been said) that Irishmen are neither fit for freedom, nor grateful for favours. In the first place, I deny that to be a favour which is a right; and in the next place, Irishmen were never tried;-try them, and my life on it, they will be found grateful. I think I know my countrymen; they cannot help being grateful for a benefit, and there is no country on earth where one would be conferred with more disinterested benevolence-they are emphatically the school-boys of the heart-a people of sympathy -their acts spring instinctively from their passions-by nature, ardent-by instinct, brave-by inheritance, gene rous-the children of impulse, they cannot avoid their virtues; and, to be other than noble, they must not only be unnatural, but unnational. Enter the hovel of the Irish peasant; I do not say you will find the frugality of the Scotch, the comfort of the English, or the trifling and fantastic decorations of the French cottage; but I do say, that within those wretched garrisons of mud and misery, you will find sensibility, the most affecting; politeness, the most natural; hospitality, the most grateful; merit, the most unconscious; and their look is eloquence, their smile is love; their retort is wit, their remark is wisdom;-not a wisdom borrowed from the dead, but that with which nature herself inspired them; an acute observance of the passing scene, and a keen insight into the motives of its agents. Try to deceive them, and see with what shrewdness they will detect; try to outwit them, and see with what humour they will elude; attack them with argument, and you will stand amazed at the strength of their expressions, the rapidity of their ideas, and the energy of their gesture; in short, God seems to have formed our people like our island; he has tumbled round the one, its wild magnificent, decorated rudeness-he has infused into the other, the simplicity of virtue, and the seeds of genius; and he says audibly, to us, give them cultivation.

This is the way in which I have always viewed your question-Not as a party of a Sectarian, or a Catholic, but as an Irish question. Is it possible that any man can seriously think the paralysis of five millions of such a people as I have described, can be a benefit to the empire? Is there any man who deserves the name not of a

statesman, but of a rational being, who can believe it politic to rob such a multitude of all the energies of an honourable ambition? Why has protestant Ireland shot over England those rays of genius, and those thunderbolts of war, which have at once embellished and preserved it? I speak not of a former era; I refer not, for instance to that splendid day, when our Barkes, our Barrys, and our Goldsmiths, exiled by very want from their native shore, even on an envious soil, wreathed the shamrock round the brow of painting, poesy, and eloquence. But nownow, even whilst I speak, who leads the British senate? A protestant Irishman!-Who guides the British arms? A protestant Irishman!-And why this Catholic Ireland with her quintuple population, stationary and silent? Stranger, open the penal statement, and weep tears of blood over the reason. Do not ask the bigoted and pampered renegade, who has an interest in deceiving you; but come, come yourself, and see this unhappy people; see the Irishman, an alien in Ireland! In rags and wretchedness, staining the sweetest scenery the eye ever reposed on, persecuted by the extorting middleman of an absentee landlord, and plundered by his synonyme, the lay proctor of an absentee incumbent-bearing through life, but insult and injustice, and bereaved even of any hope in death, by the heart-rending reflection, that he must leave his children to bear, like their father, an abominable bondage!-Is this the fact? Let any man who doubts it walk out into your streets, and see the consequences of such a system. See in it those crowds of young apprentices to the prison, allowed by their unfortunate parents, in despair, to learn the rudiments and lisp the alphabet of vice!-For my part I have never seen one of those young assemblages, collected for the purpose of play and profligacy, without feeling within me a melancholy emotion. Perhaps, have I thought, within that little circle of neglected triflers, who seem to have been born in caprice and bred in orphanage, there may exist some mind, formed of the finest mould, and wrought for immortality-a soul swelling with the energies, and stamped with the patent of the Deity-which might bless, adorn, immortalize, and ennoble empires-Some Cincinnatus, in whose breast the destinies of a nation may

dormant-Some Milton, "pregnant with celestial fire" -Some Curran, who, when thrones are crumbled, and dynasties forgotten, might stand the land-mark of his country's genius; rearing himself 'mid regal ruins and national dissolution, a mental pyramid in the solitude of time, beneath whose shade kings might moulder, and round whose summit eternity must play! Even in such a circle the young Demosthenes might once have been found-and Homer, the disgrace and glory of his age, have sung neglected. Other states have seen such prodigies, and why not Ireland? Who is there, will say, that nature has stamped a degrading brand upon her intellect? Oh, my countrymen, let us hope, that under better auspices and sounder policy, the ignorance that thinks so may meet its refutation. Let us turn from the plight and view of this wintry day, to the fond anticipation of a happier period, when our energies unfettered and our feuds forgotten, this prostrate land will stand erect among the nations, her brow blooming with the wreaths of science, and her path strewed with the offerings of art -the breath of Heaven blessing her flag, the extremities of earth acknowledging her name, her fields waving with the fruits of agriculture, her ports alive with the varieties of commerce, and her temples rich in unrestricted piety; above all, her mountains crowned with the wild wreath of freedom, and her vallies vocal with the ecstacies of peace!

Such is the ambition of the Irish patriot-such are the views for which we are calumniated. Oh, Divine ambition! Oh, delightful calumny! Happy he who shall see thee accomplished! Happier he, who, through every peril, toils for thy attainment! Proceed, friend of Ireland, and partaker of her wrongs, proceed undaunted to thy virtuous achievement-though fortune may not gild, and power ennoble thee, thou shalt be rich in the love and filled with the blessings of thy country-thy path will be illumed by the public gratitude; the good will give thee their benediction, the great their applause-the poor all they have, their prayers; and, perhaps, when the splendid slave and he shall go to their account together, the great Spirit may hear that prayer, though it rise from a poor man and a Catholic.

The following most animated and eloquent Address was delivered at a meeting of the Auxiliary Bible Society of Bloomsbury and South Pancrass, in the city of London, by Mr. CHARLES GRANT, JUN. a member of the British parliament.

I COME forward, not with the presumptuous attempt to enforce upon those, before whom I stand, the duty of supporting this object-not to warm the cold heart, or rouse the sluggish spirit, but to join the general acclamation, and sympathize with the general feeling.-I come, not to watch the first efforts of this cause-not to cheer its early struggles with the voice of hope and promises of conquest, but to hail its risen splendour and matured energies-Not to prepare the way for its armed and adventurous march, but to swell its peaceful, though victorious procession.-I come not to animate the battle, but to chaunt the triumph. And surely, sir, it is worth while to escape for a moment from the feverish turbulence of ordinary pursuits, to contemplate this august spectacle. It is well worth while to stand by, for a moment, and observe this mighty union of rank, and sex, and age, and talent, conspiring to the promotion of an object so noble, by means so simple, yet so grand. A few years ago, and the very existence of this society was doubtful. The sun, which rose in such splendour this morning, has not twice finished his annual round, since this society was exposed to the most violent attacks from the most formidable quarter. That sun, now in the course of his circuit, scarcely visits any region, however remote, in which his beams are not called to salute some memorial, or gild some trophy of our success.

We have seen this institution beginning from a small origin, gradually acquiring strength, enlarging itself from shore to shore, from kingdom to kingdom, from nation to nation-illuminating mountain after mountain, and exploring the depths of distant vallies; thus hastening towards that glorious consummation, when it shall embrace in its mild and holy radiance, all the habitable globe. The impulse is given. The career begun, and I firmly believe that no human agency can now arrest

its progress. And why do I believe so? Why do I be. lieve that this institution is exempt from the frailty which is common to other institutions? I believe so because this institution is founded, not upon fleeting and superficial impressions-not upon theory and the vague dreams of fancy; but upon principles the most permanent and the most profound in the human character. It is founded upon passions which can never be torn from our nature, upon the deepest, the purest, the most amiable emotions of the mind, upon whatever affection has of most impressive, sympathy of most endearing, devotion of most sublime. It carries, therefore, in its bosom, the pledge and talisman of its future prosperity, and we may securely trust it to the affections of every coming age.

Regarding this institution as connected with these motives, I must observe, that something of this nature was wanting to complete the system of our national charities. This country has long been eminent for its liberality. There is no distress which does not excite corresponding exertions among wise and good men. No form of evil can arise, which is not, I might almost say, anticipated by a wise and compassionate policy. But all these institutions, admirable as they are, and no lover of his country can think of them without emotion, are yet bounded by the narrow horizon which limits the view of man. They are all subject to that inevitable law, which influences alike the fairest productions of nature, the most consummate works of art, the lovliest creations of benevolence. It remained for British charity to soar yet a nobler flight, and having exhausted this material and obvious scene of things, to fathom the depths of eternal ages and search the recesses of an invisible world for fresh sources of inexhaustible benevolence.

It is remarked by Fenelon, and produced by him as one of the proofs of the truth of the Christian religion, that Christianity, in pointing out an object on which the Supreme affections might be concentrated, has placed that object, not in our own sphere, within the range of mortal interests and feelings, but beyond ourselves, and aloof from the scope of human agency. The remark is unquestionably jus for if those contracted passions, which in ordinary hire, clash with each other and impede the pro