lines. There is too much peace or too much reticence, but it will be
some time before we hear from outside of Dublin.

Meanwhile the sun was shining. It was a delightful day, and the streets
outside and around the areas of fire were animated and even gay. In the
streets of Dublin there were no morose faces to be seen. Almost everyone
was smiling and attentive, and a democratic feeling was abroad, to which
our City is very much a stranger; for while in private we are a sociable
and talkative people we have no street manners or public ease whatever.
Every person spoke to every other person, and men and women mixed and
talked without constraint.

Was the City for or against the Volunteers? Was it for the Volunteers,
and yet against the rising? It is considered now (writing a day or two
afterwards) that Dublin was entirely against the Volunteers, but on the
day of which I write no such certainty could be put forward. There was a
singular reticence on the subject. Men met and talked volubly, but they
said nothing that indicated a personal desire or belief. They asked for
and exchanged the latest news, or, rather, rumour, and while expressions
were frequent of astonishment at the suddenness and completeness of the
occurrence, no expression of opinion for or against was anywhere
formulated.

Sometimes a man said, "They will be beaten of course," and, as he
prophesied, the neighbour might surmise if he did so with a sad heart or
a merry one, but they knew nothing and asked nothing of his views, and
themselves advanced no flag.

This was among the men.