mitted in revenge for the redress of tenants' grievances, for one that has its origin in the wild justice of revenge for landlords' tyranny.

Coincidently with these operations, an attempt was made to stimulate industry by arousing a spirit of emulation, and by the hope of reward. An annual show was announced, and premiums were offered for draining, trenching and fencing; for neat cottages with chimneys, and clean homesteads; for bedding and bedclothes; for green crops; for improved breeds of cattle; for flannel, woollen cloth, stockings, and butter. To those disposed to compete, the assistance and direction of the agricultural steward of the estate was tendered, and a preliminary exception was taken to any competitor who should be convicted of making or dealing in illicit malt or whiskey, or of being engaged in any breach of the public peace, or who did not pay his rent without compulsion. The first year not a single candidate appeared; the announcement thought to be a hoax, and was laughed out of court accordingly. In 1840, it began to be suspected that there was something in the matter, and thirty-six competitors came forward, among whom the premiums were so adjudged as to give general satisfaction. The shows have been since held yearly, and with increasing success.

was

The curious social experiment we have been describing was severely tested during the melancholy years. that have passed over Ireland since 1846; still it endures, and so far as a trial of fourteen years' duration can go, it goes towards solving the question of the permanency of the good done. In addition to those signs of advancement we have already alluded to we may mention, that there are no arrears due upon the rental, which is the same as it was in 1838; the average wages of a farm labourer is nine pence a-day; there are no beggars visible; no paupers from the district are, as we were informed, chargeable upon the union; the people are well clad, healthy-looking, and orderly; the business of the post-office is steadily increasing; the traffic over the newly-made roads to Dunfanaghy and Letterkenny, growing daily more considerable. These are tenable positions in advance, yet we will not venture to say that the ground has yet been made

sure. We do not believe that the despotism under which so much has been done has as yet turned out a complete and finished work, and sincerely do we hope that the benevolent despot may be spared to accomplish and to enjoy the completion of his task; that he may live to abdicate, having trained his people into fitness for social self-government and freedom. With a view towards this end, it is manifest that Lord George Hill has shaped all his plans, and it is upon this peculiarity in his policy that we most confidently fix our hopes of his ultimate success. He has not shrunk from the exercise of authority nearly absolute, but he has exercised it manifestly with a design of training beings endowed with human faculties, not in the coercion and ordering of senseless machines. He issues his ukase against the sub-division, sale, or exchange of land, without his leave; he forbids the building or enlargement of houses, unapproved of by his agent, and he is prepared to enforce his laws by "severe punishment," by ejectment from the farm, expulsion from the estate; but he causes all men to know that such tyranny is "freedom's best and truest friend." His arbitrary power is directed to the overthrow of the hard slavery of poverty and dependence; his object, avowed and recognised, is to evoke a spirit of selfreliance, and a power of self-maintenance, which is liberty.

"The sons and daughters of the tenants must try and do for themselves; and if their parents can give them a cow, or the price of one, they should take a mountain farm, or go out to service, or get work elsewhere, if -none is to be had near home.

"The old plan of dividing the land amongst the children of a family has made many beggars; this will, therefore, no longer be allowed."

It is thus, Lord George addresses his tenants; but while he forbids the rising generation to impose misery and slavery upon themselves, their parents, and their descendants, he opens a way by which they may attain to self-support and freedom. Under the circumstances indicated in his address, he will let them mountain farms at a shilling an acre for the first seven years, and give them security of tenure for twenty-one years, with no greater increase of rent than a shilling an acre at the close of each septennial period.

"My object," says his Lordship, in a communication which we know was not intended for the public eye

"My object was, to put the district in a working state, so that any industrious man might avail himself of what Providence had abundantly provided. To an utter stranger, accustomed only to a more civilised state of things, the people may appear to have done but little, and so indeed they have; but yet, looking back ten years, the district is much changed for the better. I may be very thankful to have been enabled to accomplish this much peaceably, without having put out a single individual, and to have made them understand, that I only wished to place them in a more favourable position. 'We have great peace now,' has been sometimes said by them."

We looked at the work with eyes not utterly strange, and we can understand the fear, as well as the self-gratulation here expressed; but we cannot think that any reflecting man could visit this district, and not value the opportunity it affords for the study and solution of many hard problems in the Irish difficulty. Verifying our account of its past condition on the spot, a candid advocate of tenant-right might

be induced to admit that an entire negation of landlord-claims is not sufficient to save tenants from oppression, or to secure agricultural improvement and prosperity. The bitterest hater of the proud Saxon invader might learn that his absolute non-intervention is not necessarily followed by Celtic domestic peace and happiness. Nay, the over-zealous controversialist might see that much can be done, ought to be done, and must be done, by physical training and discipline, before the mind of an uncivilised man can be prepared for the reception of the great truths of spiritual religion. But the grand moral which, as we think, the progressing experiment in Gweedore will teach to men, whose minds and hearts are wide and genial enough to render their friendship for Ireland something more than a speculation in party trade, lies in the truththat social regeneration must be begun by absolute authority, and can advance towards permanency and perfection only in proportion as a capacity for self-government is developed among the people, by discipline and knowledge.

I PASSED part of the year 1824, and nearly the whole of 1825, in France. I was then more than a boy, though not quite a man-that is, I was able to observe everything, without having attained the full power of reasoning upon what I saw. Above all, my memory

was more retentive than it has ever been since, for I have remarked that the pictures drawn upon the retina of the mind do not become fastened by after processes. As they first impinge, so they remain, all the more distinctly and permanently from having been traced upon a delicate and virgin surface. Youth employs itself little with the images it stores within its memory. They are kept for after use-a use that wears them out.

One over-clouded afternoon, having just had my fencing lesson, and finding it quite impossible to remain within doors any longer without getting hope

lessly into the blue devils, I sallied forth into the street of Tours (the town in which we then resided), without any very definite idea of the next thing to be done. There were two ways, of course, to choose between-one to the left, up the Faubourg, past the Fabrique de Passementerie, the Pension, and the ancient stone, on which was inscribed the record of some ancient inundation of the Loire, "jusqu' ici," stopped by the visible interposition of St. Anthony. But, then, in that direction lay the abbatoir, and the bare idea of a sanguine gush from within the archway and down the kennel whilst I was traversing its brink, was enough to decide me. I turned to the right.

This led me to the more ancient parts of the town, and the congenial vicinity of the great Cathedral of St. Gatien. The echoes of the deep bells

swept over the roofs of the houses, and chimed in with the sombre tone of my contemplations. At a particular break in this ridge of roofs, I caught a sight of the massive towers, staring over ominously upon me from the region of tempest, while two or three ravens seemed to be blown out of them ever and anon by the gusts, slowly and perseveringly returning with each lull to the shelter of the ragged tracery near their summits, and forcibly reminding me of those evil thoughts which, when expelled, return again and again to find shelter in some rent of our ruined organisation. It was not without a certain sensation of awe that I found myself thus under the archiepiscopal shadow, for I had learned thus early to succumb to the genius of great structures, and to suffer myself to be bestridden by these dark embodiments of mediæval influences.

Suddenly I observed indications of the avenue coming to an end. Grass started greenly between the stones, and the street appeared untrodden by man or beast. A few steps farther, and a heavy gate stood opposite me, under the skeletons of large timber trees, barring all farther advance. I now cast about me for some means of exit, other than by retracing my steps, which somehow or other conveyed to me a sense of humiliation; and I did contrive to make out at the right a low archway, through which a paved alley sharply descended, I knew not whither, but apparently a public thoroughfare. Down this, after a moment's hesitation, I plunged, and found myself, as soon as I had emerged into the light at the rear of the buildings, in a deserted plot, which seemed to stretch away in one direction, comfortless and grassgrown, nearly to the inner face of the town walls.

Long as I had resided in Tours, I had never seen or heard of this place. Where was I?-what was it? I determined to find out. Besides, it was sheltered from the wind, which was getting keener every moment, as the short day began to close in. I knew not what it was that urged me on, but I felt a forward impulse, and followed the path for some distance, until a slight bend removed altogether from my view both the buildings I had left behind, and the distant town wall, and brought me to the foot of an ancient terrace.

The solitude was impressive. The storm, which roared amongst the leafless great trees on the terrace overhead, as through the cordage of a ship, could not get down to where I was, except in an occasional gust and eddy, striking a bare branch against a bare stone, as if bent on killing what the winter had robbed; and the soft, moist black loam about me I could fancy to partake of the genius of the place, and derive its richness from accumulated relies of mortality.

Here I paused, marvelling at the Cyclopean proportions of the stones of which the terrace wall was composed. Surely, said I, they were giants who fashioned and put together these huge masses! But what is this? Why, the terrace looks as if it was undermined!

This exclamation was forced from me by my coming suddenly upon a breach, similar to what the waves sometimes make in a sea-wall-that is, the lower courses for some distance appeared to have been removed outwards, the upper remaining hanging together by their own weight, so as to give a cavelike appearance to the aperture.

I had not time, however, to speculate upon the cause of what I saw, for at that instant I perceived, just within the shadow of the opening, the figure of a man kneeling. There is always something startling in stumbling upon the hidden devotions of another. If you add to this, in the stranger's appearance, a stern melancholy of countenance spread over the rigid prominence of protruding bones, scarcely covered by the sallow flesh, and the peculiar expression of eyes, the balls of which seemed, instead of swelling outwards, to hollow inwards, as you look into a rock crystal, some idea of my first sensations may be realised. my heart throb, and drew a step back, in hopes I had not been observed; but the stranger, without turning his eyes in the direction in which I stood, bent towards the sound, and held up one hand, with a motion which seemed to warn me not to go, as well as not to ad

vance.

I felt

I obeyed, as if under the spell of a mesmeriser, and stood there for three or four minutes, during which the great bells of the cathedral came down upon us ever and anon, like puffs of smoke. They were, I now for the first time remarked, tolling solemnly-a mournful peal. Presently they ceased; and then

the stranger rose, and came out into the entrance of the grotto, towards me. I bowed respectfully, and, in such French as I could muster, apologised for having intruded, however unconsciously, upon his devotions. I now saw that that peculiar expressionless look I had at first remarked could give He place to a more searching one. drew his eyes, as it were, to a focus by an instantaneous effort, and set them burning upon me like a lens; then again retracted them within himself and said, calmly, and almost mournfully"The Archbishop died an hour ago.. I had a prayer to say for his soul as well as the rest. They prayed before the High Altar-I before Heaven. Where should I pray but here?"

"You knew him, perhaps ?" I rejoined, scarcely knowing what to say.

"I have known many people, young man. It it not for that alone I knelt under this ruin. But come, sit down here; you, I see, are a stranger. SO am I, though a Frenchman. We have thus a bond between us. You are young-I am old. That, too, is a bond. You are guiltless of the last century. Sit down, we can have a word with each other."

The quiet self-possession with which he addressed me, an utter stranger, surprised me. I could only account for it as the result of that one intense, concentrated glance, by which I fancied he had satisfied himself as to my character. But such a man, so nervous, energetic, and decided, must be of no common stamp. Indeed, young and inexperienced as I was, I scarcely needed more than a moment to read thus much.

Whatever it was-whether fear or confidence, or the youthful love of adventure that prevailed with me, I made no demur, but seated myself beside him upon one of the blocks of stone.

"Let us know each other a little better," said he, "and we shall be more at our ease. I ask no particulars of you. I will not hear them; for you are too young to be master of your own secrets. All I required, I have discovered. You are English. Had I not been satisfied of this, do not suppose you would have been sitting here, now!"

"Well. I am."

"Enough. My name you may set down as Jean François Lenoir. I have seen many strange things in my day,

young man. Ay, and picked up odd relics from the past, as a man who digs into the bed of a stream will come upon coins, and potsherds, and bones. Here is one, now, so out-of-the-way, that I always carry it about me."

So saying, he held up before me a small gold ornament, apparently designed for the neck; but which, to my inexpressible horror, I perceived at once to be fashioned into the shape of a guillotine! I started up-and he rose too; but instead of entering into an explanation, he stepped over to me, and, taking my hand, led me to the light at the entrance of the grotto, then, holding the ornament so as to exhibit the reverse side, bid me read the inscription there written. It was this

"La tete tombe, le cœur reste."

As I read, he looked me steadily in the face; and, as soon as I had pronounced the words, he led me back to my seat, and, placing himself once more beside me, said

"Now, I have given you the key to my history. Hearken to it, for it contains instruction :

On the 20th day of October, in the year 1793, I was conducted a prisoner to the Palace of the Luxembourg. They had accused me of the crimes of being rich, noble, and a royalist. My estates having been forfeited, I had been arrested in the provinces, and was now brought up, along with several prisoners of inferior rank, to Paris. As the gate of the Luxembourg closed after me, I resigned all hope of liberation, except by one exit-the scaffold; and secretly determined to seek, if I could, the most solitary recesses of the prison, there to remain shut up with my own thoughts until my time should arrive for removal to the Conciergerie, and execution. I trusted to what ready money I had the command of for the means of obtaining this indulgence for the time had not come when the system of rapiotage had been organised, under which every one of the better class was robbed on entering the prison-gate.

The first person I saw, amidst the crowd who thronged round the wicket, anxious to catch a glimpse of their fellow-sufferers, was Pierre Levasseur, a travelling companion of mine in former years, and afterwards an occasional

associate, until something incompatible in our positions in society (for he had not the cent années), and then the stormy scenes of the Revolution, had parted us, and I had lost sight of him. He embraced me with the utmost demonstrations of affection, and taking me by the hand, led me a little apart, and told me that having been some time an inmate of the prison, he could be of great service in introducing me to its customs as well as to its inhabitants, and preventing me making mistakes which might compromise me.

"But," said I, "I have determined to make no acquaintances here. I have friends enough for the rest of my life, I'm sure. If I want to make a last confidence, you are here, my dear Levasseur, and will shrive me.

"Unless,” replied he, with a laugh, "I have first to make my confession to you, which, in the order of our arrest, is the most likely thing."

"And how came you here?" I inquired, suddenly recollecting that he had never appeared to me a very warm royalist, but, on the contrary, avowed himself, when I parted from him two years before, rather inclined to the popular side.

"Ob, we must not forestall our revelations. We should be at the mercy of each other, you know, if we became confidants here until compelled by necessity. Enough for me to say, in a whisper, that Robespierre fancied my linen was finer than his, and as we employed the same blanchisseuse, he thought, I presume, that the best way of reducing my fabric to the texture of bis own, was to transfer my lingerie to the laveuses of the Luxembourg."

"The same extravagant drôle as ever!" I exclaimed, recognising the esprit railleur I had so often observed and rebuked. "Take care that your nonsense does not get you into a scrape. I am told that there are eyes and ears busy hereabouts"

"Hush! I know it; but I know, too, that the best way of disarming suspicion is to be frank, careless, and jovial. Do you think, now," continued he, lowering his voice to a distinct whisper, at the same time putting his mouth so close to my ear, that he had to lift up my hair for the purpose— "do you think that you could form any guess, amongst the persons about us, as to that character we are all so much in dread of the agent of the police ?"

"I don't know,” replied I, venturing a stealthy look round me, which I instantly withdrew, adding-" Is it safe to scrutinise people? You confirm my suspicions as to our being watched.”

"Scarcely safe, I believe," he replied; "but they have a few marks, nevertheless. For instance, when you see a man sitting gloomily apart, avoiding much converse with the pri soners, and noticing neither the motions nor the conversation of the groups which pass him by, you may be pretty sure that that man is a spy of Fouquier's. Upon such a fellow as me, now, they have an uncommonly sharp eye; but I laugh at them, and they can make nothing of me. Whatever evidence exists against me outside, they shall add nothing to it here, I promise you. You must act as I do, my dear friend. Come into society (for we have our society here); address every one, get all you can out of them; make your own observations in silence, and if you want to pass remarks, come to me. Ten to one, my superior knowledge of character, gained here at the foot of the scaffold, which strips off all masks, will stand you in stead. And now, remember, there is a select re-union this very evening in the Salle des Pleurs, as we have named it. A few of the better order, as it used to be calledyou know what that means-meets there, so I will direct (request, I beg his pardon) my peculiar little turnkey to summon you to that apartment at the usual hour, and there you will meet me, and some others of the missing aristocracy of France!"

I was amazed at the levity of Levasseur under such circumstances; still, I was young myself, naturally high-spirited, and was greatly re-assured by meeting an old acquaintance where I had so little expected it; so, after a moment's hesitation, I abandoned my original design, and surrendered myself to my friend's invitation.

As soon as we had separated, however, my mind relapsed into despondency. The execution of Marie Antoinette had taken place only a few days before. When I first heard of it, my soul had boiled over with vengeance, but by this time its effect was only to aggravate and deepen my dejection. Besides, the terrible reality of my situation forced itself upon me through every chink of my senses. It was now that I felt, for the first time, the iron