We went to Ireland because her people were engaged in cutting one another’s throats; we are there now because, if we left, they would all be breaking one another’s heads. When an eminent patriot is good enough to inform us of his desire, but for the presence of a British judge, to wring a brother patriot’s neck, we are reminded that the sacred fire still burns in Celtic breasts. Ævum non animum mutant.[356] The leaders of the Irish people have not so greatly changed since the days when ‘King’ MacDonnchadh blinded ‘King’ Dermot’s son, and when Dermot, in turn, relieved his feelings by gnawing off the nose of his butchered foe. Claiming to govern a people when they cannot even govern themselves, they clamour like the baboo of Bengal against that pax Britannica, by the presence of which alone they are preserved from mutual destruction. No doubt, as one of them frankly confessed, they would rather be governed badly by themselves than well by any one else. But England also has a voice in the matter; and she cannot allow the creation of a Pandemonium at her doors.