Separation Not the Policy.

When Daniel O'Connell was in the midst of his work, and the men were moving for the Charter in England, they crippled one another; they did not keep together. They were strong enough then to have conquered, if they had kept together, and they might have prevented 25 years of misery if they had done so.

Understand me clearly, I am against any separation of Ireland from England, I am against it as an Englishman; England is not strong enough to do without Ireland, and I do not believe, on the life of me, I do not believe that Ireland is strong enough to do without England. You are not as you were; nor are we: you are married to us, and we are married to you. Separation will not undo, will not wipe out, the past; for separation from England will not put you where you were before annexation. I would say, Let it bo, but it cannot be, and I do not believe that separation will help the future. The tendency of modern policy is to make great States, not to create small ones; to join together, not to disunite; there is only a narrow channel which separates us from you, and I believe that there is a channel of warm blood and generous feeling which could bring us together again. The shame of the past is ours, but the generosity to forget it in the future is yours. The landed aristocracy that have seized our fields are the ones that hold yours, and the shame against which you war is that against which we struggle too. I am in favor of the duty of the Irish people to legislate for themselves; I know no reason why—just as the State of New York, and the State of Massachusetts, and the other States of this mighty federation have their legislation—I know no reason why Ireland should not also have hers, too, in that same fashion. I know no reason why if Hungary's people may have a Parliament, I know no reason why an analogous course might not be pursued. But I do not pretend to discuss details hero. But I say let us deal with it not in a spirit of hatred, race to race; there are no page 45 such differences of race to-day. There were; but our people have intermarried with your people, and there is a blending of brotherhood and kinship between us that no separation can wipe out. It is not the old race with none of our blood or our thought. Your poets are ours and our literature is imbued with your spirit, and if you go back to the mythic days that your poets have described, I ask you to forget the mists of yesterday and to hope for the realities of to-morrow, when we may win our deliverance. I am against separation because you cannot win it peaceably. I do not say you cannot win it; I do not deny your valor; but you can only win it by the sword. (Interruption.) You have the right to reply when I it down. I will not trespass upon your attention long, but listen to me until I finish. I tell you that if you are to win you must win by force, and then, deeply as I should regret it, sorry as I should be, I should feel that my course was not your course—that my hand could not be with your hand. I am English; it is not my crime, I was born so. You are Irish; it is not your virtue, you were born so. I did not make my misfortune, nor you your place. I ask you to recognise our common brotherhood. Do not talk a word of separation. Be men, and remember that it is federation, not separation, that should be the hope of the future. I would appeal to Irishmen, if I knew how, as Curran would have done, as Flood would have done, if he were out of his grave again. I would appeal to you as Irishmen as Curran would if here, as Flood would if here and out of his grave, as Grattan would if he could train my tongue, as O'Connell would if I had his force and energy. I would appeal to Irishmen, and say, "Do not think of that word 'separation'"; we have separated too long. Each separation is a weakness, for while we are separated the common enemy preys on us and drags us away. You can't win without us; we cannot without you. Were we separated they would set one to fight the other, and then mock us for our folly. Oh! if I could appeal to Irishmen I would appeal to them openly. Do not try to work in secret. I do not believe in secret conspiracy. It never did win; 1798 will tell you; the brothers Shearers on the gallows will tell you whether secret conspiracy could win; poor Fitzgerald dying in his bed would tell you; 1848 can tell; and Croydon and Massey's lying tongues would tell you what secret conspiracy would do. (Applause.) In England I am not afraid of anybody; the most daring things I say, and say openly, and although Scotland Yard page 46 has its men to watch me they get little for their pains, for all the world knows what I do. (Applause.) Besides, in secret you never can he strong. War openly, and war with us. I do not ask you to agree with us in everything, but tell us where you disagree. Do not keep apart. Do not cry separation in one corner. And to you Americans I offer no apology for speaking to you of Ireland, for you are sons of some, brothers of others, cousins, nephews, and nieces too. The language common to us, Englishmen and Irishmen, is common to you. Any pain to one or the other must be pain to you. We are as one human family, and I plead to you because, as I said when I stood in this hall before, there is a mightier force than king or throne, a mightier force than the sword or steel, than prison bars. It works silently, like a mighty oxide which corrodes iron; but it works surer, and it crumbles all it touches to the Ted dust. This mighty oxydising force is the force of public opinion, and to that I appeal—not to Americans, not as men and women of a different nation, but as members of a common family. (Great applause, during which the speaker retired.)