Mr. John Dillon, member for East Mayo, had been accused by Mr. Chamberlain of making a firebrand speech inciting to murder. Mr. Dillon could not deny the accuracy of the charge, but he justified himself by saying (I am quoting from Hansard): “The speech was delivered in 1886, a short time after the massacre of Mitchelstown, where he had seen before his own eyes three innocent men shot down—and shot down in cold blood, by policemen, who were acting under the orders of an officer who was so bankrupt in character that even the Rt. Hon. gentleman (Mr. Balfour), the Tory Chief Secretary, had dismissed him from his employment.... That officer was charged by the jury with gross incompetency, if not worse, and of being the cause of the murders committed at Mitchelstown.... The recollection of these events was hot in his mind when he made the speech in question, and had been for weeks and months before.” As Mr. Dillon uttered these words, with all the funereal solemnity for which he was famous, I saw Mr. Chamberlain give some instruction to one of his faithful runners sitting near him, who presently came back with a volume in his hand. When Mr. Dillon sat down, Mr. Chamberlain got up to reply and said: “The Committee has heard the defence of the hon. member, that he was speaking in circumstances of such intense provocation that in fact almost any language would be justified, and that he himself was in a condition of mind in which he could hardly control himself. Why? Because the massacre of Mitchelstown had taken place only a short time ago and he was still thrilling with the horrors of that massacre.” (_Ministerial_ cheers.) “Yes! You cheered it!” (Renewed _ministerial_ cheers.) “Do you know the fact is that the massacre of Mitchelstown took place on September 9th, 1887, and that this speech was delivered on December 5th, 1886? The hon. member for East Mayo, who had more than a week to prepare himself, and has had the facts, dates, places and everything before him, now comes down to this House and palms off a statement of that kind. Well, sir, in these circumstances how can we accept the hon. member’s tardy repentance?” There was naturally much laughter. Mr. Dillon looked sheepish, and the Radical party felt that their cheers had been a little premature. I was going to dine at the House that evening, and before dinner I went into the lavatory to wash my hands. One man was there before me—Mr. John Dillon. To him entered another Irishman, who, probably not seeing me, said: “Ah! John, Joe had ye that time!” “Yes,” was the answer, and then, after a pause, “DAMN him!” Never did I hear that prayer uttered with more heartfelt fervour.