if the Premier finds out that the double malady can be cured by the one specific-a man of genius as he is-he is sure to be caught by such a trick, and adopt the measure. Land without rent will then be Law! and Erin-go-Bragh will be rendered Hurrah for gunpowder!

Paddy was told that by taking the Gladstone eyes he would see himself a landlord; and he now discovers that this is not true, and that for all purposes of land tenure he must go on shooting as before. Improvement, indeed! "Pay me for my improvements," quoth he. "Thank you for nothing! You say, No eviction; but my cry is, No rent." The speculator, however, has got rid of his cargo, and for a while at least he need not reappear amongst his customers. Sincerely, however, do I counsel him not to visit Ireland; let no temptation of Killarney or Connemara induce him to cross the Channel. Ten thousand times rather would I be the Yankee speculator in Turkey than the Minister in Tipperary! The disappointment in the one case, great and deep as it was, is nothing to the sense of defeated hope in the other.

The political agitator had persuaded the peasant that the land question was a "grievance" to be dealt with only by a political intervention; and by argumentation on this theme the connection between what is called Agrarian crime and Fenianism was established. Paddy cared very little whether Councillor Bletherum was or was not raised to the bench, or whether this man or that should be eligible to be a chancellor; he troubled himself scarcely more as to whether the laws, that he never thought much of, should be made at Westminister or College Green: but he was deeply interested in the fact as to whether or not he should pay a rent for his holding; and if any party could assure him that he

should have land and pay nothing for it, they were the men for him.

Now, latterly in England the favourite policy of statesmen is that expressed by a very worn commonplace, and called the "thin edge of the wedge ;" and as Mr Gladstone could not actually transfer the soil from the owner to the peasant, the "thin edge" was made use of, so to burden land with liabilities to the advantage of the tiller, that the owner would gravely hesitate whether he would not make any sacrifice to get rid of a very doubtful property; while the peasant, tempted by the bait of future possession, should be talked into a quietude that Parliamentary rhetoric could call peace.

These were the glass eyes of the Ministerial Land Bill; and it is to have a little more patience, and let your system get used to them, that appeal is now made.

If Paddy cannot see with the eyes of the Downing Street manufactory, I only say, small blame to him! He has done as much for his political convictions as most men. However it may suit his calumniators to say it, he is neither naturally cruel nor is he illogical, and a great deal of English legislation proceeds on the assumption that he is both.

There is nothing vindictive in his temperament, and, in consequence, the heavy blow inflicted on the Protestant Church failed to bring with it the satisfaction it was hoped would follow. Outside the circle of the rival Churchmen there was no sense of a triumph. The disfranchisement and disestablishment were all glasseyed.

How much of "glass eye" there may be in throwing the whole country into litigation by creating claims without rights, and making the precarious condition of property a plea for the reduction of rent, time will tell us, and without waiting long for it. Of one thing I feel assured,

that a like policy will not avail the Minister when he comes to deal with the Education question. Though Pat may be cajoled, the Priest will not; and however devotional the expression of the glass

eyes, or heavenward their glance, they will not impose on Father Cullen, nor induce him to see with the orbs of Downing Street, though verified by the signature of W. G., and warranted genuine.

One of the most impressive, I am far from calling it, in all cases, one of the pleasantest, experiences in visiting your country after long absence, is to mark how your contemporaries grow old; I mean, to see how the various temperaments you have known in the heyday of youth, have accommodated themselves to the altered circumstances that years have brought with them.

It is often said that plain women -there are none ugly-have the faculty of wearing better than the pretty ones, and that Time deals more leniently with these than with those charming creatures whose earlier years were a round of homage and admiration. I do not feel quite sure that I accept the theory, and that I have not felt the thrill of delight some play of feature has imparted; and my memory bounded back to the time when those eyes shot their light into my very heart, and the murmur of those lips was softest music.

I will not trust myself even to think of these now. I turn to an analogy that suggests itself, and would ask, Are there not certain natures which, like the plain women, bear the march of time better than their more brilliant rivals? Are there not some people whose qualities, never very striking or remarkable, come out better by maturity, and, like a wholesome wine, ripen into vigour and richness, and a species of mildness, not to be acquired by anything but time? I half suspect this to be true; and if it be,

what a glorious compensation for all the commonplace men of one's acquaintance, to feel what years— mere years-will do for them, and how pleasant, and genial, and companionable they will become by the time they reach the age of Methuselah. It is not by a visit to Ireland I acquired this same experience. On the contrary, I found the youth I remembered a curate now a dean, perhaps a bishop; the briefless barrister a chief baron, or a vice-chancellor, somewhat time-worn, wrinkled, a shade or two more severe in expression if you will, but in no other way altered; and in lively fancy, in ready wit and racy humour, all that I knew him when he set the Chamber in a roar, and made the Historical Society ring with the cheers that greeted his eloquence.

Nationalities have a specialty as to how they grow old, and I believe in my heart Irishmen are not inferior in this respect to any. A Frenchman cannot do it at all. In the first place, he will not accept the march of time, but resists it like an enemy he is determined to conquer; and by certain appliances of false whiskers and cosmetics, and a forced energy of spirit, and a supercharge of levity, he fancies that he has achieved the deception that has only succeeded with himself, and made others believe he is as young as he wishes to imagine himself. It is not easy to say how a German grows old, for he is never young. The beer-bemuddlement of centuries

is in the life-blood of the race, and their very childhood is dreary, fogsurrounded, and misty. The gnarled complexity of their uncolloquial language impresses silence on a race, who would need the impetuous ardour of the south to clear the barriers of their terrible compounds, and those rough gutturals that suffice to them for expressions of passion. Italians grow old gracefully enough. They have less of the levity that offends us in the Frenchman, and, though dignified, have none of that pomposity which an Englishman occasionally assumes, as though to make believe that it is a matter of choice, and not of necessity, that he is white-haired and large-waisted, solemn of gait and grave of utterance.

I am not sorry to be able to speak of the Irishman as of another nationality, and to say why I think he meets years in a better spirit than most men. First of all, that large stock of geniality which supplied high spirits in youth, subsides by time into a species of humoristic plea santry, sufficiently dashed by fancy to be brilliant, and enough matured by experience to avoid the impertinence of levity. Few men go through life more enjoyably, and, in consequence, few men's experiences are less darkened by discouraging impressions of their neighbours, or by that distrust of humanity, in the main, which shows itself in great depression or melancholy.

This certainly was the impression I received and brought away with me in my last visit to Dublin. The Church dignitaries were, with all the staid gravity that became their station, able, and even witty, as conversers; and the Judges at once the most acute talkers, the most prompt in illustration, and the neatest in reply of any to be found.

There is no great misfortune,

thought I, in growing old in this fashion; and if it be the air or the climate can do this for them, I'll never abuse rain again. It is not the water does it, nor even their wine, though they do give you such claret that your lips pout at the mere mention of it. I believe a great deal of the secret lies in the charm of a society small enough to insure a great deal of familiarity, and yet large enough not to become "small town," or what Germans call krae-winckel. Peculiarities, in this way, are made to season talk, and are never disagreeably personal; while there is a noble tolerance for everything and everybody-but the Bore! By the way, this conciliatory spirit, as opposed to party or religious difference, has made large progress of late. I do not quote my own experience for this opinion, for my visit was too short, and men of every shade of opinion too courteous and too flatteringly kind, to enable me to pronounce; but all have agreed in telling me how the spirit of mutual respect and forbearance has gained ground, and that of the old rancorous tone of partisanship little trace is to be found anywhere.

I cannot say that Nationalism, as the movement for home rule is called, has done this; for I have observed it amongst men avowedly unfavourable to this policy, and who are not always over-complimentary in stating the reasons for their opposition. The tolerance I speak of would seem to be rather the slow growth of a better spirit on all sides, showing that national prosperity, which they see, and that brotherly affection, which they feel, are better things in the main than party rancour or jealous rivalry. It is the best evidence I have ever seen of that clanship so remarkable in Scotland, and whose absence in Ireland provoked that well-known sarcasm of

O'Connell, that "not only was one Irishman always ready to put another on a spit, but a third could be found just as prepared to turn it." I hope this imputation will apply to us no more, and that if there be any superabundant bad feeling amongst us, like good economists, "we'll keep it for exportation."

Externally, Dublin has vastly improved; the new quarter to the southward of the city is remarkable for beauty and elegance. The streets are lined with trees, and the houses, with their open spaces and gardens around them, have that air of "villa" in their aspect that makes them most enviable places of residence; and when one remembers that the sea lies within half-an-hour's drive, and the Dublin mountains, backed by the Wicklow chain, close in the far distance, even until the Parliament meet in College Green, there are worse places to live in than those picturesque alleys. I should be puzzled to say that any city of Europe, except Florence, could vie with these surroundings; and though Fiesole is finer than the Three Rock Mountain, and the Val d'Arno more

gloriously picturesque than the Liffey above Castleknock, I am proud to declare that when the hour sacred to white ties and tailed coats came round, the balance would incline to the other scale, and the stranger unhesitatingly declare that for social intercourse, for the charms of pretty women and pleasant men, even without a "count," the Paddies have it.

One of the ablest and most gifted, as he was pre-eminently the noblest and most kind-hearted man, I ever knew, the late Mortimer O'Sullivan, always predicted a time when Ireland should take a leading place in Europe; when her men of learning would have their admitted positions on the Continent as authorities in scholarship and science; the Green Island become the Mecca of all that the world possessed in art and in literature -the rallying spot where the poet, the painter, and the musician, the statesman and the archæologist would come, as to a shrine long neglected and forgotten, but now renovated and restored, recalling all bygone glories, and receiving the fame of centuries.

AFTER parting with Eila, as described in the last chapter, Bertrand Cameron wandered about the streets for hours in a purposeless sort of way. He had nothing to do-no object whatsoever-till to-morrow morning, when, at all events, he should see Eila again, and when he hoped she would be so far recovered as to admit of the discussion of their plans. He had nothing to do but think; and so he walked about, pondering in deep trouble on all their griefs and perplexities.

Her agitation had been most distressing, and it was all on his account; her illness most alarming, and he was the cause. What fathomless depths of love and generosity there were in a woman's heart! How she would have sacrificed herself for him!-even traduced herself to his uncle to save his fortunes, and accepted the lot of a lonely and loveless life that it might be well with him! Well with him! How little she could have comprehended the depth of his love! But it showed how noble was her nature. Her resolution to persevere in this absurd self-sacrifice would, of course, give way before his calm expostulation. She was agitated and hysterical when she spoke of it as unalterable. Of course it would give way. She was certain, however, that her father would never consent to their marriage under the circumstances. Be it so. At all events that would remove the painful feeling that he gained anything in marrying her but her own beloved self. It might be looked upon as a sacrifice for her to make; but, judging by his own experience, that would only enhance her pleasure in bestowing herself

upon him, even in opposition to her father. There was quite a singular harmony in the way things were running-such coincidences—such unparalleled love such probable mutual sacrifices. Everything cast

to the winds by both-friends, fortune, prospects-everything-all for love! It would be a sight for the gods if Mr M'Killop did refuse his consent, and he and Eila went forth to face the world in a state of beatified beggarhood. Then there would be an end of a disgraceful connection for her and for himself; and if it entailed poverty-even abject poverty-that would be better for them than wealth coming through a channel which made the purity of its origin doubtful. As a result of his cogitations, he came to the conclusion that, notwithstanding Eila's wish to the contrary, he had better see her father at once. No good purpose, he assured himself, could be served by postponing the discovery of Mr M'Killop's actual views. Time was precious; and if an elopement had to be resorted to, he might as well employ this evening in maturing the plan for it. Besides, Mr M'Killop would think it strange if he was not informed that day of Sir Roland's decision. Mr M'Killop had a right to expect the earliest information from him; though how, if that gentleman pressed him for Sir Roland's real reason for absolutely forbidding the marriage, he was to get out of the difficulty, he didn't quite see.

But, after all, if M'Killop was guilty-of which Bertrand was not sanguine enough to entertain a doubt he would certainly conclude that his own crime and Sir Roland's