Ivy Day in the Committee Room

by James Joyce

OLD JACK raked the cinders together with a piece of cardboardand spread them judiciously over the whitening dome of coals.When the dome was thinly covered his face lapsed into darknessbut, as he set himself to fan the fire again, his crouching shadowascended the opposite wall and his face slowly reemerged intolight. It was an old man's face, very bony and hairy. The moist blueeyes blinked at the fire and the moist mouth fell open at times,munching once or twice mechanically when it closed. When thecinders had caught he laid the piece of cardboard against the wall,sighed and said:"That's better now, Mr. O'Connor."Mr. O'Connor, a grey-haired young man, whose face wasdisfigured by many blotches and pimples, had just brought thetobacco for a cigarette into a shapely cylinder but when spoken tohe undid his handiwork meditatively. Then he began to roll thetobacco again meditatively and after a moment's thought decidedto lick the paper."Did Mr. Tierney say when he'd be back?" he asked in a skyfalsetto."He didn't say."Mr. O'Connor put his cigarette into his mouth and began search hispockets. He took out a pack of thin pasteboard cards."I'll get you a match," said the old man."Never mind, this'll do," said Mr. O'Connor.He selected one of the cards and read what was printed on it:MUNICIPAL ELECTIONS----------ROYAL EXCHANGE WARD----------Mr. Richard J. Tierney, P.L.G., respectfully solicits thefavour of your vote and influence at the coming electionin the Royal Exchange Ward.Mr. O'Connor had been engaged by Tierney's agent to canvass onepart of the ward but, as the weather was inclement and his bootslet in the wet, he spent a great part of the day sitting by the fire inthe Committee Room in Wicklow Street with Jack, the oldcaretaker. They had been sitting thus since e short day had growndark. It was the sixth of October, dismal and cold out of doors.Mr. O'Connor tore a strip off the card and, lighting it, lit hiscigarette. As he did so the flame lit up a leaf of dark glossy ivy thelapel of his coat. The old man watched him attentively and then,taking up the piece of cardboard again, began to fan the fire slowlywhile his companion smoked."Ah, yes," he said, continuing, "it's hard to know what way to bringup children. Now who'd think he'd turn out like that! I sent him tothe Christian Brothers and I done what I could him, and there hegoes boosing about. I tried to make him someway decent."He replaced the cardboard wearily."Only I'm an old man now I'd change his tune for him. I'd take thestick to his back and beat him while I could stand over him -- as Idone many a time before. The mother, you know, she cocks himup with this and that....""That's what ruins children," said Mr. O'Connor."To be sure it is," said the old man. "And little thanks you get forit, only impudence. He takes th'upper hand of me whenever he seesI've a sup taken. What's the world coming to when sons speaks thatway to their fathers?""What age is he?" said Mr. O'Connor."Nineteen," said the old man."Why don't you put him to something?""Sure, amn't I never done at the drunken bowsy ever since he leftschool? 'I won't keep you,' I says. 'You must get a job for yourself.'But, sure, it's worse whenever he gets a job; he drinks it all."Mr. O'Connor shook his head in sympathy, and the old man fellsilent, gazing into the fire. Someone opened the door of the roomand called out:"Hello! Is this a Freemason's meeting?""Who's that?" said the old man."What are you doing in the dark?" asked a voice."Is that you, Hynes?" asked Mr. O'Connor."Yes. What are you doing in the dark?" said Mr. Hynes. advancinginto the light of the fire.He was a tall, slender young man with a light brown moustache.Imminent little drops of rain hung at the brim of his hat and thecollar of his jacket-coat was turned up."Well, Mat," he said to Mr. O'Connor, "how goes it?"Mr. O'Connor shook his head. The old man left the hearth andafter stumbling about the room returned with two candlestickswhich he thrust one after the other into the fire and carried to thetable. A denuded room came into view and the fire lost all itscheerful colour. The walls of the room were bare except for a copyof an election address. In the middle of the room was a small tableon which papers were heaped.Mr. Hynes leaned against the mantelpiece and asked:"Has he paid you yet?""Not yet," said Mr. O'Connor. "I hope to God he'll not leave us inthe lurch tonight."Mr. Hynes laughed."O, he'll pay you. Never fear," he said."I hope he'll look smart about it if he means business," said Mr.O'Connor."What do you think, Jack?" said Mr. Hynes satirically to the oldman.The old man returned to his seat by the fire, saying:"It isn't but he has it, anyway. Not like the other tinker.""What other tinker?" said Mr. Hynes."Colgan," said the old man scornfully."It is because Colgan's a working -- man you say that? What's thedifference between a good honest bricklayer and a publican -- eh?Hasn't the working-man as good a right to be in the Corporation asanyone else -- ay, and a better right than those shoneens that arealways hat in hand before any fellow with a handle to his name?Isn't that so, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes, addressing Mr. O'Connor."I think you're right," said Mr. O'Connor."One man is a plain honest man with no hunker-sliding about him.He goes in to represent the labour classes. This fellow you'reworking for only wants to get some job or other.""0f course, the working-classes should be represented," said theold man."The working-man," said Mr. Hynes, "gets all kicks and nohalfpence. But it's labour produces everything. The workingman isnot looking for fat jobs for his sons and nephews and cousins. Theworking-man is not going to drag the honour of Dublin in the mudto please a German monarch.""How's that?" said the old man."Don't you know they want to present an address of welcome toEdward Rex if he comes here next year? What do we wantkowtowing to a foreign king?""Our man won't vote for the address," said Mr. O'Connor. "He goesin on the Nationalist ticket.""Won't he?" said Mr. Hynes. "Wait till you see whether he will ornot. I know him. Is it Tricky Dicky Tierney?""By God! perhaps you're right, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor. "Anyway,I wish he'd turn up with the spondulics."The three men fell silent. The old man began to rake more cinderstogether. Mr. Hynes took off his hat, shook it and then turneddown the collar of his coat, displaying, as he did so, an ivy leaf inthe lapel."If this man was alive," he said, pointing to the leaf, "we'd have notalk of an address of welcome.""That's true," said Mr. O'Connor."Musha, God be with them times!" said the old man. "There wassome life in it then."The room was silent again. Then a bustling little man with asnuffling nose and very cold ears pushed in the door. He walkedover quickly to the fire, rubbing his hands as if he intended toproduce a spark from them."No money, boys," he said."Sit down here, Mr. Henchy," said the old man, offering him hischair."O, don't stir, Jack, don't stir," said Mr. HenchyHe nodded curtly to Mr. Hynes and sat down on the chair whichthe old man vacated."Did you serve Aungier Street?" he asked Mr. O'Connor."Yes," said Mr. O'Connor, beginning to search his pockets formemoranda."Did you call on Grimes?""I did.""Well? How does he stand?""He wouldn't promise. He said: 'I won't tell anyone what way I'mgoing to vote.' But I think he'll be all right.""Why so?""He asked me who the nominators were; and I told him. Imentioned Father Burke's name. I think it'll be all right."Mr. Henchy began to snuffle and to rub his hands over the fire at aterrific speed. Then he said:"For the love of God, Jack, bring us a bit of coal. There must besome left."The old man went out of the room."It's no go," said Mr. Henchy, shaking his head. "I asked the littleshoeboy, but he said: 'Oh, now, Mr. Henchy, when I see workgoing on properly I won't forget you, you may be sure.' Mean littletinker! 'Usha, how could he be anything else?""What did I tell you, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes. "Tricky DickyTierney.""0, he's as tricky as they make 'em," said Mr. Henchy. "He hasn'tgot those little pigs' eyes for nothing. Blast his soul! Couldn't hepay up like a man instead of: 'O, now, Mr. Henchy, I must speak toMr. Fanning.... I've spent a lot of money'? Mean little schoolboy ofhell! I suppose he forgets the time his little old father kept thehand-me-down shop in Mary's Lane.""But is that a fact?" asked Mr. O'Connor."God, yes," said Mr. Henchy. "Did you never hear that? And themen used to go in on Sunday morning before the houses were opento buy a waistcoat or a trousers -- moya! But Tricky Dicky's littleold father always had a tricky little black bottle up in a corner. Doyou mind now? That's that. That's where he first saw the light."The old man returned with a few lumps of coal which he placedhere and there on the fire."Thats a nice how-do-you-do," said Mr. O'Connor. "How does heexpect us to work for him if he won't stump up?""I can't help it," said Mr. Henchy. "I expect to find the bailiffs inthe hall when I go home."Mr. Hynes laughed and, shoving himself away from themantelpiece with the aid of his shoulders, made ready to leave."It'll be all right when King Eddie comes," he said. "Well boys, I'moff for the present. See you later. 'Bye, 'bye."He went out of the room slowly. Neither Mr. Henchy nor the oldman said anything, but, just as the door was closing, Mr. O'Connor,who had been staring moodily into the fire, called out suddenly:"'Bye, Joe."Mr. Henchy waited a few moments and then nodded in thedirection of the door."Tell me," he said across the fire, "what brings our friend in here?What does he want?""'Usha, poor Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, throwing the end of hiscigarette into the fire, "he's hard up, like the rest of us."Mr. Henchy snuffled vigorously and spat so copiously that henearly put out the fire, which uttered a hissing protest."To tell you my private and candid opinion," he said, "I think he's aman from the other camp. He's a spy of Colgan's, if you ask me.Just go round and try and find out how they're getting on. Theywon't suspect you. Do you twig?""Ah, poor Joe is a decent skin," said Mr. O'Connor."His father was a decent, respectable man," Mr. Henchy admitted."Poor old Larry Hynes! Many a good turn he did in his day! But I'mgreatly afraid our friend is not nineteen carat. Damn it, I canunderstand a fellow being hard up, but what I can't understand is afellow sponging. Couldn't he have some spark of manhood abouthim?""He doesn't get a warm welcome from me when he comes," saidthe old man. "Let him work for his own side and not come spyingaround here.""I don't know," said Mr. O'Connor dubiously, as he took outcigarette-papers and tobacco. "I think Joe Hynes is a straight man.He's a clever chap, too, with the pen. Do you remember that thinghe wrote...?""Some of these hillsiders and fenians are a bit too clever if askme," said Mr. Henchy. "Do you know what my private and candidopinion is about some of those little jokers? I believe half of themare in the pay of the Castle.""There's no knowing," said the old man."O, but I know it for a fact," said Mr. Henchy. "They're Castlehacks.... I don't say Hynes.... No, damn it, I think he's a strokeabove that.... But there's a certain little nobleman with a cock-eye-- you know the patriot I'm alluding to?"Mr. O'Connor nodded."There's a lineal descendant of Major Sirr for you if you like! O,the heart's blood of a patriot! That's a fellow now that'd sell hiscountry for fourpence -- ay -- and go down on his bended kneesand thank the Almighty Christ he had a country to sell."There was a knock at the door."Come in!" said Mr. Henchy.A person resembling a poor clergyman or a poor actor appeared inthe doorway. His black clothes were tightly buttoned on his shortbody and it was impossible to say whether he wore a clergyman'scollar or a layman's, because the collar of his shabby frock-coat,the uncovered buttons of which reflected the candlelight, wasturned up about his neck. He wore a round hat of hard black felt.His face, shining with raindrops, had the appearance of dampyellow cheese save where two rosy spots indicated the cheekbones.He opened his very long mouth suddenly to expressdisappointment and at the same time opened wide his very brightblue eyes to express pleasure and surprise."O Father Keon!" said Mr. Henchy, jumping up from his chair. "Isthat you? Come in!""O, no, no, no!" said Father Keon quickly, pursing his lips as if hewere addressing a child."Won't you come in and sit down?""No, no, no!" said Father Keon, speaking in a discreet, indulgent,velvety voice. "Don't let me disturb you now! I'm just looking forMr. Fanning....""He's round at the Black Eagle," said Mr. Henchy. "But won't youcome in and sit down a minute?""No, no, thank you. It was just a little business matter," said FatherKeon. "Thank you, indeed."He retreated from the doorway and Mr. Henchy, seizing one of thecandlesticks, went to the door to light him downstairs."O, don't trouble, I beg!""No, but the stairs is so dark.""No, no, I can see.... Thank you, indeed.""Are you right now?""All right, thanks.... Thanks."Mr. Henchy returned with the candlestick and put it on the table.He sat down again at the fire. There was silence for a fewmoments."Tell me, John," said Mr. O'Connor, lighting his cigarette withanother pasteboard card."Hm? ""What he is exactly?""Ask me an easier one," said Mr. Henchy."Fanning and himself seem to me very thick. They're often inKavanagh's together. Is he a priest at all?""Mmmyes, I believe so.... I think he's what you call black sheep.We haven't many of them, thank God! but we have a few.... He's anunfortunate man of some kind....""And how does he knock it out?" asked Mr. O'Connor."That's another mystery.""Is he attached to any chapel or church or institution or---""No," said Mr. Henchy, "I think he's travelling on his ownaccount.... God forgive me," he added, "I thought he was the dozenof stout.""Is there any chance of a drink itself?" asked Mr. O'Connor."I'm dry too," said the old man."I asked that little shoeboy three times," said Mr. Henchy, "wouldhe send up a dozen of stout. I asked him again now, but he wasleaning on the counter in his shirt-sleeves having a deep gosterwith Alderman Cowley.""Why didn't you remind him?" said Mr. O'Connor."Well, I couldn't go over while he was talking to AldermanCowley. I just waited till I caught his eye, and said: 'About thatlittle matter I was speaking to you about....' 'That'll be all right, Mr.H.,' he said. Yerra, sure the little hop-o'- my-thumb has forgottenall about it.""There's some deal on in that quarter," said Mr. O'Connorthoughtfully. "I saw the three of them hard at it yesterday atSuffolk Street corner.""I think I know the little game they're at," said Mr. Henchy. "Youmust owe the City Fathers money nowadays if you want to bemade Lord Mayor. Then they'll make you Lord Mayor. By God!I'm thinking seriously of becoming a City Father myself. What doyou think? Would I do for the job?"Mr. O'Connor laughed."So far as owing money goes....""Driving out of the Mansion House," said Mr. Henchy, "in all myvermin, with Jack here standing up behind me in a powdered wig-- eh?""And make me your private secretary, John.""Yes. And I'll make Father Keon my private chaplain. We'll have afamily party.""Faith, Mr. Henchy," said the old man, "you'd keep up better stylethan some of them. I was talking one day to old Keegan, the porter.'And how do you like your new master, Pat?' says I to him. 'Youhaven't much entertaining now,' says I. 'Entertaining!' says he. 'He'dlive on the smell of an oil- rag.' And do you know what he toldme? Now, I declare to God I didn't believe him.""What?" said Mr. Henchy and Mr. O'Connor."He told me: 'What do you think of a Lord Mayor of Dublinsending out for a pound of chops for his dinner? How's that forhigh living?' says he. 'Wisha! wisha,' says I. 'A pound of chops,'says he, 'coming into the Mansion House.' 'Wisha!' says I, 'whatkind of people is going at all now?"At this point there was a knock at the door, and a boy put in hishead."What is it?" said the old man."From the Black Eagle," said the boy, walking in sideways anddepositing a basket on the floor with a noise of shaken bottles.The old man helped the boy to transfer the bottles from the basketto the table and counted the full tally. After the transfer the boy puthis basket on his arm and asked:"Any bottles?""What bottles?" said the old man."Won't you let us drink them first?" said Mr. Henchy."I was told to ask for the bottles.""Come back tomorrow," said the old man."Here, boy!" said Mr. Henchy, "will you run over to O'Farrell's andask him to lend us a corkscrew -- for Mr. Henchy, say. Tell him wewon't keep it a minute. Leave the basket there."The boy went out and Mr. Henchy began to rub his handscheerfully, saying:"Ah, well, he's not so bad after all. He's as good as his word,anyhow.""There's no tumblers," said the old man."O, don't let that trouble you, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "Many's thegood man before now drank out of the bottle.""Anyway, it's better than nothing," said Mr. O'Connor."He's not a bad sort," said Mr. Henchy, "only Fanning has such aloan of him. He means well, you know, in his own tinpot way."The boy came back with the corkscrew. The old man opened threebottles and was handing back the corkscrew when Mr. Henchy saidto the boy:"Would you like a drink, boy?""If you please, sir," said the boy.The old man opened another bottle grudgingly, and handed it tothe boy."What age are you?" he asked."Seventeen," said the boy.As the old man said nothing further, the boy took the bottle. said:"Here's my best respects, sir, to Mr. Henchy," drank the contents,put the bottle back on the table and wiped his mouth with hissleeve. Then he took up the corkscrew and went out of the doorsideways, muttering some form of salutation."That's the way it begins," said the old man."The thin edge of the wedge," said Mr. Henchy.The old man distributed the three bottles which he had opened andthe men drank from them simultaneously. After having drank eachplaced his bottle on the mantelpiece within hand's reach and drewin a long breath of satisfaction."Well, I did a good day's work today," said Mr. Henchy, after apause."That so, John?""Yes. I got him one or two sure things in Dawson Street, Croftonand myself. Between ourselves, you know, Crofton (he's a decentchap, of course), but he's not worth a damn as a canvasser. Hehasn't a word to throw to a dog. He stands and looks at the peoplewhile I do the talking."Here two men entered the room. One of them was a very fat manwhose blue serge clothes seemed to be in danger of falling fromhis sloping figure. He had a big face which resembled a young ox'sface in expression, staring blue eyes and a grizzled moustache. Theother man, who was much younger and frailer, had a thin,clean-shaven face. He wore a very high double collar and awide-brimmed bowler hat."Hello, Crofton!" said Mr. Henchy to the fat man. "Talk of thedevil...""Where did the boose come from?" asked the young man. "Did thecow calve?""O, of course, Lyons spots the drink first thing!" said Mr.O'Connor, laughing."Is that the way you chaps canvass," said Mr. Lyons, "and Croftonand I out in the cold and rain looking for votes?""Why, blast your soul," said Mr. Henchy, "I'd get more votes infive minutes than you two'd get in a week.""Open two bottles of stout, Jack," said Mr. O'Connor."How can I?" said the old man, "when there's no corkscrew? ""Wait now, wait now!" said Mr. Henchy, getting up quickly. "Didyou ever see this little trick?"He took two bottles from the table and, carrying them to the fire,put them on the hob. Then he sat dow-n again by the fire and tookanother drink from his bottle. Mr. Lyons sat on the edge of thetable, pushed his hat towards the nape of his neck and began toswing his legs."Which is my bottle?" he asked."This, lad," said Mr. Henchy.Mr. Crofton sat down on a box and looked fixedly at the otherbottle on the hob. He was silent for two reasons. The first reason,sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the secondreason was that he considered his companions beneath him. Hehad been a canvasser for Wilkins, the Conservative, but when theConservatives had withdrawn their man and, choosing the lesser oftwo evils, given their support to the Nationalist candidate, he hadbeen engaged to work for Mr. Tiemey.In a few minutes an apologetic "Pok!" was heard as the cork flewout of Mr. Lyons' bottle. Mr. Lyons jumped off the table, went tothe fire, took his bottle and carried it back to the table."I was just telling them, Crofton," said Mr. Henchy, that we got agood few votes today.""Who did you get?" asked Mr. Lyons."Well, I got Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and gotWard of Dawson Street. Fine old chap he is, too -- regular old toff,old Conservative! 'But isn't your candidate a Nationalist?' said he.'He's a respectable man,' said I. 'He's in favour of whatever willbenefit this country. He's a big ratepayer,' I said. 'He has extensivehouse property in the city and three places of business and isn't itto his own advantage to keep down the rates? He's a prominent andrespected citizen,' said I, 'and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn'tbelong to any party, good, bad, or indifferent.' That's the way totalk to 'em.""And what about the address to the King?" said Mr. Lyons, afterdrinking and smacking his lips."Listen to me," said Mr. Henchy. "What we want in thus country,as I said to old Ward, is capital. The King's coming here will meanan influx of money into this country. The citizens of Dublin willbenefit by it. Look at all the factories down by the quays there,idle! Look at all the money there is in the country if we onlyworked the old industries, the mills, the ship-building yards andfactories. It's capital we want.""But look here, John," said Mr. O'Connor. "Why should wewelcome the King of England? Didn't Parnell himself...""Parnell," said Mr. Henchy, "is dead. Now, here's the way I look atit. Here's this chap come to the throne after his old mother keepinghim out of it till the man was grey. He's a man of the world, and hemeans well by us. He's a jolly fine decent fellow, if you ask me,and no damn nonsense about him. He just says to himself: 'The oldone never went to see these wild Irish. By Christ, I'll go myself andsee what they're like.' And are we going to insult the man when hecomes over here on a friendly visit? Eh? Isn't that right, Crofton?"Mr. Crofton nodded his head."But after all now," said Mr. Lyons argumentatively, "KingEdward's life, you know, is not the very...""Let bygones be bygones," said Mr. Henchy. "I admire the manpersonally. He's just an ordinary knockabout like you and me. He'sfond of his glass of grog and he's a bit of a rake, perhaps, and he's agood sportsman. Damn it, can't we Irish play fair?""That's all very fine," said Mr. Lyons. "But look at the case ofParnell now.""In the name of God," said Mr. Henchy, "where's the analogybetween the two cases?""What I mean," said Mr. Lyons, "is we have our ideals. Why, now,would we welcome a man like that? Do you think now after whathe did Parnell was a fit man to lead us? And why, then, would wedo it for Edward the Seventh?""This is Parnell's anniversary," said Mr. O'Connor, "and don't let usstir up any bad blood. We all respect him now that he's dead andgone -- even the Conservatives," he added, turning to Mr. Crofton.Pok! The tardy cork flew out of Mr. Crofton's bottle. Mr. Croftongot up from his box and went to the fire. As he returned with hiscapture he said in a deep voice:"Our side of the house respects him, because he was a gentleman.""Right you are, Crofton!" said Mr. Henchy fiercely. "He was theonly man that could keep that bag of cats in order. 'Down, ye dogs!Lie down, ye curs!' That's the way he treated them. Come in, Joe!Come in!" he called out, catching sight of Mr. Hynes in thedoorway.Mr. Hynes came in slowly."Open another bottle of stout, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "O, I forgotthere's no corkscrew! Here, show me one here and I'll put it at thefire."The old man handed him another bottle and he placed it on thehob."Sit down, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor, "we're just talking about theChief.""Ay, ay!" said Mr. Henchy.Mr. Hynes sat on the side of the table near Mr. Lyons but saidnothing."There's one of them, anyhow," said Mr. Henchy, "that didn'trenege him. By God, I'll say for you, Joe! No, by God, you stuck tohim like a man!""0, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor suddenly. "Give us that thing youwrote -- do you remember? Have you got it on you?""0, ay!" said Mr. Henchy. "Give us that. Did you ever hear that.Crofton? Listen to this now: splendid thing.""Go on," said Mr. O'Connor. "Fire away, Joe."Mr. Hynes did not seem to remember at once the piece to whichthey were alluding, but, after reflecting a while, he said:"O, that thing is it.... Sure, that's old now.""Out with it, man!" said Mr. O'Connor."'Sh, 'sh," said Mr. Henchy. "Now, Joe!"Mr. Hynes hesitated a little longer. Then amid the silence he tookoff his hat, laid it on the table and stood up. He seemed to berehearsing the piece in his mind. After a rather long pause heannounced:THE DEATH OF PARNELL6th October, 1891He cleared his throat once or twice and then began to recite:He is dead. Our Uncrowned King is dead.O, Erin, mourn with grief and woeFor he lies dead whom the fell gangOf modern hypocrites laid low.He lies slain by the coward houndsHe raised to glory from the mire;And Erin's hopes and Erin's dreamsPerish upon her monarch's pyre.In palace, cabin or in cotThe Irish heart where'er it beIs bowed with woe -- for he is goneWho would have wrought her destiny.He would have had his Erin famed,The green flag gloriously unfurled,Her statesmen, bards and warriors raisedBefore the nations of the World.He dreamed (alas, 'twas but a dream!)Of Liberty: but as he stroveTo clutch that idol, treacherySundered him from the thing he loved.Shame on the coward, caitiff handsThat smote their Lord or with a kissBetrayed him to the rabble-routOf fawning priests -- no friends of his.May everlasting shame consumeThe memory of those who triedTo befoul and smear the exalted nameOf one who spurned them in his pride.He fell as fall the mighty ones,Nobly undaunted to the last,And death has now united himWith Erin's heroes of the past.No sound of strife disturb his sleep!Calmly he rests: no human painOr high ambition spurs him nowThe peaks of glory to attain.They had their way: they laid him low.But Erin, list, his spirit mayRise, like the Phoenix from the flames,When breaks the dawning of the day,The day that brings us Freedom's reign.And on that day may Erin wellPledge in the cup she lifts to JoyOne grief -- the memory of Parnell.Mr. Hynes sat down again on the table. When he had finished hisrecitation there was a silence and then a burst of clapping: evenMr. Lyons clapped. The applause continued for a little time. Whenit had ceased all the auditors drank from their bottles in silence.Pok! The cork flew out of Mr. Hynes' bottle, but Mr. Hynesremained sitting flushed and bare-headed on the table. He did notseem to have heard the invitation."Good man, Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, taking out his cigarettepapers and pouch the better to hide his emotion."What do you think of that, Crofton?" cried Mr. Henchy. "Isn't thatfine? What?"Crofton said that it was a very fine piece of writing.

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