Irish boys are showing their attitude, too, for at Padraic Pearse's school, conducted now by a brother of Thomas McDonagh who taught there before the rising, there are several hundred boys on the waiting-list. The school never was as crowded before; the work that Pearse gave his life for, the inspiriting of Irish youth, is still going on. Out on Leinster Road one day, I walked past that house where, not nine months before, I had met so many people of the republican movement. The house was empty, with that peculiar look of bereavement that some houses wear. It had been an embodiment of the Countess Markievicz, and, now that she was gone, looked doomed. Where was she? Over in England in Aylesbury Prison, but fortunately at work in the kitchen. I could not fancy her depressed beyond activity of some sort that in the end would be for Ireland's good. "A felon's cap's the noblest crown an Irish head can wear." This was one of her favorite quotations, and I knew that in wearing the cap, her courage would not desert her. Her sister had seen her, and told me she was in good spirits; grateful that they had put her to work and not left her to inactivity or brooding thoughts. She had repeated what an old woman in Mountjoy Prison had said to her: "Man never built a wall but God Almighty threw a gap in it!" Last November I paid another visit to Dublin. The bitterness had increased. SONGS SUNG BY THE IRISH BEFORE AND AFTER THE EASTER RISING Here is one of my favorite songs as a child: O'DONNELL ABOO I Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding, Loudly the war-cries arise on the gale; Fleetly the steed by Lough Swilly is bounding, To join the thick squadrons in Saimear's green vale. On, every mountaineer, Strangers to fight and fear! Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh! Bonnaught and gallowglass, Throng from each mountain pass; Onward for Erin, O'Donnell Aboo! II Princely O'Neill to our aid is advancing With many a chieftain and warrior clan. A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are prancing 'Neath borderers brave from the banks of the Bann. Many a heart shall quail Under its coat of mail; Deeply the merciless foeman shall rue, When on his ear shall ring, Borne on the breezes' wing, Sir Connell's dread war-cry, "O'Donnell Aboo!" III Wildly o'er Deamond the war-wolf is howling! Fearless the eagle sweeps over the plain! The fox in the streets of the city is prowling! All, all who would scare them are banished or slain! Grasp every stalwart hand Hackbut and battle brand, Pay them all back the deep debt so long due! Norris and Clifford well Can of Sir Connell tell; Onward to glory, "O'Donnell Aboo!" IV