at Old Connaught, by listening to the squabbles of some squireen magistrates all the way from the barony of Innishowen, or Macgillicuddies Reeks, "intervalla humane commoda!!" There is, it is true, one mode of obviating the many evils that must otherwise arise from such appointments, viz.-a careful selection of persons to fill the office. Let us have lord lieutenants and deputy lieutenants, who will preside at repeal meetings, where the blessings of separation are held forth, and the Protestant clergy proscribed, and then the magistracy of Ireland will be as it ought to be, particularly when, in addition to this, another direction from the same high authority is obeyed, viz.-all heretics excluded from the ranks of the constabulary, and no man admitted, even as a private in that body, but one who has previously distinguished himself in the ranks of the "Liberator's police." But all these concessions even are not enough. We have read of the Puritan member of the long parliament, who said "he would not allow a popish dog to bark, or a popish cat to mew about the royal palace." Dan thinks his turn is now come for revenge. There are pensioned and "smiling pickthanks" about courts: there is, (and Heaven knows Protestants wont deny it,)

"The whisper that to greatness still too near, Perhaps still vibrates on the Viceroy's ear."

All these must be removed, and accordingly he breaks into the precincts of the vice-regal household. How ever, as this is too mean quarry to engage the Liberator's attention, he leaves it to his friend, Whittle Harvey, (who is not yet a lawyer; "but still, could he help it? a special attorney,") to send them a latitat in due time. Then, when the Augean stable is perfectly cleansed out, when the members of the tail are made gentlemen at large -when Feargus O'Connor is master of the revels, and Billy Finn or Pat

Lalor gentleman usher; then there may be some chance of an honest man appearing at court, and the Liberator may possibly honour the vice-regal dinners with his presence!! These will, we believe, be allowed to be tolerable specimens of the mild and impartial regime we are to look forward to.

But there is another demand remaining, which, we protest seriously, distances all the rest, viz.-that a Protestant government shall not dare to appoint a Protestant bishop without his permission. This great advocate for liberty of conscience, this anti-vetoistical orator, who spurned every offer of civil privileges when accompanied by any interference with the discipline of his pure and holy religion, exclaims against their daring to appoint even a Protestant bishop without consulting him. "It is not the least," he says, "amongst the faults, follies, and crimes of the base, brutal, and bloody Whigs”

the orator delights in those triads, "rasis librat in antithetis"-" that they have raised Dr. Kyle to the episcopal bench!!!" a man whose academic station, not to speak of his character and attainments, pointed him out as the proper person for such promotionwhose faithful and pastoral, though unostentatious discharge of his high duties whose disinterested and discriminating exercise of his patronage have, ever since his elevation, endeared him to the zealous and enlightened body of clergy over which he has been placed. But we are absolutely sick of pursuing this subject, because the circumstances of the times impart too serious a character to it, and raise apprehensions of too painful a nature at this monstrous exhibition of buffoon bigotry thus running riot. We shall therefore end this article, which, we fear, has been already extended too far, by calling the attention of our English fellow-subjects to a brief recapitulation of what we have been urging, and in doing so, will premise that we are ready to admit, for argu

ment's sake, that all that has been advanced against the Protestant faction (as it is now called) is true-that the Hernando - Mendez - Pinto statements of the agitator, as well as the more dangerous misrepresentations of the ministerial organs are established, and that we have been the most selfish, rapacious, and unprincipled colonists that ever ground the aboriginal inhabitants of any country; still, we ask, is that the pressing question that should at the present moment engage the attention of those who are anxious to prevent the separation of the two countries, and all the awful consequences likely to follow from such a measure. If any fair-minded Englishman should be of this opinion, let him read the statement which we have been giving, of the facts of which we challenge contradiction, and of which the following is a brief recapitulation Mr. O'Connell has now succeeded in inducing the ministry to abandon all the important clauses, at least all that could affect him, of a bill which was virtually declared in the King's speech to be necessary "for the peace of society, and the power and safety of the united kingdom." In the course of the proceedings connected with that bill, he—the person avowedly pointed at in the King's speech as the main cause of the disturbances which the bill was intended to suppress-he, we say, has been closeted with, and consulted by, the most influential member of the cabinet connected with

Irish affairs, and the result has been the disgust and retirement of the premier, the popular benefactor, as he is hailed, in England. The same Mr. O'Connell has induced the ministers to abandon their own tithe bill, and in violation of the whole spirit of the King's promise, to accept and advocate another which virtually confiscates two-fifths of the property of the Irish church. He has announced himself a ministerialist, not in gratitude (he spurns such a feeling) for their compliance with his wishes, but with the avowed design of aiding them (as he presumes to anticipate their intentions) against one of the branches of the legislature, and consequently breaking up the whole framework of the constitution; he has continued to call as loudly as ever for the separation of the two countries; he has virtually demanded that the whole executive authority in Ireland, the appointment to every office, place, situation, legal, ecclesiastical, magisterial, &c., shall be lodged in his hands; and lastly, and what is most alarming of all, he has the ministerial journals proposing that he shall be consulted on everything regarding Ireland; in fact, so completely identifying him with the measures of the cabinet, that, to the various appellatives which have been given to ministries of late days, we may fairly add one more, viz.-"The O'Connell Ministry." Therefore, again we say, look to it men of England.

LADY Frederick Ker had one only son when she was left a widow by her husband's untimely death. The boy's name was William, and he was highspirited, but amiable and affectionate, and his mother's darling. So, one day, he came into her in the parlour, with a wooden sword in his belt, a peacock's feather in his bonnet, and riding on a great stick, with a queer head, something like that of a horse; when, after taking a hearty laugh at her son's uncouth equipage, the following dialogue ensued between them, which I think worth recording: Mother. Now, my dear little William, before I remove you to another school, you must make a positive choice of a profession.

Son.-O, that is all settled, Mamma; quite determined on; so you need not give yourself any more trouble about that.

Mother. What is settled, my boy? or who has assisted you in making this momentous choice? I am quite impatient to hear what occupation my William has fixed on.

Son.-Why, then, I am determined to be either the driver or guard of a mail-coach.

Mother.-Oh, peace be with us! Alas, my boy, what a choice you have made! Either of these are posts of danger, of low dissipation, and disgrace. What could move my son, the heir to a title and an estate, and the scion of an illustrious race, to make such a choice as this?

Son.-O! I have thought how grand and majestic a thing it would be, to be daily flying through the air, like an eagle of the firmament, sounding my trumpet with a rending tone, commanding every one to stand out of the way, at their peril. And then, to hear all the boys hurraing me as I passed, and getting a lash with a long whip, if they dared but to touch my royal and splendid vehicle, with one of their hands.

There is both a grandeur and sublimity in the very idea; and, whenever I think of it, I feel as if I would fly through the air in this way-(flinging up his spread hands.)

Mother.-I am forced to smile at your extravagance, my dear boy; and, yet, it is not an unnatural fancy for a boy to conceive. Velocity of motion has a thrilling charm to the young and buoyant mind. But, in short, that is an occupation to which you must never think of stooping.

Son.-O, neither I will. I'll ascend to it-mount up to it, like a fiery dragon; tout, tout, goes the bugle, and off we go like thunder and lightning. O, that I were a man, that I might be able to be the guard of a mail-coach, to cleave the robbers' heads, right and left, this way, and this way. Now, Mamma, you are not to hinder me from being the guard of a mail-coach.

Mother. You will come to a different way of thinking, my dear Willie, once you have a little more sense and knowledge of the world. I am far from desiring that you should be brought up in idleness, as a mere country gentleman; for these people seem to consider themselves as born to do nothing save to eat, and drink, and ride about. They do no good to the poor, and they uniformly get themselves involved in debt, if not in utter ruin. No, no; you must study one of the four learned or genteel professions, which, even though not practised, make a man more respectable.

Son. Well, describe them, Mamma, and I shall soon make a choice. I hope a guard of a mail-coach is one of them.

Mother.-No, no. There is, first, the surgeon. These form a very useful and respectable body of men; but there are, to my eyes, some great drawbacks attached to that profession.

They have such bleeding, blistering, and cutting off legs and arms, with a thousand other revolting operations, which cannot be named, that I cannot help entertaining a woman's natural aversion to one of the most useful studies, by which many men have arisen to great wealth and eminence. And, moreover, there is that horrid system of dissection, in which every young surgeon must be engaged for a long period, in the very outset of life; the cutting up of bloated corpses, dragged from their graves, the poorhouses-or, perhaps, got in a worse way than either.

Son.-What, Mamma, bleeding, and blistering, cutting off legs and arms, and carving of dead folks. Is that like a business for a gentleman? or one to be compared with a mailcoach, cleaving the wind like an angel messenger?

No more of that if you love me, William, but note what I am saying. Then, there is the lawyer. The most genteel profession, perhaps, of any other; and which often conducts men to the offices of state. Nevertheless, however respectable they may be as gentlemen, as lawyers they are accounted men of quirks and quibbles, of encouraging animosities, jealousies, and heart-burnings, among their clients; and often multiplying words without wisdom.

Now, Mamma, you have instructed me all my life to tell the plain downright truth; how, then, can you propose a business to me, in which I cannot get the truth told, but when it becomes my duty to lie?

It is very well answered, my boy. Well, then, there is the soldier, who is a brave man, and fights for his king and country; and the divine, who is a good man, and teaches mankind the way of salvation.

Nay, hold there, good Mamma, for I'll be a soldier. Goodness, I am sure, is very amiable, and I love and reverence the ministers of the gospel; but I would not harangue the people as they do, for anything; one wearies so terribly of them. I'll tell you of what I always think in church, Mamma-and you are not to be angry at me, for I cannot help it-from the moment I enter the church, I think of nothing but when I am to get out

again. So I wont be a divine, but a soldier; and, then, I shall get trumpets, and drums, and noise enough.

But, my dear boy, in one thing you err; for every soldier is not a brave man, nor is every divine a poltroon, or a coward. On the contrary, there is often heroism manifested by the latter, in the forgiveness of injuries, resignation to the Divine will, and all the higher virtues of the soul, of which the man of the world is incapable, and which fashion forbids him to exercise; and, think you not these are more estimable in the sight of God, of angels, and of good men, than the rash and careless adventuring either our own lives, or the lives of others.

As I told you, Mamma, I admire bravery; but then I did not know there were any sorts of bravery but one-that of battling most tremendously. Pray let me understand what you mean, by an instance or two.

I shall give you an instance in a transaction, to the whole of which I was a witness. I was boarded for some years in the house of a respectable clergyman, not overburdened with his annual income. There were four boarders of us, and his daughters officiated as our teachers. They were beautiful and accomplished women, without fortunes-a delicate and dangerous situation in which to be placed, and more particularly at this village, where there was both a depot and barracks. But, to make a long tale short, after a great deal of wooing and flirtation, the oldest was, most unaccountably, induced to elope with a captain of dragoons. Her sisters kept it from their father for a while, on false pretences, and pretended to be quite uncertain with whom she was gone. But I was sure of it, and thought it my duty to go and tell her father, which I did. He was in the deepest distress about his beloved Annie, whom he accounted the staff of his age, and who was, indeed, one of the most beautiful, sweet-tempered, and kind-hearted beings I ever knew.

The old parson followed the regiment, and overtook it, but found nothing of his Annie, for she was secreted somewhere else; and the suspected officer, to whom he applied, denied all knowledge of the lady whatsoever; answering the distressed parent

in a very flippant style. He said he was sorry for Miss Anne's imprudence, very sorry, indeed-she was a good girl-very good girl, indeed, and very obliging-hoped matters would not be so bad as the parson supposed. But, at all events, there was no help for it no help whatever-women would not be hindered from taking their own way-would not by any manner of means.

The worthy old divine, hearing nothing from this quarter, was obliged to return home again, with a heavy heart, and crushed with regret to the very soul; and though resigned and pious as ever, it was manifest that there was a weight of grief that weighed down his heart to the dust.

66

Years came and passed over, and no word of the minister's Annie," as she was familiarly called by all the parish, until one night late, the wife of a poor manufacturer came to the front door, with the skirt of her gown drawn over her head, and earnestly requested a word of the minister. She had once been a servant in the family, and had acted as child's maid both to Annie and her sister Elizabeth, and was, therefore, a sort of favourite with the family. The parson, not having at hand any private apartment to take the woman into, walked out with her to the end of the stable. I instantly followed, for there was something so raised and concerned like in her appearance and manner, that I could not resist going to listen; so springing to the loft, from the open window close above them, I heard the following dialogue, which, on the woman's part, was carried on in a fervent whisper :

"Thou must coom awa dooan to our house, Sir, directly, for thou dooast little know how mooach there be one needs to see thee yonder."

Certainly. I shall go with you instantly. Is it to see a person in distress ?"

"Indeed so, Sir. Indeed so. In distress enough, God knows. And thou must know too, Sir, though it will break your heart, that there is more than one of them, Sir-more than one, indeed, Sir. O alack, and woe is me, that ever I should have seen the day. Indeed there is, Sir; there is more than one of them. And what is to become of them, poor souls!

Heaven only knows what is to become of them, for it is unknown to me."

"Esther, I beseech you to moderate your vehemence, and tell me, in plain terms, the circumstances of this case, which affects you so much."

"O I can't, Sir. Indeed I can't tell you in plain terms, nor any other terms; for dost thou not know, Sir, that there are some things so very bad that men or captains will at times do, that there are no terms for them, at least none that are known to me."

66

This abstruse hint went to the old pastor's heart like an arrow. He could not utter a word, but stood and gazed at his old servant with an unstable and paralyzed look, while she went on. Why, it is no wonder thou be struck dumb with surprise. But had thou seen, it! O, had thou seen it-it would have broken thine heart into crumbs; where art thou going, poor woman, says I, with thy two pretty babies, so late? Dost thou not know me, said she? No, I does not, said I, how like is it that I should know thee, poor body? Why, I be's the minister's Annie, says she. You, the minister's Annie, says I! Then, out upon my old eyes, that did not know you. But, O! that they had both been closed in death before they saw this sight; the minister's Annie going a-begging, with two pretty, half-naked babies. And, then, I screamed out this way, and fainted."

The woman's cries then became so loud and vehement, that I hasted to them, and found her lying, in a sort of fit, and the pastor upon his knees beside her, leaning his brow against the stable wall, pale and speechless; but, after uttering sundry heavy groans, and inly praying, for a short period, he ordered me, sharply, away; so I betook myself to my old berth, and heard all that passed. "I see, I see, how it is, Esther. I know all now, and may the Lord support me in my affliction, and forgive my poor, erring child; but I cannot yet see her, nor can I bring her home among my other daughters, and these other ladies of rank; but be kind to her, Esther, and I will requite you."

However, the good man never closed his eyes till he went down and embraced his lost child, and forgave her. He then laid his hands on the heads of the two little girls, kneeled