hold me tight, then, yourself,
till I can fight those others."  Then he seemed to doze for a few
minutes, and when he opened his eyes again it was to ask me to lie
down beside him and put my hand in his, so that he could "feel" I was
there.  I did so, and he lay still, quite happy again, and spoke of
the "sunny land" where we would go as soon as he was better.  "We
will be so happy, Queenie; there are so many things happier than
politics."

{334}

He did not sleep that night, and the next morning (Tuesday) he was
very feverish, with a bright colour on his usually white face.  I
wanted to send the dogs from the room, because I feared they would
disturb him, but he opened his eyes and said: "Not Grouse; let old
Grouse stay, I like him there."

His doctor said that for a day or two we could not look for much
improvement.  After his medicine that afternoon he lay quietly with
his eyes closed, just smiling if I touched him.  The doctor came in
again, but there was no change, and he left promising to call early
the next morning.  During the evening my husband seemed to doze, and,
listening intently, I heard him mutter "the Conservative Party."

Late in the evening he suddenly opened his eyes and said: "Kiss me,
sweet Wifie, and I will try to sleep a little."  I lay down by his
side, and kissed the burning lips he pressed to mine for the last
time.  The fire of them, fierce beyond any I had ever felt, even in
his most loving moods, startled me, and as I slipped my hand from
under his head he gave a little sigh and became unconscious.  The
doctor came at once, but no remedies prevailed against this sudden
failure of the heart's action, and my husband died without regaining
consciousness, before his last kiss was cold on my lips.

There is little more to add.  All that last night I sat by my husband
watching and listening for the look and the word he would never give
me again.  All that night I whispered to him to speak to me, and I
fancied that he moved, and that the fools who said he was dead did
not really know.  He had never failed to answer my every look and
word before.  His face was so peaceful; so well, all the tiredness
had gone from it now.  I would not open {335} the door because I
feared to disturb him--he had always liked us to be alone.  And the
rain and the wind swept about the house as though the whole world
shared my desolation.

He did not make any "dying speech," or refer in any way at the last
to his "Colleagues and the Irish people," as was at the time
erroneously reported.  I was too broken then and too indifferent to
what any sensation-lovers put about to contradict this story, but, as
I am now giving to the world the absolutely true account of the
Parnell whom I knew and loved, I am able to state that he was
incapable of an affectation so complete.  The last words Parnell
spoke were given to the wife who had never failed him, to the love
that was stronger than death--"Kiss me, sweet Wifie, and I will try
to sleep a little."



[1] Of the Divorce Case.

[2] We had an idea of renting a house in Wales.



{337}

INDEX

  "AGONY" column advertisements, 35

  Aldershot, a review at, 7

  Allen, Fenian leader, 52

  Arklow, quarries at, 213

  Arms Bill, the, introduction of, 50

  Arrears Bill, a promised, 165
    becomes law, 180
    introduction of, 171

  Astronomy, Parnell's study of, 303

  "Aunt Ben" (_see_ Mrs. Benjamin Wood)

  Austin, Alfred, friendship with, 37

  Avondale, Parnell's estates at, 51
    Parnell's love of, 209


  BADER, DR., 43, 68

  Baily, L. R., 189 (note)

  Balfour, Rt. Hon. A. J., 194

  Ballina, Parnell's reception at, 321

  Ballot Act, the, passing of, 52

  Barker, Edgar, 35

  Barlow, Captain, 147

  Barrett-Lennard, Lady, 10, 14, 16, 19
    Sir Thomas, 6, 14, 31

  Beaufort Gardens, 36

  Belhus, visits to, 6, 16

  Bennington Park, Hertfordshire, 24

  Biggar, J. G., 74
    obstructs Parliamentary business, 53
    warrant for arrest of, 118

  Birling Gap, visits to, 239

  Bognor, visit to, 247

  Book-keeping, Parnell's studies in, 100

  Boulogne, Parnell meets O'Brien at, 297

  Bourke, Walter, murder of, 179

  Boycott, principle enunciated, 74

  Brennan, Thomas, 119

  Brighton, a day on the downs at, 30 _et seq._
    life at, 28

  Brighton, Local Government Bill discussed at, 223
    Mrs. O'Shea's house at, 273
    railway station rebuilt, 100
    visits to, 229

  Brompton Oratory, 37

  Bryson, Phyllis, 313, 315, 316

  Burke, Mr., murder of, 168

  Butt, Isaac, 50, 53

  Butt, Mr. Justice, 300

  Buxton, Mrs. Sydney, 265


  CALASHER, MR., 35

  Campbell, Mr. Parnell's secretary, 246

  Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, accepts Irish Secretaryship, 182
    enters the Cabinet, 197

  Canada, Parnell's reception in, 54

  Carlingford, Lord, opposes Home Rule, 197

  Carnarvon, Lord, becomes Lord Lieutenant, 186
    meets Parnell, 187
    resignation of, 193, 196

  Carr, Dr., Bishop of Galway, 291

  Cavendish, Lord Frederick, becomes Chief Secretary, 166
    murder of, 168

  Chamberlain, Joseph, 158, 184
    and Healy's speech, 291
    and the Chief Secretaryship, 166
    opposes coercion, 185
    proposes National Board for Ireland, 185, 197 (note)
    resignation of, 197

  Childers, Mr., supports Home Rule, 197

  Churchill, Lord Randolph, 184

  Clare, Capt. O'Shea returned for, 56

  Clive, Colonel, 13

  Coercion Bill, the, introduced, 91
    memorandum on, from Parnell to Gladstone, 178

  Collings, Jesse, 196

  Colthurst, Col., 58

  Committee Room Fifteen, momentous meeting in, 286

  Compensation for Disturbances Bill, 73

  Congleton, Lord, 51

  Constable and Mrs. Wood, 2

  Corbett, Mr., 234

  Cork, banquet at, in honour of Parnell, 221

  Cowper, Lord, resignation of, 164

  Creggs, Parnell goes to his last meeting at, 325

  Crimes Bill, becomes law, 180
    introduced by Sir W. Harcourt, 171
    negotiations on, 199
    second reading of, 174

  Cripps, Edward, 312, 314


  DALLAS, MR., 18

  Dasent, Sir George, 18

  Davitt, Michael, 53, 54, 119
    quarrels with Parnell, 210
    release of, 168

  Derby, Lord, opposes Home Rule, 197

  Devoy, John, 53, 54

  Dickinson, Emily, 261 (note), 319

  "Dictator," horse named, 207, 232, 313, 314, 339

  Dilke, Sir Charles, 166
    defeated at General Election, 197
    opposes coercion, 185

  Dillon, John, arrest of, 118
    quarrels with Parnell, 210
    sails for New York, 54

  "Disturbances Bill," debate on, 78 _et seq._

  Dublin, freedom of, presented to Parnell, 210
    Land League Convention at, 109
    Parnell defeated in, 52
    Parnell's meeting at, 293

  Duffy, Sir Charles Gavan, 187

  Dyke, Sir W. Hart, resigns, 196


  EASTBOURNE, holiday at, 238 _et seq._

  Edinburgh, freedom of, presented to Parnell, 269

  Egan, Patrick, 119

  Eighty Club, ovation for Parnell at 267
    Parnell's speech at, 244

  Eltham, a snowy Christmas at, 223, 224
    fifth of November celebrations at, 75
    life at, 30, 43 _et seq._, 68 _et seq._, 223, 228
    new room built at, 230
    Parnell at, 69, 79, 83, 223, 228

  Errington, Mr., 181

  Eversley, Lord (_see_ Lefevre, Shaw)

  Evictions in Ireland, 81
    Gladstone on, 171

  Explosives Bill, introduction of, 181


  FARWELL, GEORGE (Lord Justice), 9

  Fenian movement, the, 52

  Finden, the brothers, 2

  Fitzgerald, Sir Seymour, 19

  Ford, Patrick, starts dynamite crusade against England, 181

  Forster, W. E., and the Land League, 74
    attacks Parnell, 219
    becomes "disagreeable," 124
    Coercion Bill of, 91
    denounces the Cabinet, 165
    introduces "Disturbances Bill," 78
    resignation of, 164
    suggests Parnell's arrest, 110

  Franchise Bill, 184

  _Freeman's Journal_, announcement as to Parnell's intentions in, 288
    letter from Timothy Harrington to, 291


  GAFFNEY, SUSAN, and "first aid," 210

  Galway, Bishop of, 291
    O'Shea returned for, 291

  Geston, Thomas, 119

  Gill, Mr., 270 (note)

  Gimson, Dr., 26

  Gladstone Herbert (Lord), 187, 194

  Gladstone, Rt. Hon.  W. E., 158
    a tribute to Parnell, 93
    a yachting expedition, 188
    action after divorce case, 286
    an elusive speech of, 189
    and Capt. O'Shea, 68
    and evictions, 171
    and Parnell's Home Rule draft, 187
    and the Coercion Bill, 91
    announces arrest of Parnell, 117
    approaches Tory Party on Home Rule, 194
    forms a Ministry, 50, 54
    interviews Mrs. O'Shea, 172
    introduces his Land Bill, 109
    letter to Morley on overthrow of Parnell, 288
    on Parnell's character, 220
    perfect manners of, 199
    promises an Arrears Bill, 165
    resignation of, 186
    speech on "Disturbances Bill," 79
    summarizes position between Parnell and himself, 195

  Glasnevin Cemetery, Parnell's grave in, 205

  Glazenwood, life at, 3

  Graham, Robert Bontine Cunninghame, 15

  Graham, Robert Cunninghame, 15, 18

  Grantley-Barkley, the Hon., 9

  Granville, Lord, 185
    supports Home Rule, 197

  Greenwich Observatory, visits to, 109

  Grosse, Rev. Thomas, author and, 4

  Grosvenor, Lord Richard, 184, 188
    and Capt. O'Shea's candidature  for Liverpool, 189 (note), 291
    asks for Home Rule draft, 186

  "Grouse," dog named, 234, 327, 334

  Gull, Sir William, 39


  HARCOURT, SIR W., introduces Crimes Bill, 171
    introduces Explosives Bill, 181
    supports Home Rule, 197

  Harrington, Timothy, and O'Shea's candidature, 291

  Hartington, Lord, 54
    opposes Home Rule, 188, 197

  Hastings, visits to, 41, 228

  Hatherley, Lord Chancellor, 28, 38

  Hawarden, Parnell's visit to, 202

  Healy, Timothy, attacks Capt. O'Shea, 291
    returned for Monaghan, 221
    State trial of, 83
    warrant issued for arrest of, 118

  Herne Bay, a day at, 249

  Herschell, Lord, enters the Cabinet, 197

  Hertfordshire, social customs in, 24 _et seq._

  Hicks-Beach, Sir Michael, becomes Chief Secretary, 186

  Hinkson, Mrs. (_see_ Tynan, Katharine)

  Hobson, Mr., 27

  Holbrook Hall, honeymoon at, 19

  Home Office, explosion of bomb at, 226

  Home Rule Bill, the first, 197 _et seq._

  Home Rule League, the formation of, 52

  Home Rule scheme submitted to Gladstone, 182

  Hood, Marion, actress, 59

  Hook, Dean, 39

  Hozier, Mr. (Sir H.) 12, 13

  Hurley, Father Walter, 294


  IRELAND, evictions in, 81
    fundamental failure in English government of, 79
    how news of Parnell's arrest was received in, 119
    State trials in, 79 _et seq._

  _Irish Daily Independent_ founded by Parnell, 323

  Irish Party, the, Parnell and, 50 _et seq._
    Parnell elected chairman of, 57
    treachery of, after divorce case, 287

  _Irish World_, Patrick Ford's crusade in, 199 (note), 181


  JENNER, SIR WILLIAM, 39, 40

  Jowers, Dr., 330, 332


  KENNY, DR., 122, 289, 293, 294, 328

  Kent, hop-pickers' reception of Parnell in, 70

  Kerley, Frederick, serves Parnell with Judge's Order, 299

  Kerr, Mr., Parnell's agent, 93, 261

  Kettle, A. J., 118

  Kilkenny, a vacancy in, 293
    Healy's speech at, 291

  Kilmainham Gaol, Parnell in, 99, 119 _et seq._

  Kilmainham Treaty, the, 157 _et seq._

  Kimberley, Lord, supports Home Rule, 197


  LABOURERS' COMMITTEE, the, 227

  Ladies' Land League, 119, 167, 175

  Land Bill, Gladstone's, 197
    introduction of, 109

  Land League, the, amazing growth of, 78
    formation of, 53
    Forster and, 74
    "three F's of," 55

  Land Purchase Bill, 185

  Landseer, Edwin, 2

  Lane, Charles, 28

  Larkin, Fenian leader, 52

  Lefevre, Shaw, defeated at General Election, 197
    opposed to coercion, 180, 185
    refuses Irish Secretaryship, 182

  Lewes, Mr., 18

  Lewis, Sir George, and divorce case, 280
    and the "Parnell letters," 259, 261, 262

  Liberal Government in 1885, 185

  Lime thrown in Parnell's face, 297

  Liverpool, Capt. O'Shea's candidature for, 189 (note)

  Lockwood, Sir Frank, 268, 280, 284

  London remembrances, 250 _et seq._

  Lords, House of, and the Arrears Bill, 180

  Lytton, Lord, 37


  MACCORMACK, DR., BISHOP OF GALWAY, 291

  MacDermott, Mr., 329

  Madrid, Pigott's suicide in, 265

  Manchester, the Fenian movement in, 52

  Manning, Cardinal, and O'Shea's divorce, 290 et seq.
    opposes Mr. Errington's mission, 181

  Mary (parlourmaid), 86, 87, 127

  McCarthy, Justin, 58, 59, 187
    and Kilmainham Treaty, 159
    leader of Irish Party, 298 (note)

  Meath, Parnell M.P. for, 52

  Meredith, George, reminiscences of, 43

  Michell, Admiral, 1

  Michell, Caroline, 1

  Michell, Maria, 1

  Mohonagy, J. H., 328

  Monaghan, election at, 221

  Morley, John (Lord), 16, 17, 185 (note)
    enters the Cabinet, 197
    Parnell and, 202

  Mundella, Mr., enters the Cabinet, 197


  NATIONAL LEAGUE founded, 211, 212

  National Liberal Club, Parnell elected a life member of, 267
    Parnell's speech at, 268

  Nationalism, Parnell's conception of, 303

  Niton, a visit to, 39-40

  Nolan, Colonel, 58

  No Rent manifesto, issue of the, 119

  Northbrook, Lord, opposes Home Rule, 197


  O'BRIEN, Fenian leader, 52

  O'Brien, William, arrest of, 118
    chats with Parnell, 244
    meets Parnell at Boulogne, 297

  O'Connell, Daniel, 89

  O'Connor, Arthur, 118

  O'Gorman Mahon, The, 49, 56, 106

  O'Hart and Civil List pension, 181

  O'Kelly, arrest of, 118
    deserts Parnell, 298

  O'Shea, Capt. ("Willie"), 18
    a forgotten appointment, 49
    an accident to, 14
    and Kilmainham Treaty, 159-160
    and Land League's policy, 80
    and Mid-Armagh election, 188
    and Phoenix Park murders, 169
    and "Romeo," 34-5
    and the Irish Party, 188-9 (note)
    as actor, 7
    candidate for Liverpool, 189 (note)
    challenges Parnell to fight a duel, 106
    desire for Under-Secretaryship, 198 (note), 199
    divorce case against Mrs. O'Shea, 280 _et seq._
    enters 18th Hussars, 11 (note)
    enters political life, 49
    financial difficulties of, [25 _et seq._, 34 _et seq._
    his ancestry, 11
    illness of, and operation on, 35
    leaves his regiment, 11 (note), 19
    love of social life, 24, 37
    marriage of, 18
    returned for Parliament, 56
    strained relations with his wife, 104, 253, 290
    stud-farming, 24
    takes Parnell's letter to Forster, 164
    week-end visits to Eltham, 48

  O'Shea, Carmen, birth of, 38
    George Meredith and, 46

  O'Shea, Comtesse, 11 (note), 20, 21 _et seq._, 38

  O'Shea, Gerard, 27

  O'Shea, Henry, 11 (note)
    pencil portrait of Parnell, 99

  O'Shea, John, 11 (note), 20

  O'Shea, Katharine, 29
    a dinner to Parnell, 59
    a prized pocket-book, 233
    an afternoon with George Meredith, 44
    and Longfellow, 6
    as companion to "Aunt Ben," 43
    as intermediary between Government and Parnell, 91, 95, 172,
        174, 178 _et seq._
    assists at an operation, 35
    astronomical studies, 108
    birth of Parnell's child, 120, 146
    children of, 27, 37, 38, 46
    death of "Aunt Ben," 272
    death of Parnell's child, 155
    dinner parties in London, 57 _et seq._
    dislike of society, 24, 37, 48
    early life of, 3 _et seq._
    family life, 5 _et seq._
    first letter from Parnell, 59
    first literary success, 5
    first meeting with Parnell, 58
    friction with Capt. O'Shea, 104, 253, 290
    her love of music, 6
    her name abused by anti-Parnellites, 299
    hides Parnell at Eltham, 84
    instructed in the Catholic religion, 38
    interview with Gladstone on Parnell's feelings, 220
    interviews Mr. Soames, 265
    interviews Sir G. Lewis, 259, 262, 263
    intimate knowledge of Parnell's character, 301 _et seq._
    leaves Eltham, 273
    letter from Parnell formulating Irish policy, 190
    letters from Capt. O'Shea, 290
    London remembrances, 250 _et seq._
    marries Capt. O'Shea, 18
    marries Parnell, 314
    meets Capt. O'Shea, 10 _et seq._
    nurses Parnell, 69
    overstrained nerves, 214
    parliamentary associations, 91
    refuses to fight divorce case, 282
    reminiscences of Gladstone, 174 _et seq._
    removes to Brighton, 273
    "Romeo" and, 34-5
    seaside holidays, 338 _et seq._
    served with petition in divorce case, 280
    wedding presents, 19, 20, 31
    with Parnell at his death, 334

  O'Shea, Mary, 11 (note), 20, 21 _et seq._, 38, 156

  O'Shea, Norah, 46

  O'Shea, Thaddeus, 11 (note)

  O'Shea, William, 11 (note)

  "Owen Meredith" (_see_ Lytton, Lord)


  PARIS, a visit to, 21

  Parliament, a long sitting of, 91

  Parnell, Anna, 119
    and the Ladies' Land League, 167
    burned in effigy, 76

  Parnell, Charles Stewart, a love avowal by, 33
    a poem by, 243
    a warrant for his arrest, 115
    aim of his political life, 310
    and Cecil Rhodes, 270 (note)
    and death of his sister Fanny, 204
    and O'Shea's candidature, 189 (note)
    and the Irish Party, 50 _et seq._, 284
    arrested for sedition, 116
    as autocrat, 306
    assaying work of, 101
    astronomical studies of, 108
    at Brighton, 98, 100, 223, 229, 273
    at Eltham, 69, 79, 83, 223, 228
    attends banquet at Cork, 221
    attends nephew's funeral on parole, 153 _et seq._
    birth of his child, 120
    buys dogs for Mrs. O'Shea, 234, 235
    complex character of, 304
    conducts Healy's election, 221
    consults Sir Henry Thompson, 245
    death of his daughter, 155
    death of his father, 51
    deserted by O'Kelly, 298
    dictator in the Commons, 193
    discusses Local Government Bill with Capt. O'Shea, 223
    dislike of green bindings, 229
    dislike of social life, 307
    distrust of Gladstone, 110 (note), 173
    elected life member of National Liberal Club, 267
    entrusts political correspondence to Mrs. O'Shea, 85
    family affection of, 306
    fatalism of, 170
    founds _Irish Daily Independent_, 323
    freedom of City of Dublin presented to, 210
    freedom of City of Edinburgh for, 269
    general appearance of, 301 _et seq._
    generosity of, 310
    great meeting at Rotunda, Dublin, 293
    hatred of oppression, 305
    his ancestry, 51
    his fear of death, 225, 305
    his hatred of England, 51, 81
    his love of animals, 305
    hobbies and interests of, 99 _et seq._
    holiday at Eastbourne, 238
    Home Rule scheme submitted to Gladstone, 182
    illness of, 243
    in danger, 204 et seq.
    interest in the working classes, 216, 307
    interviews newspaper men after his marriage, 316
    interviews Sir Geo. Lewis, 261
    Irish subscribe to pay off mortgages on his estates, 290 (note)
    joins Home Rule League, 52
    Kilmainhain days and letters, 119 _et seq._, 139 _et seq._
    last hours and death of, 319, 333 _et seq._
    learns of Phoenix Park murders, 168
    leaves for Ireland, 320
    letter to his mother, 290
    letters in invisible ink, 125, 132, 133
    letters of congratulation (and otherwise) on his marriage, 318
    love of white roses, 206
    makes bricks, 317
    makes model ships, 278
    manifesto to people of Ireland, 284, 286
    marries Mrs. O'Shea, 314
    meets Katharine Tynan, 266
    meets Lord Carnarvon, 187
    meets O'Brien at Boulogne, 297
    modesty of, 304
    moral standard of, 309
    nightmares and sleep-walking, 205-6
    nominates Vincent Scully for Kilkenny, 296
    on trial for conspiracy, 79
    opens Home Rule campaign, 188
    organizes for General Election, 184
    ovation in Parliament after trial, 265
    ovations at Eighty Club and St. James's Hall, 267
    picks wild flowers, 207
    President of Home Rule Confederation, 53
    President of the Land League, 53
    puts Tories in power, 186
    quarrying at Arklow, 213
    reads forged letters in the _Times_, 257
    reads report of his assassination, 218
    recognized at Pevensey, 240
    refuses to defend divorce case, 280, 281
    release of, 165
    religious beliefs of, 309
    replies to Forster's attack, 219
    retakes offices of _United Ireland_, 295-6
    return home and beginning of last illness, 323
    sails for New York, 54
    sees his dying child, 154, 155
    sends horses to Eltham, 231
    served with Judge's Order, 299
    shaves his beard, 98
    shooting in Ireland, 277
    shooting practice of, 207
    speech at Eighty Club, 244
    speech at National Liberal Club, 268
    speech on first Home Rule Bill, 200
    stands for Parliament, 52
    superstitious nature of, 247, 308
    takes house at Brockley, 253
    takes house in Regent's Park, 254
    takes house near Beachy Head, 241
    telegraphic code with Mrs. O'Shea, 246
    temper of, 310
    threats against, 214
    unselfishness of, 311
    views on proposed visit of Prince of Wales, 236
    visits "Aunt Ben," 89
    visits Gladstone, 202
    visits Morley, 202
    wedding presents, 319
    Wexford speech of, 110
    with Mrs. O'Shea at Hastings, 228

  Parnell, Fanny, 52
    death of, 204

  Parnell, Mrs. Delia, 51, 100, 261 (note), 319

  Parnell, John, 306

  Parnell, Sir John, 51

  Parnell, Thomas, poet, 51

  Parnell Commission, the, 256 _et seq._

  Patcham, life at, 28

  Pevensey, Parnell recognized at, 240

  Phoenix park murders, 166, 168 _et seq._

  Pigott, suicide of, 265

  "Pincher," dog named, 235

  Power, Richard, 58

  "President," Parnell's horse, 231, 239

  "Preston, Clement," 253

  Pym, H., 290, 322


  QUINLAN, CATHERINE, 11 (note)
    (_see also_ O'Shea, Comtesse)

  Quinlan, Edward, 11 (note)

  Quinn, J. P., arrest of, 118


  "RANGER," dog named, 235

  Redistribution of Seats Bill, 184

  Redmond, William, letter from Parnell to, 289

  Redmond's Land Bill, 164

  Rhodes, Cecil, Parnell's letter to,
    on Home Rule, 270 (note)

  Ripon, Lord, supports Home Rule, 197

  Rivenhall, life at, 3 _et seq._, 18
    visitors at, 8, 26

  "Romeo," 34, 35

  Rosebery, Lord, supports Home Rule, 197

  Russell, Sir Charles, 259
    a reception to Parnell, 266


  ST. JAMES'S HALL, ovation for Parnell at, 267

  St. Peter's, Cornhill, 1

  Salisbury, Lord, diplomatic statement about Ireland, 188
    first Ministry of, 186

  Scully, Vincent, nominated for Kilkenny, 296

  Selby, stud-groom of Capt. O'Shea, 28, 36

  Sexton, Mr., arrest of, 118

  Shaw, William, and the Irish Parliamentary Party, 50, 57

  Sheridan, Charles, and Mrs. Wood, 2

  Sleeplessness, a specific for, 40

  Sligo, hostility of, to Parnell, 321

  Smart, Capt.  Hawley, 27

  Soames, Mr., interview with, 265

  Spain, Capt. and Mrs. O'Shea in, 24
    Capt. O'Shea's managerial post in, 47

  Spencer, Lord, and Phoenix Park murders, 181
    appointed Lord-Lieutenant, 166
    shakes hands with Parnell, 268
    supports Home Rule, 197

  Stalbridge, Lord (_see_ Grosvenor, Lord Richard)

  Stanley, Dean, 39

  "State trials" in Ireland, 79 _et seq._

  Stead, Mr., O'Shea and, 290

  Steele, Lt.-Col., 8

  Steele, Mrs., 18, 58, 59, 60, 106

  Steele, Sir Thomas, 113

  Stephens, T. E., retirement of, 189 (note)

  Stephens, William, Dean of Winchester, 39

  Stewart, Commodore Charles, 51

  Steyning, Parnell's marriage at, 312

  Sussex, Duke of, 1


  TELEGRAPHIC CODE, Parnell's, 246

  Thomson, Mrs., 204

  Thompson, Sir Henry, consulted by Parnell, 245
    letters to Mrs. Parnell, 330, 331
    treats Parnell for nervous breakdown, 206

  "Three acres and a cow," 196

  _Times_, the, "Parnell letters" in, 257

  Tintern, Mr., and Capt. O'Shea, 67

  "Tory," Parnell's horse, 212

  Trevelyan, Mr., ceases to be Irish Secretary, 182
    resignation of, 197

  Trollope, Anthony, 8

  Tynan, Katharine, on Parnell's Dublin meeting, 293
    Parnell's meeting with, 266


  _United Ireland_, and proposed visit of Prince of Wales, 236
    publishes No Rent manifesto, 119
    seized by anti-Parnellites, 295

  United States, Parnell in the, 54


  VAUGHAN, MRS., 29

  Ventnor, a visit to, 40

  Vincent, Sir Howard, and police protection for Parnell, 217


  WALES, Prince of, a proposed visit to Ireland, 236

  Wallace, Corporal, murder of, 179

  Weguelin, Christopher, 47

  Weston, Sir Thomas Sutton, 3

  Werford speech, Parnell's, 110

  Whitbread, Judge, 43

  Wilkinson, Rev. Mr., 43

  Wonersh Lodge, Eltham, 47

  Wontner, Mr., and the costs of divorce case, 322

  Wood, Anna, 4, 7, 15, 37
    marriage of, 8

  Wood, Benjamin, death of, 42
    marriage of, 1

  Wood, Charlie, 5

  Wood, Clarissa, 6

  Wood, Emma, 6

  Wood, Evelyn, 4 _et seq._, 17

  Wood, Frank, 6, 7, 10, 26

  Wood, Fred, death of, 3, 6

  Wood, Katharine (see O'Shea, Katharine)

  Wood, Lady, 1 _et seq._, 27

  Wood, Maria (Pollie), 6

  Wood, Mrs. Benjamin ("Aunt Ben"), 1, 18, 27, 28, 31, 39, 40,
        41 _et seq._, 68
    and carol singers, 224
    and George Meredith, 43 _et seq._
    and O'Connell, 89
    and Parnell, 89
    death of, 43, 272

  Wood, Sir Matthew, 1

  Wood, Sir Matthew (grandson of preceding), 59

  Wood, Sir John Page, 1
    appointed rector of St. Peter's, Cornhill, 1 _et seq._
    becomes vicar of Cressing, 2
    birth of a son, 2
    death of, 17
    political views of, 3


  YATES, Mrs. A., 27



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