a pig; domestic animals which the poor English labourer can never possess. Ideas of cleanliness and comfort are purely national; and, perhaps, after all, he who has the least is the most likely to be happy.'

We were now within view of Rathfarnham; and, turning up a secluded lane, with hedges on each side, we knocked at the door of a respectable, but solitary-looking, house. We obtained immediate admission, and found our friend waiting for us in a drawingroom, badly furnished. After dinner the conversation, as usual, took a political turn; and while Emmet saw, in every circumstance of the country, nothing but indications of distress, the Exile would not admit that the want of manufactures, or the absence of the aristocracy, was an evil at all. 'You must admit,' said our host, that Ireland is misgoverned; and surely the consequence of bad laws must be misery.'

'God,' replied the Exile, has done so much for the happiness of mankind, that government can do but little; it can neither make the land more fruitful, nor the seasons more

favourable.'

But,' though incapable of adding to the blessings of Providence,' interrupted Emmet, it may do much mischief, as plants that won't nourish may kill.'

6

'Man,' returned the Exile, either conforms to circumstances or evades them; submits to what he cannot remove, or flies, when flight is more desirable than subjection. Oppression, in a great measure, ceases to be oppression when it becomes habitual; and habit is the great pervading law of animated nature. Thus we are endowed with such wonderful properties, that the effects even of tyranny are in a great measure obviated; and Providence has been so bountiful that the best government can do but little good, and the worst but little mischief. Whoever will not admit this tacitly accuses the Almighty of injustice, in enduing the many with dispositions to submit to the dictation of the few, unless there was something in our nature to counteract the folly and wickedness of legislators.'

According to your theory,' said Emmet, tyranny and liberty approximate more closely than mankind have as yet imagined.'.

'I believe,' replied the Exile, that liberty and tyranny are phantoms of the imagination; or, if they ever had existence, their duration must have been very short; for no nation has been ever governed by them. All governments have been so modified as to be alike free from the agitations of unrestricted freedom, and the sufferings of uncontrolled despotism; while every nation possesses some, no nation perfect, liberty;* and the degree depends solely upon circumstances, the happiness of society being the same under all these; because Society moulds them to her purposes, as the banks are formed by the river; and, however rugged or smooth, narrow or expanded, the same quantity of water flows through, as much passing over the shallow as the deep parts of the channel.

How few of all those ills which

affect mankind Kings can cause or cure!" Happiness is individual; inequality is the consequence of indolence and industry, improvidence and avarice, imbecility and strength of mind. It springs from individual misfortune, and is found to proceed from uncontrollable circumstances. Over these legislation can exert no authority; and, while the dispositions and abilities of men are dissimilar, some will be found immersed in deplorable want, while others shall revel in all the enjoyments of luxury.'

'Inequality,' returned Emmet, is not only unavoidably, but absolutely, necessary. To it Nature owes all her charms, and the world all its attractions. If all were equal there would be no rivalry; and, where there is no rivalry, there is neither emulation nor pleasure. Most of our actions and desires proceed directly from the inequality that happily exists in society; and each man, endeavouring to get before his fellow man, puts the whole world in motion. In this general struggle for superiority we must seek the effects of liberty and slavery. If all are free, every man depends solely on his own resources, makes

use of such means as appear best calculated for obtaining his end, and is content to allow all others to do the same. All exertion here is fair and legitimate; the course they have to run over is the same for all; and success awaits him that best deserves it.

But, where some are shackled while others are unbound, and where one set of men are impeded, and others facilitated, in their course, we must expect not only hideous inequalities, but unavoidable discontent. The favoured party cannot conceal their triumph, nor the vanquished their dissatisfaction. Justice is outraged, and the insulted soon become ripe for revenge.'

'But,' rejoined the Exile, since some men must be poor and others rich, some elevated and others depressed, it is of little importance to society from what the cause proceeds when the effect is invariably the same; for equal men can never be.'

6

Inequality,' returned Emmet, is not deformity; and whatever is not just is not natural. Man is entitled to the produce of all his honest endeavours, and has a right not to have these endeavours obstructed. Where this is not the case, inequality is never the result of events; but the pernicious offspring of a partial and tyrannical government, begotten on corruption, and fed by the monstrous productions of an unnatural state of society. This is the inequality,' continued Emmet, that has long produced distortion in Ireland. The energies of the people have been fettered, and every blessing of heaven and of nature is rendered fruitless in consequence of this inequality.'

To dispute this with you,' interrupted the Exile, 'would be only to recapitulate the arguments I have already used. I admit its existence; but I deny that it has any influence on industry.'

But you must admit,' returned Emmet, that its consequence is worse; that it arms man against man, renders life insecure, and produces a moral convulsion through the country. In consequence of it, faction, like the ancient monster, is constantly

fed with human victims; while injustice and murder, like hideous spectres, stalk about the frightened country'

Pardon me,' interrupted the Exile; these are things I can neither defend nor palliate.'

'Then you will admit,' said Emmet, that there is an evil, and that Ireland is miserable?'

'I will admit', replied the Exile, that she is so in idea, though not in reality; that the minds of men are unhappy, but not their conditions ; and that their complaints proceed from their feelings and not from their sufferings. The people, from the fulness of enjoyment, have become fastidious; and, having all their natural wants satisfied, they have admitted artificial ones. The once timid Catholic, discontented to be sure, but his sufferings disavowed, has grown dignified in his own opinion, spurns the subterfuge of concealment, and exalts his character by openly proclaiming his discontent. Before he might have been despised or pitied; but he is now to be admired and dreaded.

There is a laceration of feelings as painful as stripes upon the body; and, as political distinction is the most fascinating of allurements, exclusion from political honour becomes the most cruel of penalties. It may be only nominal, but is not the less galling on that account; and, when indignity is the consequence of religion, bigotry is added to the evils of faction.

'But let not any man,' continued the Exile, imagine that the removal of Catholic disabilities would stifle the clamours of faction, or supersede national complaints. In England Whigs and Tories, both Protestants, hate one another as cordially as Orangemen and Catholics do in Ireland; and the party in power always effectually and designedly excludes the other from places of trust and emolument, in the same way that Protestants, among us, shut the doors of the Castle against their religious and political opponents. Party in England has produced all the evils which, in Ireland, result from religi

ous rancour; it has caused a perversion of justice-the loss of human life-individual misfortune and national commotion; and these, probably, in as great a degree as they ever have been among us; for I do not call the late rebellion a religious

one.

Emancipation, therefore, would not prove a panacea; neither would it be without its benefits:-it would destroy imaginary superiority, and humble insignificant pride, while it would flatter the vanity of Catholics by an ideal elevation. It would do more: it would deprive agitators of a popular topic of declamation, and gradually subvert the fallacious notion of Ireland's degradation; for Irish misery is nothing more than the prevalence of an erroneous opinion universally received as truth. The existence of discontent proves nothing to the contrary; for the poor, of all nations and of all times, are very will ing to believe that their poverty proceeds from a conspiracy among the rich. Nothing is more easy than to persuade the bulk of mankind that they are wronged, oppressed, and insulted; and, when these epithets are repeated for a short time, they become, like religion, a most important and sacred article of the people's belief. Whatever could occasion the annihilation of this erroneous opinion in Ireland would be a real blessing; but, I confess, I know not any thing so likely to do it as emancipation, which would, most probably, expel the hereditary notion that there is no law for a Catholic." It is, however, cheering to know that emanci

pation cannot be much longer withheld.'

There you speak as you wish,' said Emmet, 'not as you think; for you know well that the very nature of the British constitution is inimical to Catholic freedom.'

'Institutions,' returned the Exile, must give way to imperative neces sity; if not, an army of circumstances quickly surrounds them, and if they do not yield they are destroyed.'

And, like Sardanapalus,' said Emmet, before they surrender an iota of their privileges, they will perish in the flames of their own temples. I have heard you, Mr. J with pleasure, and admire the extent of your acquirements; but your arguments, so far from proving the absence of misery from Ireland, absolutely tend to show that it is permanent, by demonstrating that while we are subject to England we can neither have trade, manufactures, nor a resident aristocracy. You have argued relatively; but, in place of attributing our complaints, or rather the cause of them, to a mistaken opinion, you should have charged them all to the absolute fact-FOREIGN DOMINATION. That is the fountain of evil which irrigates the land with misery; and whoever should destroy the source from which it springs would deserve what he could not fail to obtain-the gratitude of the nation.'

Well!' returned the Exile, 'you will have it as you wish; and, as the evening grows late, we must bid you good-by." So saying, we arose and took our departure.

DOINGS AT CARLOW.

CARLOW is a thriving place, and not an unpleasant spot for the passing residence of a mere idler; it possesses, in common with other small towns, its portion of old maids, of tea-drinking devotees, of scandalmongers, grave-looking politicans, clerical meddlers, and professional gossips: these nuisances, however, affect a mere sojourner but slightly; your true tranquil wanderer, whereever he turns, is prepared for a reasonable mixture of the disagree

GODFREY K- -N.

able and the delightful. If he is wise, he will endeavour to imitate the bee, by trying to extract some sweets even from the midst of the poison which surrounds him: it is his interest, and it should be his inclination, to keep constantly before him the bright side of things; he should make the best of every character, and of every circumstance.He who pursues this course will find enjoyment in general to predominate:-this, at least, is the Hermit's philosophy.

I had idled about the town for a few days; I had been on the look-out for every thing remarkable; I had seen the Catholic College, a plain but extensive building; I had visited the old castle; I had wandered along the banks of the weedy Barrow, and gazed for hours upon the lofty green hills of Clogrennan; I had grown familiar with the gaol, the chapel, the church, and the meeting-house; I cared not to look upon the barrack, for, of all the forms and fripperies of this foolish world, I hate military forms and fripperies the most ;-And is this,' said I to the friend who chanced to accompany me, is this all your town has to show?-have you nothing more here that's remarkable?'- Indeed little more,' said he. I shall show you one thing, however, that's somewhat remark able, as we happen to be upon the spot; look over that ditch.' He pointed to a small but pretty garden that was just beside us. Do you perceive that little sheltered spot like a summer-house in miniature? it lies near the upper end.'-' 1 do,' said I; but what of it?'-' That,' replied my friend, in a very serious tone, is the den of the Leprachaun.'*

The Leprachaun!'

6

Yes,' continued my companion; did you never hear of the visit that one of those little gentry paid us?' 'I do,' said I, recollect having seen something in the Carlow Morning Post,' at one time, about a small shoe that was found, and about a strange little being that was seen near it.'

The shoe was shown at Price's office for months after, and all who saw it agreed that it never was made by the hand of man.'' The Leprachaun then,' said I, 'is shoemaker to the fairies?-But have you heard the particulars of this very curious affair?'

Mrs. Doran,' replied my friend, ' has told me it over and over; indeed she has almost made me a believer in the story: you must have it as I heard it.' He looked up the garden for a moment. 'Faith, I believe

she

there goes the Leprachaun-catcher herself.-Well, sir, it was about nine o'clock of a fine evening in June, when Mrs. Doran lay down to rest for a while upon the bed in her little back parlour; she had been in the morning as far as Bagenalstown, to see some friends, and she was wearied after her journey; she was quite ready for a good sleep; and, as her daughter says, snored beautifully for almost an hour: she moaned, however, and appeared at some moments rather uneasy. At last she stirred and called out 'Mary.' The daughter didn't answer; called again, Mary, are you there?' I am, mother,' said the other, what d'ye want?' 'Oh! Mary, jewel!' said she, 'I've had such a dream! such a terrible dream entirely! I'm all in a tremble after it. Oh! Lord, save us all—God pity our poor dear clargy! I'm afraid there's mischief brewing for them.-Oh! such a set of black Swaddling-looking men as came to judge themand such things as they said! I'm all trembling after it—but was any one singing in the street there, Mary? I thought I heard a beautiful song; was there any one there?' 'No, mother,' said the girl. Mrs. Doran lay quiet for a few moments. Mary, I tell you there is somebody singing there: but it's in the garden; what brings any body into our garden?' Mother,' said Mary, I don't hear any song: I'm afraid you're still dreaming.'- No! no!' said the other, arising at the moment and opening a small door that led into the garden, I am not dreaming.' She trod slowly along a little gravelled walk, until she reached the spot I showed you, and there, sure enough, she got a peep at the strange customer I told you of. She was a little frightened at first, but she soon saw what he was; for your old women are all up to these things: he didn't hear her coming, he was so busy at his work; he wore a cobbler's regular working dress; he had no hat on him, but a little red night-cap that came

Why,