might be endangered. We say may, not must; for already, more than once, has a convulsion threatened, by which, had it taken place, the union would have been destroyed. But, let the condition of long settled countries be attained, and let human beings once press upon the limits of subsistence, and, we venture to say, that, in that case, the principle of universal suffrage would be just such a cement of society, as gunpowder would furnish for the walls of a house, and guarantee the stability of government just as completely as the foundations of a city might be guaranteed by the tremors of an earthquake. That there exists in America, a powerful and enlightened party, who are fully alive to the evils of unmixed democracy, Mr. Grund admits; the following is his invidious description of them :

«To describe the various principles embraced or professed by these parties, would be to repeat a twice-told tale. Those of the democratic party have never seriously altered, from the commencement of the revolution to the present day; and consisted in making every power of the state immediately dependent on the people. Those of the federalists, national republicans, and modern whigs have occasionally undergone an apparent change. The party were careful to avoid general opposition, abandoned, occasionally, some of their most noxious doctrines -at least for a time, until they should have an opportunity of rising once more into power-and sailed, when prudence required it, under false colours. But with all the inclinations and variations of their political compass, the point they were always endeavouring to make, was to confine power to comparatively few, and to deprive the masses of the privilege of voting. They take it as a political axiom that the people can never govern them selves; because the people are never sufficiently enlightened for that purpose; and yet they expect that the people, who now possess the power, will have sufficient good sense voluntarily to surrender it to them; and to appoint them trustees of the wealth, wisdom, and progress of

the nation.

"The federal party deny that all men are born free and equal,'-the very words used in the American declaration of independence, and yet, in their argument, will adduce the example of Greece, Rome, England, and France; and maintain that one nation is exactly like another; because human nature is everywhere the same. They thus admit that their own does not differ from that of the

rest of mankind; but that circumstances have elevated them to a proud eminence over their fellow creatures. They are in fact admirably fit to govern, and this is a sufficient reason for them to claim the government; and to deride those, who from sheer ignorance, are continuing to rule themselves and their antagonists, when they might resign the irksome task to the more intelligent and learned. The federal party have studied the art of government, and reduced it to a science.

They can prove "by a plus b, divided by

z, that the sheep must be red and die with the small-pox," when their ignorant opponents would never know more than that it was a sheep. The sum and substance of their argument is this. The people must be led in order to prevent them from taking a wrong direction, or from remaining too far behind. In order to lead them, it is, of course, necessary, that some citizens (always the enlightened head, with sufficient power to compel the and scientific) should be placed at the rest to follow. All this is evidently for the good of the people, which the people themselves do not know. But the peo

ple unfortunately wish to remain judges of their own good, and never like to have This is in truth all the difference of opithe head too far removed from the body. nion which exists between the present parties in the United States, though a great deal of learning has been exhausted by Mr. Hamilton and others, to account scientifically for the political schism."

The federalists, who are thus disparaged by American democrats, are, in truth, the wisest of the people; and those who wish to see the country continue to prosper, had need to be cautious how they decry their influence or resist their counsels. They are called innovators, and the epithet is just, inasmuch as order may be said to be an innovation upon chaos, or law upon a state of nature. But, in a country where every thing may yet be said to be new, no prescription can be pleaded in favour of error; and it is to be hoped that a conservative policy may make reprisals upon anarchy in the new world, even as anarchy has unhappily made reprisals upon a conservative policy in the old.

But we must conclude. Towards the Americans we feel as brethren. We feel proud of them as kindred; we admire them for their enterprise and their spirit of liberty; and if we would fain have them correct any defects in their policy, it is chiefly because we love themselves, and desire to be able to say of their proud republic, "esto perpetua."

FARDOROUGHA stood amazed and confounded, looking from one to another like a man who felt incapable of comprehending all that passed before him. His forehead, over which fell a few grey thin locks, assumed a deadly paleness, and his eye lost the piercing expression which usually characterized it. He threw his Cothamore several times over his shoulders, as he had been in the habit of doing when about to proceed after breakfast to his usual avocations, and as often laid it aside, without being at all conscious of what he did. His limbs appeared to get feeble, and his hands trembled as if he laboured under palsy. In this mood he passed from one to another, sometimes seizing a constable by the arm with a hard, tremulous grip, and again suddenly letting go his hold of him without speaking. At length a singular transition from this state of mind became apparent; a gleam of wild exultation shot from his eye; his sallow and blasted features brightened; the Cothamore was buttoned under his chin with a rapid energy of manner evidently arising from the removal of some secret apprehension.

"Then," he exclaimed, "it's no robbery; it's not robbery afther all, but how could it? there's no money here; not a penny; an' I'm belied, at any rate; for there's not a poorer man in the barony-thank God, it's not robbery!"

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Oh, Fardorougha," said the wife, "don't you see they're goin' to take him away from us!"

Take who away from us?" "Counor, your own Connor-our boy-the light of my heart-the light of his poor mother's heart! Oh, Connor, Connor, what is it they're goin' to do to you?"

"No harm, mother, I trust; no harm -don't be frightened."

The old man put his open hands to his temples, which he pressed bitterly, and with all his force, for nearly half a minute. He had, in truth, been alarmed into the very worst mood of his habitual vice, apprehension concerning his money; and felt that nothing, except a powerful effort, could succeed in drawing his attention to VOL. IX.

It's too true, father; Bartle Flanagan has sworn that I burned Mr. O'Brien's haggard."

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Connor, Connor," said the old man, approaching him, as he spoke, and putting his arms composedly about his neck, "Connor, my brave boy, my brave boy, it wasn't you did it; 'twas I did it," he added, turning to the constables; "lave him, lave him with her, an' take me in his place! Who would if I would not-who ought, I say-an' I'll do it-take me; I'll go in his place."

Connor looked down upon the old man, and as he saw his heart rent, and his reason absolutely tottering, a sense of the singular and devoted affection which he bad ever borne him, overcame him, and with a full heart he dashed away a tear from his eye, and pressed his father to his breast. "Mother," said he, this will kill the old man; it will kill him!"

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Fardorougha, a hagur," said his wife, feeling it necessary to sustain him as much as possible, don't take it so much to heart, it wont signifyConnor's innocent, an' no harm will happen to him."

"But are you lavin' us, Connor? are they must they bring you to jail?" For a while, father; but I wont be long there I hope."

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Life and death! what do you mane?" asked Fardorougha, staring vacantly at the last speaker.

"It's painful to distress you; but if he's found guilty, it's death."

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Death! hanged!" shrieked the old man, awaking as it were for the first time to a full perception of his son's situation; "hanged! my boy hanged! Connor, Connor, don't go from me!"

"I'll die with him,” said the mother; "I'll die wid you, Connor. We couldn't live widout him," she added, addressing the strangers; "as God is in heaven we couldn't! Oh Connor, Connor, avourneen, what is it that has come over us, and brought us to this sorrow?"

The mother's grief then flowed on, accompanied by a burst of that unstudied, but pathetic eloquence, which in Ireland is frequently uttered in the tone of wail and lamentation peculiar to those who mourn over the dead.

"No," she added, with her arms tenderly about him, and her streaming eyes fixed with a wild and mournful look of despair upon his face; "no, he is in his loving mother's arms, the boy that never gave to his father or me a harsh word or a sore heart! Long were we lookin' for him, an' little did we think that it was for this heavy fate that the goodness of God sent him to us! Oh many a look of lovin' affection, many a happy heart did he give us! Many a time Connor, avillish, did I hang over your cradle, and draw out to myself the happiness and the good that I hoped was before you. You wor too good-too good, I doubt-to be long in such a world as this; an' no wondher that the heart of the fair young colleen, the heart of the colleen dhas dhun should rest upon you and love you; for who ever knew you that didn't? Isn't there enough, King of heaven! enough of the bad an' the wicked in this world for the law to punish, an' not to take the innocentnot to take away from us the only one -the only one—I cant—I cant-but if they do-Connor-if they do, your lovin' mother will die with you!"

The stern officers of justice wiped their eyes, and were proceeding to afford such consolation as they could, when Fardorougha, who had sat down

after having made way for Honour to recline on the bosom of their son, now rose, and seizing the breast of his coat, was about to speak, but ere he could utter a word he tottered, and would have instantly fallen, had not Connor caught him in his arms. This served for a moment to divert the mother's grief, and to draw her attention from the son to the husband, who was now insensible. He was carried to the door by Connor; but when they attempted to lay him in a recumbent posture, it was found almost impossible to unclasp the death-like grip which he held of the coat. His haggard face was shrunk and collapsed; the individual features sharp and thin, but earnest and stamped with traces of alarm; his brows, too, which were slightly knit, gave to his whole countenance a character of keen and painful determination. But that which struck those who were present most, was the unyielding grasp with which he clung even in his insensibility to the person of Connor.

If not an affecting sight it was one at least strongly indicative of the intractable and indurated attachment which put itself forth with such vague and illusive energy on behalf of his son. At length he recovered, and on opening his eyes he fixed them with a long look of pain and distraction upon the boy's countenance.

"Father," said Connor, "dont be cast down-you need not-and you ought not to be so much disheartened do you feel better?"

When the father heard his voice he smiled; yes-his shrunk, pale, withered face was lit up by a wild, indescribable ecstacy, whose startling expression was borrowed, one would think, as much from the light of insanity as from that of returning consciousness. He sucked in his thin cheeks, smacked his parched skinny lips, and with difficulty called for a drink. Having swallowed a little water, he looked round him with more composure, and inquired—

I

"What has happened me? am I robbed? are you robbers? But I tell you there's no money in the house. lodged the last penny yestherdayafore my God I did-but-oh what am I sayin'? what is this, Connor ?"

"Father dear, compose yourself— we'll get over this throuble."

We will, darlin'," said Honour, wiping the pale brows of her husband; "an' we wont lose him."

"Well, father dear!"

"There's a thing here-here"-and he placed his hand upon his heart"something it is that makes me afeard -a sinkin' -a weight-and there's a strugglin', too, Connor. I know I cant stand it long-an' its about youit's all about you.'

"You distress yourself too much, father; indeed you do. Why I hoped that you would comfort my poor mother 'till I come back to her and you, as I will, plase God."

"Yes," he replied; "yes, I will, I will."

"You had better prepare," said one of the officers; the sooner this is over the better-he's a feeble man and not very well able to bear it."

"You are right," said Connor; "I wont delay many minutes; have only to change my clothes, an' I'm ready."

In a short time he made his appear ance dressed in his best suit; and indeed it would be extremely difficult to meet, in any rank of life, a finer specimen of vigour, activity, and mauly beauty. His countenance, at all times sedate and open, was on this occasion shaded by an air of profound melancholy that gave a composed grace and dignity to his whole bearing.

"Now, father," said he, "before I go, I think it right to lave you and my poor mother all the consolation I can. In the presence of God, in your's, in my dear mother's, and in the presence of all who hear me, I am as innocent of the crime that's laid to my charge as the babe unborn. That's a comfort for you to know, and let it prevent you from frettin'; and now, good by, God be with you, and strengthen, and support you both!"

Fardorougha had already seized his hand; but the old man could neither speak nor weep; his whole frame appeared to have been suddenly pervaded by a dry agony that suspended the beatings of his very heart. The mother's grief, on the contrary, was loud, and piercing, and vehement. She threw herself once more on his neck; she kissed his lips, she pressed him to her heart, and poured out as before the wail of a wild and hopeless misery. At length, by the aid of some slight but necessary force, her arms were untwined from about his neck; and Connor then stooping, embraced his father, and gently placing him upon a settle bed, bade him farewell! On reaching the door he paused, and, turning about,

surveyed his mother struggling in the hands of one of the officers to get embracing him again, and his grey-haired father sitting in speechless misery on the settle. He stood a moment to look upon them, and a few bitter tears rolled, in the silence of manly sorrow, down his cheeks.

"Oh, Fardorougha," exclaimed his mother, after they had gone, "sure it isn't merely for partin' wid him that we feel so heartbroken. He may never stand under this roof again, an' he all we have and had to love!"

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"No," returned Fardorougha, quietly; no, it's not, as you say, for merely him-here-Honour-here the thought partin' wid him—hanged! God! God! of it-I'll die-it'll break! Oh God support me! my heart-here-my heart 'ill break! My brain, too, and my head-oh! if God 'ud take me before I'd see it! But it cant be-it's not possible that our innocent boy should meet sich a death!"

"Ne, dear, it is not; sure he's innocent-that's one comfort; but Fardorougha, as the men said, you must go to a lawyer and see what can be done to defind him.”

The old man rose up and proceeded to his son's bedroom.

For ever, from this day out," said the distracted mother; "no hands will ever make it but my own; on no other will I sleep-will we both sleepwhere his head lay there will mine be too-avick machree-machree! Och, Fardorougha, we cant stand this; let us not take it to heart, as we do; let us trust in God, an' hope for the best."

Honour, in fact, found it necessary to assume the office of the comforter; but it was clear that nothing urged or suggested by her could for a moment win back the old man's heart from a contemplation of the loss of his son. He moped about for a considerable time; but, ever and anon, found himself in Connor's bedroom, looking upon his clothes and such other memorials of him as it contained.

During the occurrence of these melancholy incidents at Fardorougha's, others of a scarcely less distressing