An American-Irishman, like myself, should be very grateful to be alive, which is saying a great deal in some localities, since the tramp of the ancient hordes is heard in the land, and the scions of shattered dynasties are now holding the sceptre of power through the influence of dominant wealth. I believe more and more in the theory that, to get the best out of an individual or a nation, you must first subject them to some gross injustice, which stings the pride and awakens the indignation, until they arm themselves with stirring forces to right the wrong. It often happens that a great man is sometimes willing to humble himself by indifferently sitting on the cushion of advantage and going to sleep. And it is only when he is driven, annoyed and defeated that he is put to his wits’ end and compelled to draw on his manhood to learn the things most essential to his preservation and his honor. It was through such exigencies as these that the Irishmen in America were pushed to find moderation and success in the highway of honest endeavor, which led on and on into the field of competitive personal rivalry, where at last the genius of the race was triumphant over every phase of intimidation and coercion. The success of Irishmen in this home of the exile may be due, in large measure, to the application of the lesson that is taught by Balzac: “To make your way in the world, you must plough through humanity like a cannon ball, or glide through it like a pestilence.” This axiom bears particular significance when applied to the pioneers of our race, who were confronted with obstacles and difficulties that loomed up like pyramids in the desert of despair, only to retard their progress in the onward march toward the golden temple of hope, around whose throne were clustered the cherished symbols of religious freedom and individual liberty, that shone forth, in resplendent array, to light the wanderer’s footsteps and guide him along the green and thriving path of industrial and commercial supremacy that is vouchsafed to every man of honor and thrift, who comes to this free country to escape the thralldom and tyranny of a foreign yoke. Here he can find the glorious sunburst of consolation in the cloudless sky of equality that sheds its rays amid the conflicting emotions of hope and fear, and blood and carnage, and doubt and bigotry, and chivalry and patriotism—all alike being imbued with the warmth and glow of its comforting and protecting influence, that ensures to every loyal son an equal privilege to that liberty and pursuit of happiness which is the birthright of every American citizen. Forever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us With freedom’s soil beneath our feet, With freedom’s banner streaming o’er us! Breathes there a man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, “This is my own, my native land.”