yield produce, in which is the tithe. There must be two other indispensable adjuncts, which are supplied, solely, by the tenant, viz. capital, and labour. Thus, of the three parts, the tenant provides two-does he not then pay two-thirds of the tithe from the sweat of his brow, or the outlay of his generally miserable property?" This was what is commonly called a poser. I made no direct reply, but as the boys say at school, thought it best to, skip, and go on,' and was about to quote some equally powerful position of the bishop's, when the stranger continued "To even waive what I have just mentioned, we are Catholicsour religion is different from that of those who exact the tithe, and we pay our own clergy. Is it just, then, that we should pay the priesthood also, which a foreign yoke has imposed upon us?" If the former reply was a 'poser,' I felt that to use a pugilistic simile, this was putting the head of my argument, or rather of the bishop's into chancery, but the words 'foreign yoke,' struck on my ear with a discordant tone, that rather confused me, as by the deduction following, I was a foreigner, although in the British dominions. Disregarding, or seeming to disregard this, I shifted my ground, and adverted to the atrocities which were committed in the course of the resistance made to the levy which appeared so odious in his eyes. "These I do not defend. When the angry passions of an ignorant and oppressed peasantry are put in action, think you, their rage is to be restrained, within the bounds of form, which the precedent and practice of centuries assign to the revenge of a duellist? Yet will I still say, the fate of some of those who have fallen, is the just punishment of Heaven on devouring avarice, and steel-hearted oppression." But to what end is this desultory warfare? Tithes are still levied in spite of opposition, and will continue to be so. Why, then, kick against the pricks?" "That they shall continue to be so, is what I hope the future course of events will not confirm-but, in any case, one important point is gained: the population is kept in habits of resistance to the government, and will neither start at a musket, or blench at the sight of a halter; and the day may come, when they shall be incited to action, on a wider scale, and for a nobler purpose." I was at first at a loss for his meaning, but the recollection of his words, a foreign yoke,' just then recurring to my recollection, instantly gave me a clue to his meaning. My English blood was stirred at the conviction, and I could not restrain myself from replying "You, then, are one of those fools, who believe a separation of the countries is practicable." "Yes," said he, calmly, but with an evident effort to preserve his temper. "Pray," said I, "what period may you look to, as the probable time of that happy event occurring? May we hope for it in a year or two?" 1 "A sneer," he replied, "is not equal to a sound argument;—it may not be in my time, and I may expect to live in the common course, some thirty or forty years-but"- he made a pause which I supplied- "I do!" His calmness, which, as it afterwards appeared, was rather deceitful, begot a temperament similar in myself, and with more suavity than had graced the latter part of our colloquy, I acknowledged my conviction that he was a man of acuteness, and I had no doubt, of education, and asked him how, from his knowledge of history in general, or that of Great Britain, in particular, he could form such an anticipation? "History in general," said he, I read to the following effect-"I there perceive the natural depravity of man developed, in proportion as he attains the means to indulge, and employ it. The Governors accordingly I find generally more corrupt than the governed, and the encroachments of the former gradually trespassing on the rights of the latter. This, however, has its limits: oppression begets resistance, and when that is successful, Revolutions take place; the political atmosphere is purified by the storm-a dreadful lesson is taught to tyrants-and government is administered on better principles. Every thing human, however, is continually changing, and, accordingly, that which is good must deteriorate. Former experience is forgotten-fresh degeneracy succeeds-the wheel revolves, and all is acted over again. In their external relations, I find one nation arranged against another by the designs of ambition, and for the purposes of conquest; and I see the leaders of armies, whom I consider no better than military ruffians, looked up to with awe, as great and glorious beings. The statesmen, too, I behold, practising shifts and evasions, which, on a smaller scale, and in persons less exalted, would be rewarded by a transference to the gallies. In its particular application, I see my native country totally unconnected with England for many centuries. I see it then, a conquest, and its government even up to the present day, administered on the worst principle of conquest, which is oppression, even when it is falsely termed an United Kingdom. The circle of destiny, I see, too, revolve, and having once been disunited, I believe it may be so again. Who shall predict the means which are yet to be evolved from the womb of time? France, or America, may throw a force on the shores of Ireland; or, a Revolution in England may afford the happy moment for its completion, without foreign assistance." "You dream," I replied, "Ireland must succumb, and England remain predominant: none can resist her power 66 "YES!" cried he, starting up with an energy and vehemence which electrified me. There is ONE, and that one is, MYSELF: I defy her force, and I laugh to scorn her edicts. If her government rules the day, I am master of the night! The moment that sees me deprived of means to contest her power, shall view me spurn and T quit my native soil; and here come twenty more with whom I would face the best score of her sons that ever drew the breath of life!" I heard a horn sound at the moment-a band of horsemen rushed along the road, and drew suddenly up before the door. He quitted the house, mounted, and gave the order to proceed at full speed; and, before I recovered from my astonishment, the sound of their departure had died away in the distance, and all was again still and silent." "I retired, but I need scarcely say it was not to rest-my imagination was disturbed and excited by the scenes I have described; and I arose, unrefreshed in the morning, with my friend, and pursued our journey. The experience I gained afterwards, during my stay in Ireland, led me to lament the injustice inflicted on, and the sufferings borne by, a people, in whose character numerous faults, which are too much the consequences of their unfortunate position, are combined with some virtues, which cannot be denied. I no longer wondered that many of her inhabitants entertained the same opinions, as those so fearlessly advanced by the stranger I have mentioned; and from the result of these enquiries, which the curiosity and interest he inspired, led me to make, I had every reason to believe that he had shortly after embarked for America, and was certain that he was no other than that remarkable individual, who long struck terror into the southern Province of Ireland under the assumed name of CAPTAIN ROCK. -N THE SERIOUS STUDENT. The serious student is the child of solitude, clinging from his earliest youth to stillness and retirement. Solitude is the mother of his love, and study, the sister of his affection. His life is always one of considerable hardship, frequently of peculiar wretchedness and misfortune. From youth to manhood, from manhood to old age, and from old age to the grave, he is still wandering on the desert; and although he may find many bright green spots and fresh flowers to refresh him, with cool fountains to quench his thirst, yet his journey lies, for the most part, over the barren and parched wilderness, "where no water is." View him on his first entrance at a public school, and weep for him: see him the by word of his fellows,-the sleeve-laugh of his tailor, the drudge of the senior boys, and the scorn of the junior. Oh! if you had seen him, as I have, mocked, hunted, ferreted out, like a wild beast, worried till his very heart ached within him, and the chords of feeling almost severed by the anguish of his mind-you would have wept for him. The cares and anxieties of other men are severally dispelled by the healing hand of time, or the accomplishment of their desires. The lover gains his mistress, the merchant makes his fortune; but the sorrows of the student never diminish, but rather increase. He is at College: well, he is happy now; there he may pursue his studies with comfort to himself. I grant you, in one sense, he is more unmolested, than formerly; but he who knows what a College life is, will also know how to appreciate his comforts. Invited to parties, with whom he must associate, frequently for the sole purpose of amusing the idle and the dissolute; always without any real good will or fellowship towards him, he is equally the object of derision, whether he accept or refuse them. Shut out thus by conscience, as well as inclination, from the society of the gay and the profligate, he becomes every day more and more a student-every day more and more removed from the manners and customs of the world. : It must be thus with him. The serious Christian lover of books (for that is the character I am attempting to delineate) must be alone; it is contrary to his nature to be otherwise he can have no companionship-no fellowship with the world. Will the lamb lie down with the wolf, or the dove with the kite? No!-if he have any friend, any one to smile when he smiles, or weep when he weeps, he must seek him from amongst his own peculiar band ;it must be some one whose feet, like his, are sore with the sands of the wilderness, and whose brow is burning with the same bitter of anguish it must be a serious student. The lover of books has no amusements, no joys, no pastimes in common with other men: the scene of his happiness extends little farther than his library. There, indeed, he is happy; his books, his darling books, those sweet nurselings of his hopes and fears, shelf above shelf around him. Cicero, and Homer, and Virgil, with his tale of woman's love, and Horace, with his song, (far more suiting to the Student's ear,) of woman's scorn. He is happy here, for he is alone. The serious Student is no misanthrope; he is what he is by necessity, not by nature. He offered to love the world, and the world scoffed at him; but his love does not turn to hate; he does not curse the world, he loves it still-loves it for the sake of HIM who made it. But the world is nothing to him-he is nothing to the world. He feels himself a lone and desolate being, finding bitterness where he looked for blessings, and mocking, where he hoped for a welcome. He is one of a scattered and despised people, and the very dissoluteness and loneliness of his situation throws a darkness over his thoughts and disposition, which thickens with his growth, and deepens with his years. Among the gay and beautiful he seems a wandering spirit, bringing grief and sadness along with him he sees the eye of scorn and the lip of contempt, and the gall of his anguish grows more bitter, and his affliction becomes. more poignant, as he looks upon them. He feels the ban of excommunication upon him from the world, and for ever. But oh! (and this is "the unkindest cut of all !") the flower, which he looked forward to during all his long and patient wanderings;the flower which he said should comfort him, when he was old, and breathe a twilight around his declining years-the flower which should weep by his death-bed, or wither on his grave, is plucked by a stranger, and he finds it not. Yes!-that loveliest flower, woman's heart, the last sweet blossom of Paradise, is lost to him. The fop may bask in her smile and revel in her sweetness,—the seducer and the adulterer may flutter like fallen angels round the roses of Eden, till their very senses ache with satiety,—but he must not approach. Arise, son of loveliness, thou hast joys the world knows not of. There is that within thee, which passeth show. Of a truth men do not know the man of solitude, for they think he sorroweth, when he is glad; and mourneth when he rejoiceth,—that he is melancholy when alone, forgetting that the serious Student is never less alone, that when alone: for he can sit in his green bower, with the red roses hanging over him, and feed upon his own thoughts, like the night-bird on her sweet song. The sky beneath which the serious Student walks, however gloomy his wanderings may be, is ever clear, ever lovely; the storm of adversity does not ruffle,the syren breeze of prosperity does not smooth it ;-the one can bring no darkness, the other no light: it is always the same-pure and beautiful as the spirits who inhabit it. Shall we then call the serious Student unhappy, because his happiness differs from ours? The tears he sheds are for those who weep for those who mourn: he grieves for the world, not for himself; for he is happy beyond any thing the world can imagine -happy in solitude and innocence. Let his gayest scoffer watch him, as he journies on, with the smile of peace upon his face, regardless whether his path lies through the garden or the desert; and let him follow till he smile for the last time on his death-bed, when he will be tempted to exclaim, with the writer of this brief sketch" May my last end be like his !" TO MY PILLOW. When sick of the world and forgotten by all, Then in thee false deluder! I seek consolation, But thou givest it such horrors of fancy's creation, -N T. |