Synopsis

'Hurrah! 'tis done--our freedom's won--hurrah for the Volunteers! By arms we've got the rights we sought through long and wretched years. still through good and ill how vain were prayers and tears-- How vain were words till flashed the swords of the Irish Volunteers.' So sang all Dublin in a delirium of triumph on the 9th of November, 1783. From the dawn of day joy-bells had rung jocund peals; rich tapestries and silken folds of green and orange had swayed from every balcony; citizens in military garb, with green cockades, had silently clasped one another's hands as they met in the street. There was no need for speech. One thought engrossed every mind; one common sacrifice of thanksgiving rolled up to heaven. For Ireland had fought her bloodless fight, had shaken off the yoke of England, and was free--at last! The capital was crowded with armed men and bravely-bedizened dames. Carriages, gay with emblazoned s, blocked up the narrow thoroughfares, darkened to twilight-pitch by the boughs and garlands that festooned the overhanging eaves. Noddies and whiskies and sedans, bedecked with wreaths and ribbons, jostled one another into the gutter. Troops o...