the brighter grow her eyes! but don't tell Kathleen.

says

66

You know my master has been called over here to give evidence on what they name the intimidation committee. Intimidation, mother dear, means frighting; but as far as I can understand, I don't see who is to be frightened. I suppose it's the ould song, with variations-the Protestants again the Catholics, and the same turn about. Well, every dog must have its day, as I said to Counsellor Dan's own body-man. "Excuse my ignorance," says I, "but I heard my master axing What good your master has done for Ireland yet?"Catholic emancipation," he says, quite glib; "no, thank ye," sure that was before he got into parliament." Oh, you mane since," says he, "ay," says I, "why," says he, you know Rome wasn't built in a day; it takes time to get the better of his enemies; he has a dale-a great dale to do; but you see when onet he brings the King to reason, and settles the House of Lords, and takes the shine out of the bishops, and gets a few more of his friends and relations into the House of Commons, why thin, ye understand, thin he'll have time to settle himself quiet and easy, and comfortable, in some little place or other, with me you understand, for his Maitre d'otll, and thin, my dear friend, you may dipind upon it, something considerable will be done for Ireland."

66

Now, mother dear, you are at liberty to tell this to the priest, and it will be a great comfort to the parish to know that in the long run justice will be done to ould Ireland; it mayn't be in your time, or my time, but it 'ill surely be some time or other; for havn't I Counsellor Dan's own man's own word for it?

It would take an acre of paper to tell you the wonders of this town. Myself has seen the most of them; and oh, the golden splendour of the coaches, lined through and through with all manner of beautiful velvet; and the bishop's carriages all so grand, only it's little black aprons they wear, like stone masons; maybe it's out of aconomy they do it, to save their clothes. And the park; to see the ladies in that park of a sunny Sunday

in June; the Phanix is nothing to it, the ladies in it I mean, so neat, and so beautifully dressed, and their feet so well set out.

Lucy has the prettiest feet for a pattern I ever saw. I wish Kathleen could but see how tight her shoe fits. I must say the English bangs us, in regard of the neatness: you never see the ladies at the houses I've been staying at with my master, curled up to the nines with bits of dirty newspapers, of a morning. Indeed, to spake the truth, travelling makes a man see a dale of faults in his own country; and Lucy says so best, for if he don't see them, he can't mend them; but don't let on to Kathleen.

My masther has a bit of an Irish groom that's the means of bringing great ridicule upon the country, by his quare talk, and his quare ways. I could pass very well for English, but for him, he's so cruel ignorant; but no wonder, sure he's from Cork; I sent him to the post-office for letters, and he come back grinning like a fool, after knocking the post-house-man down; (it was at a place called Richmond this happened, where there's a morsel of a hill, that they make such a bother about, and you could pick it with a needle out of Howth, and it would never be missed; however, it's a purty big hill for the English,) and what did he knock the man down for? Why just because he wanted to charge him one and four-pence for a letter

so there's the worth of your money!" Did you ever hear tell of such an onagh? Oh, God for ever bless you, my darlint mother, for giving me the larning, which makes me able to hould up my head with the best of them. And sure, barring that Mr. James, of the Bannow School, takes noue but tip-tops, 'id recommend you to send my little brother, Lanty, to him for one quarter, just to fit him for a gentleman; though Lucy says that's a bad trade, when there's nothing to support it; but don't tell Kathleen.

I layed by my pen after wiping it, not as I used long ago, when I was top boy, with Master Ben-in the sleeve of my jacket, but in a piece of folded, cut cloth Lucy gave me, to tache me decency-the saucy slut-she said; and the reason, mother, to tell you the truth, that I layed it down was, that I heard Lucy laughing, and a dale of whispering in what they call the stillroom, though God knows, it's often the noisiest room in the house. I peeped in at the window, and sawwhat do you think-a bit of an Eng lish baker trying a plain gold ring on Lucy's finger! Oh, mother, I never saw her eyes look so bright, and she blushing like a Bannow rose ! I don't know what came over me, but I made a blow at the baker, forgetting the window, and smashed the glass and my hand to smithereens almost, (I hope you'll excuse the writing.) Sure enough it was no business of mine; and Kathleen and I promised (for God's sake don't tell Kathleen)-but the little deceitful devil-there's no use talking, but the English women are all jilts. I could have taken my bible oath, from the way Lucy went on, jeering and teasing the life out of me, which is the way the girls in our place do when they fancy a handsome boy like myself I could have sworn before the priest she liked me and then to hear her say--"You, indeed, Mister Paddy-Marry an Irish valet, and live among savages!-I pitied your ignorance, and tried to improve you, and that's my reward, to be frightened to death by an Irish ogre ; and at such a time too;"-and off she goes like any lady into sterricks; and the baker falls on me, and I powerless, for there's no use in talking, I had a great regard

in

for Lucy; but for your life dont let on to Kathleen.

Mother, darlint, I wish I was home again; it's a mighty fine place, but the Irish are thought nothing of here. I don't know why we think such a dale about the English; I'm sure they don't return the compliment-another proof of their bad manners.

Kathleen's eyes are brown, mother, and to my thinking, brown eyes have not the sharp conceited look of blue-blue are uncommon sharp. Well, I don't know but if Kathleen was made up like them English, she'd be as well looking after all! And I mind the time when at bat or marbles, she'd give up to me; she'd a mighty sweet temper; and if she'd put on English shoes-but no; the English girls beats the Irish clean out about the ancles. Still what does that signify; sure if they're stout they'l last the longer-and the sweet smile of Kathleen! Mother, mother, I was a baste to forget the tears she shed, at the corner of the turning just fornint the cottage, going down to Blackhall-and the new car upon starting, and I going on it as far as Taghmon! and thin how she purtended that it was the sun in her eyes dazzled her, until whin she saw me fairly on the car, she hid her face on your shoulder, to hide her sorrow. FOR YOUR LIFE, mother, don't tell Kathleen a word about Lucy. Oh, my fancy was taken with the one, but my heart was with the other. Mother, I'm thinking I'll go home at onest; and if I don't, why, I'll soon write again. God's blessin' be about every one of you. What do you think they have in the farmyards here but steps of stairs, for the fowls to step easy to roost! Think of that! God for ever bless you; and my remembrances to the Bannow boatman. hope he thinks of tomorrow, as he has got a new boat. I'm sorry enough to hear that the times are bad with the Bannow postman. Sure the gentry shouldn't forget that he as good as walked twice round the world, and not for sport either, but to bring them con vaniences, before Carrick was turned grand into a post town. My duty to the priest; and, mother, Heaven's blessing on you, mother, and don't let Kathleen forget yours and hers ever constant and affectionate to command, TERENCE RYLEY.

I

We have seldom met a work, in which the reader is so likely to change his opinion, or the reviewer his purpose, often during its perusal, as this. A theory which, looking to its logical foundation, is replete with specious fallacy; and, considering its probable uses, capable of the most pernicious applications, is in the hands of its noble author made the vehicle of much useful, just, and pleasing reflection. And so far as it is possible to make false reasoning subservient to truth, leading only to such inferences as must be cordially approved by the Christian. But it is an unfortunate condition of human philosophy, that he who even inadvertently shakes the foundations of truth, by rash speculation, has it not in his power to counteract the evil by mere affirmations of right opinion, or warnings as to possible misapplication; the misdirected arrow will pursue its own course, though the archer may have designed another. The noble author has clearly described the proper limits of natural theology, but his reasoning leads to different results. That class, (and it is now a numerous class) which is ever too happy to discover any substitute for revelation, will zealously adopt the reasonings of his discourse, and rank its professions with the specious candor of Gibbon. They will observe that the noble lord's notices of revelation are not highly indicative of Christian zeal, and that he has manifested more readiness to attack its "friends," and betray the weak points in its evidence, than he has been successful in constructing the science by which he avers that it is to be upheld. In the close of his discourse the noble writer, in language less respectful than he would apply to the errors of an infidel philosophe, deprecates the fears of the "friends of revelation," that natural religion might be made a substitute for revelation. Can it be possible that a well-read philosopher should be igno

rant that it has been the almost uniform weapon of infidel philosophy? Can the great luminary of the Glasgow weaver, and the cockney radical, be ignorant that the shallow creed which he has undertaken to consolidate into a science, is the actual apology for the Deism of that large and busy-minded tribe?

The annals of science exhibit a few great names remotely scattered upon its long roll. We can pass down ages from Aristotle, or Archimedes, to Galileo, Bacon, and Newton, selecting a small but illustrious catalogue of justly venerated names. But in this voluminous record, how numerous the list of pretenders to similar renown-how many the names, which were famous in their day, and forgotten with the ingenious inventions to which they were attached-the specious theory and the empirical system-the science based upon assumption-the reasoning deduced from mere words. If, instead of a vain endeavour to extend the argument of Boyle and Durham, of Newton and Paley, into a most illusory and unprofitable science, Lord Brougham had employed his splendid powers, his natural sagacity, his extensive acquirement and various taste, to an investigation into the moral and intellectual history of this vast and varied mass of minds-if he had applied himself to ascertain the curious and yet unexplored theory of such a waste of talent, and so much unprofitable and pernicious abuse of ingenuity-he would not only have added an important chapter to human knowledge, but he might have read a salutary lesson, useful to many, and most useful to himself.

He might have taught the world the importance of preserving, with anxious and stern caution, the foundations of right reason, instead of lending an illustrious sanction to its abuse. He would have applied, probably, an active and sagacious understanding to

to each. Conceiving himself to have established this conclusion, the noble writer then extends it to the only portion of the subject where its consequence is to be guarded against, by an argument which does not occur in its proper order in his discourse, and of which he seems to be at some pains to insinuate, and at the same time conceal the direct application. It is this; the noble writer shews that in physical science, the distinction which is presumed to exist between the investigation of facts, and the process used in the explanation of other facts by means of the truths so ascertained, is by no means correct, and rests upon a fallacious analogy." From this it is quite apparent that natural theology being (virtually) a branch of physical science, the explanation of its facts in no way differs in method or rational evidence from the proofs which ascertain the facts so explained. Lord Brougham having thus fixed the science and demolished the limits of natural religion, (for to this it comes at last) stops short. He leaves this awful structure to be reared by other hands. He commits religion itself to his disciples, in a spirit which reminds us of that cruel tribunal which once delivered up its victims to the stake, with an injunction of mercy; enjoining moderation and humility, and the fitting awe for such profound subjects. That nevertheless, a gleam may not be wanting to these secular officials of the true application of this theory, in his last section the noble writer forgets his prudent moderation, and openly assails the evidences of Revelation, for the purpose of shewing that it altogether fails without the aid of that science of which he has thus laid the foundations.

That all existing facts are but the portions of one vast system, immeasurable by limited conception, we believe. That, if all the necessary data be ascertained, every single truth in this broad scope, unmeasured save

by the eye of God, could be inferred by the strictest reason, and be but an inference along a chain of related theorems, such as to be fairly called a science; we entertain as little doubt one is, in truth, a consequence of the other. The mode of investigation can only have reference to the mind that investigates. To perfect knowledge, astronomy and morals, utterly distinct as they are, may perhaps be generalized into some comprehensive theorem, inconceivable to finite minds; and containing within itself all knowledge. Human Philosophy has nothing to do with such reductions. Until we shall be enabled to pursue to their origin, all the diverging ramifications of being, we must be content to depend on the precision with which we can define the limits of research; and separately pursue that which, to our perceptions, is quite different.

66

The first proposition of material importance to the argument of the “Discourse," is, that natural philosophy and theology rest upon the same species of evidence. The distinction between them, the noble lord admits to rest upon some real foundation, for the speculations which compose these two branches, have certain common differences, and common resemblances." The argument by which his proposition is supported, is, the proof, "that the same apparent diversity of evidence exists in the different subjects, or departments of the branch which we have termed human science;" and is but apparent.

Now, we have, at the outset, to complain of two sophisms, involved in this first step of so important an argument. First, the branches thus substituted are not departments of science, in the

sense

which his argument requires, and, secondly, the departments for which they are substituted are obtained by an arbitrary classification which involves a petitio principi. Let us state the first point.

+ P. 170, 171.