In the red brick home in the red brick row on the outskirts of the red brick town of Belfast, Mrs. Dennis McCullough, daughter of the south of Ireland, gave testimony that the goodheartedness of her neighbors prevails over their prejudice even in time of crisis. Her husband, a piano merchant, has been in some seven prisons for his political activities. He had told of plank beds, of food he could not eat, of the quelling of prison outbreaks by hosing the prisoners and then letting them lie in their wet clothes on cold floors. He had spoken of evading prison at one time by availing himself of the ancient privilege of "taking sanctuary": he went to the famous pilgrimage center of Lough Derg, and though no sanctuary law prevails, the military did not care or dare to violate the religious feelings of the inhabitants by seizing him there. And then he had told of the last time: before his last arrest he had taken great care not to provoke the authorities because Mrs. McCullough was about to give birth to her first child; but one evening when the couple and friends were seated about a quiet Sunday evening tea table, six constables entered and hurried him off to jail without even presenting a warrant. It was at this point that Mrs. McCullough gave her testimony: "Our house is just a little island of Sinn Fein in this district. The neighbors knew my husband had been arrested. The papers told them that the arrests had been made in connection with that Jules Verne German submarine plot. But when my baby was born, my neighbors forgot everything but the fact that I was a human being who needed help. One neighbor came in to bake my bread; another to sweep my house; another to cook my meals. They were very good. "Often at five o'clock, I watch the girls coming home from the mills. At six o'clock they eat supper. At seven the boys and girls walk out together, two by two." Mrs. McCullough laughed. "You know, I think that's all I have against the Ulsterites--there's nothing queer about them." By the grate, Dennis McCullough held the baby in his arms with all the care one uses towards a treasure long withheld. His drawn white face was close to the dimpled cheeks. The rank and file of the Belfastians, then, are joining the priests, co-operationists, labor unionists and Sinn Feiners in their fight for self-determination. For it is believed that as long as the Irish people, Irish or Scotch-Irish, remain under the domination of England, they will continue to suffer under exploitation by her capitalists. And the people of the north and the south are unanimous that English exploitation is what's the matter with Ireland. [Footnote 1: Census of 1911.]