And nothing was going to stop the onward movement.

It pained him to differ from Father Cahill--the one friend of his youth.

If only he could alter the good priest's outlook--win him over to the great procession that was marching surely and firmly to self-government, freedom of speech and of action, and to the ultimate making of men of force out of the crushed and the hopeless.

He would try.
"Father Cahill," he began softly, as though the good priest might be wooed by sweet reason when the declamatory force of the orator failed, "don't ye think it would be wiser to attend a little more to the people's BODIES than to their SOULS?
to their BRAINS rather than to their HEARTS?
Don't ye ?" "No, I do NOT," hotly answered the priest.
"Well, if ye DID," said the agitator, "if more priests did, it's a different Ireland we'd be livin' in to-day--that we would.

The Christian's heaven seems so far away when he's livin' in hell.