[Footnote 2. That England controls this industrial situation was made clear during the war. Then ship tonnage was scarce, and England's regular resources of agricultural supply were cut off. So England called on Ireland to revert to agriculture. Ireland's tillage acreage jumped from 2,300,000 in 1914 to 3,280,000 in 1918. This change in policy brought prosperity to some of the farmers, and Ireland's bank deposits rose from $310,000,000 in 1913 to $455,000,000 in 1917. But England is reestablishing her former agricultural trade connections. According to F.A. Smiddy, professor of economics at University college, Cork, a return to grazing has already commenced in Ireland, and _"prosperity" will last at most only two post-war years._] [Footnote 3. British taxation saps Irish capital. The 1916 imperial annual tax took $125,000,000 put of Ireland and put back $65,000,000 into Irish administration. Irishmen argue that the excess might better go to the development of Ireland. Figures supplied Department of Agriculture, 1919.] III IRISH LABOR AND CLASS REVOLUTION "A CHANGE OF FLAGS IS NOT ENOUGH." In the sputtering flare of the arc lamp in front of Liberty hall stood squads of boys. Some of them wore brass-buttoned, green woolen waists, and some, ordinary cotton shirts. Some of them had on uniform knickers, and some, long, unpressed trousers. On the opposite side of the street were blocked similar squads of serious-eyed, high-chinned girls. Some of them were in green tweed suits, and others as they had come from work. They were companies of the Citizens' Army recruited by the Irish Labor party, and assembled in honor of the return of the Countess Markewicz from jail. "Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, We'll keep the red flag flying here." Young voices, impatient of the interim of waiting, sang the socialist song. The burden was taken up by the laborers, whose constant movement to keep a good view was attested by the hollow sound of their wooden-soled boots on the stone walks. And the refrain was hummed by the shawled, frayed-skirted creatures who were coming up from Talbot street, Gloucester street, Peterson's lane, and all the family-to-a-room districts in Dublin. On the skeletonish railroad crossing suspended over the Liffey, tin-hatted and bayonet-carrying British soldiers were silhouetted against the moon-whitened sky. Up to them floated the last oath of "The Red Flag": "With heads uncovered swear we all, To bear it onward till we fall. Come dungeon dark or gallows grim, This song shall be our parting hymn." Clattered over the bridge the horse-dragged brake. In the light of a search lamp played on it from an automobile behind, a small figure in a slouch hat and a big black coat waved a bouquet of narcissus. There was a surge of the block-long crowds and people who could not see lifted their hands and shouted: "Up the countess!"