the brutality of Rosas, we do not know. It may be that the fatalism of his Spanish and Indian race left no room for remorse or anger. He and she had lived and loved, and now death, which must come to all men, was at hand. He asked the priest for a slip of paper and a pencil, and he wrote

"Camila, you are to die with me. It has not been given to us to live united among men. We shall stand together before God."

They were allowed to receive the sacraments, and the priest who gave them extreme unction did not omit to baptise Camila's unborn child. So Señor Saldias carefully records, and those who have the heart to inquire may seek to learn what he meant. They were shot to death by eight soldiers, sitting side by side and hand in hand, in the courtyard of their prison at Santos Lugares.

So Rosas made his example, and in making it he inflicted a mortal wound on his own rule. He meant to terrify finally, and in such sort that no man or woman should ever again offend him. What he did was to sicken his own partisans. The populace of Buenos Ayres, which had once worshipped him, heard of the butchery at Santos Lugares with stupefaction. They could not understand politics, and they had no disinclination to see the Tyrant bully the moneyed classes. But they could realise the abomi

nation of such an act as the killing of Camila and her unborn child, and the brutality of the slaughter of Gutierrez, who, in so far as he differed from other clerical sinners, differed by not being a sneak. In

a few days his spies began to let Rosas know that those who had always applauded him were silent, and that those who had hitherto feared to speak were beginning to feel themselves supported and to murmur. The ground was giving beneath his feet. Very soon he had to learn more, and worse. His soldiers were affected like the people from whom they were drawn. The man himself was no general, and, strangely enough for a ruler in his position, was in the habit of sneering at military glory. He was even accused of showing an undue care for his personal safety. It is hard to believe that a man who had spent his youth in adventure on the pampas was lacking in ordinary courage. He reflected, one presumes, that he was the representative of the State—the useful State which every official can quote to justify his acts,and that his life was precious to be rashly risked. Therefore he depended on his generals. Hitherto they had been loyal, but after the scene at Santos Lugares they began to waver. We will not suppose that they who were all stained by blood were much influenced by humanity, but doubtless they had some, and Rosas had gone beyond even their wide limits. What influenced them

too

mainly was an enlightened selfinterest. It was beginning to be unsafe for the most devoted of them to be within his reach. Suppose he felt that another example was needed to confirm obedience, would the man who had had no mercy on Camila, and no pity for Gutierrez, whom he had once favoured, spare an ordinary general? It was a shrewd calculation, and there was only one answer to the question. So the minds of men were prepared for a change. Messages began to pass between the generals and the exiles. A day came when a body of liberators appeared on the border, and were joined by officers and soldiers. Rosas was indeed no general, and the men who had thought for him in war were now against him. He took the feeble resource

of all incompetent leaders of armies. He strung his men out in one long line to protect everything at once, and as the invaders made a concentrated attack they broke his spider's web. Then they marched on Buenos Ayres, and Rosas, who knew by this time that he had worn out the patience and loyalty of all mankind, fled disguised as an English sailor to a British man-of-war, and then in a merchant ship to Southampton, to live obscurely and to die imbecile. Popular tradition has it that the ghosts of Camila O'Gorman and Ladislao Gutierrez haunted his deathbed. A better proof of his secret remorse is that he missed no chance of asserting with petulance that he had done no wrong.

DAVID HANNAY.

To the student of present-day political and social questions there are few problems more interesting than the contrast between Ulster as she is now and Ulster on the eve of "Ninety-eight." Little more than a hundred years ago she led the van in the effort to throw off the British power in Ireland, and it may be worth while to refresh our memories of the occasion and of the great protagonist in the drama, the man who inoculated the Ulster of an earlier day with the virus of rebellion. Wolfe Tone has hardly received from posterity the attention he deserves. He has never been properly placed in Irish history. His life still remains to be written, and few men stand more in need of a biographer, if only to save him from himself. Tone's journal, of which, unfortunately, only some fragments remain, is one of the most fascinating pieces of self-portraiture in literature. From the first to the last page it is an intensely interesting human document. He has no reserves, he never suppresses anything on the ground that it tells against himself. When he puts on his French uniform for the first time, as Chef de Brigade, he tells us all about it-"as pleased as a little boy in his first breeches; foolish enough but not unpleasant. Walk about Paris to show myself. Huzza!" He admits

that he is insufferably vain"pretty and modest comparing myself with Alexander the Great." Hoche "got him by heart" at one interview. "I fear he does spy into the bottom of this Justice Shallow." When he goes to bed drunk, as he did frequently, he faithfully records the fact. He never fakes the photograph,

"quo fit ut omnis Votiva patat veluti descripta tabella Vita."

Despite his gay exterior, his light-heartedness, his rollicking and carousing and play-acting, Tone was at bottom a man of serious intent. That' intent he never disguised. Since Henry II. received the homage of the Irish chiefs on the Rock of Cashel, Tone did more than any one man to sever the connection between the two countries and he very nearly succeeded. It was not England but the "act of God" that brought about the failure of the Bantry Bay expedition. The consistently adverse conditions against which Tone contended were enough to daunt one of even unusual courage and pertinacity. Well might the Duke of Wellington describe him as "a most extraordinary man." He was certainly the most consistent rebel Ireland ever produced. Some men achieve rebellion by a slow and painful process, some have rebellion thrust on them, some are rebels in their morn of

youth, and in their riper years turn to safer and saner ways. Tone was in revolt all the time. He was the first of the Fenians. Theobald Wolfe Tone was born in Dublin in the year 1763, the year marked by the arrest and trial of John Wilkes, the year in which Grenville lightly embarked on the campaign which was to cost England her American colonies. Revolt was in the air and Tone inhaled it almost from his cradle. He derived, it is said, on both sides from English stock. In that case he is a good example of the influence of environment, for he was more Irish than the Irish themselves. "I am," he says, "in some things as arrant an Irishman as ever stood on the Pont Neuf." He might have said "in most," and in nothing more than in the Celtic revolt against the despotism of fact. His father was a Protestant, his mother a Catholic. She was the daughter of a sea-captain named Lamport, "a great original," and to this may be attributed his love of adventure, which all his brothers shared with him, and the strong line he took on the Catholic question which earned for him the repute of being "the best friend the Catholics ever had." But it is possible to push this point too far. His sympathies with the Catholics were political, not religious. It is unfair to set down Tone for an Atheist, as some do. He was refused admission into a political club in Belfast because he believed in the truths of revealed religion. But his religious views never troubled

him. He certainly never allowed them to stand in the way of his Jacobinism, and when the Roman Catholic bishops were slow to fall into line with the democrats in the early days of the United Irishmen, he expressed himself very roundly on bishops and their works. As a boy he was very idle, but at examination times he made a spurt, and was generally successful. In two subjects, however, he consistently failed

writing and the Catechism. His first teacher pronounced him to be a fine boy of uncommon talents, particularly for mathematics, and assured his father it was a moral certainty he would become a Fellow of Trinity. At the age of sixteen, to his misfortune, he became his own master. He miched school three days out of six, and spent his off-days in walks, swimming - parties, and attending reviews of the garrison in the Phoenix Park. These diversions confirmed him in his idle habits, and to the pomp and splendour of military show he attributes his untameable desire to become a soldier. Compared with that, classical learning was nonsense, and a Fellowship a "pitiful establishment." He entered Trinity College, Dublin, in 1781. Those were spacious times in the city by the Liffey, the times of Grattan and the Volunteers. The war was raging in America, and young Tone wanted to go out as a Volunteer. His father would not consent: Tone sulked and dropped a year. In 1782 he

went out as second in a duel to his friend Foster, in which Foster killed his man, and both had to retire into obscurity for a time. He was a Scholar of the House and prizeman, a triple Medalist, and Auditor of the College Historical Society, that famous trainingground where young Irishmen sharpen their wits, which ever since Burke's time has furnished the Church, the Bench, and the Senate with their most illustrious ornaments. Reckless in his loveaffairs as in most other things, he married while he was still an undergraduate-a runaway match with a young girl of sixteen, "as beautiful as an angel." His wife was penniless, her family disapproved of the match, so the young couple were obliged to fall back on Tone's father, who at this time was living in a very small way at Clane, in Co. Kildare, and whose resources could ill bear an additional burden. After a year, during which a daughter was born to him, Tone got a small sum of money from his father and set off with lighthearted unconcern to enter as a law student at the Inner Temple, leaving Tone senior to provide for his wife and infant as best he could. From the outset it was clear he would never be Lord Chancellor. The law he regarded as "an illiberal profession," and after the first month he never opened a law book, nor was he three times in Westminster Hall in his life. Lack of pence sat lightly on him. Indeed at this time it served him as an excuse

for his incorrigible indolence, as disabling him from "a cool and systematic habit of study"! By writing reviews for the magazines and by the useful aid of £150 from a well-to-do College acquaintance, he "contrived to make it out." But his thoughts were still running on a soldier's life. Strangely enough, his first political essay was a design to serve England. He contrived a scheme for setting up a military colony in one of the South Sea islands, "to put a bridle on Spain in time of peace and annoy her in time of war." He sent a memorial on the subject to Mr Pitt, who probably never looked at it, and Tone registered a vow accordingly that he would make Mr Pitt sorry. His father grew tired about this time of maintaining his wife and child, and told him so. Tone in a fit of rage determined to enlist as a soldier in the India Company's service, but when his brother and he offered themselves at the India House they were told that the season was past. Thus for a second time his military aspirations and his efforts to serve England were thwarted. Clearly Fate had destined him to be a rebel. His gaieté de cœur did not long forsake him. He seemed to possess the happy knack of making the most of both families-his own and his wife's. Having got from his father all he could expect, and in fact contributed materially to his financial difficulties, he turned to the other side. His wife had a rich old grandfather on whom he had evidently