despot, let it be a splendid one and we shall be less galled. The wretched bondsman cannot lose by changing. To him the mightiest master is the best. If we must be humbled, it is better still to fall before the LION than the WOLF. Who is now the wolf? But Irishmen are generous, brave and loyal. They will forgive their wrongs, forget your insults and march against the invader. Be it so. But who is this invader? Comes he with racks and scourges to scatter reeking gibbets through our land, to pike our heads as monuments of scorn? Comes he with full battalions of informers? Does he invite men to lay down their arms, and then break faith with them and murder them? Will he deflower our wives and burn our houses? Beware, that we mistake not friend for foe. But no! we know him by his warlike standards. He bears the picket, pitch-cap and the firebrand. His music is, the cry of women's grief; that's our invader, that our mortal enemy; look to him well, he'l rob us of our LIBERTY. But e'er we fight, go call at Edward's tomb,† cry in his ears, bid him who sleeps to wake, bid him to rise and fight his enemies. Brave as the lion, gentler than the lamb, the sparkling jewel of an ancient house, the noblest blood of any in our land, and nobler than your king's, ran through his veins. He hears you not; he sleeps to wake no more! Of all his country, and of all he owned, there rests no more to him than the cold grave he lies in! Oh gallant, gallant Edward, fallen in the flower of youth and pride of manly beauty; had you lived to see † Lord Edward Fitzgerald, brother to the late Duke of Leinster. your country free, the proudest conqueror that wears in sword dared not invade it. Go call his children by their noble sire to come and fight the battles of their country. What sire? what country? They have no father, for you murdered him! They have no country but the green sod that rests upon his grave! You robbed their guiltless infancy, tainted their innocent blood, plundered their harmless cradles! Go the to Crosby's tomb! His only crime was, that he was beloved. Call Colclough, Esmond, Grogan, Harvey, still nobler in their virtues than in their station and their ancient heritage. Call whole devoted families, whom you have swept from off the face of their native soil; they cannot fail but rise and stand for you. The name of Feeling will be precious to you. Call those two brothers, whose hearts in life were joined, in death united, hung on one gibbet, beheaded with one axe. Bid the two Shearses rise and fight for you, and die again together in their country's cause; they will befriend you. There were two brother Tones, no ordinary souls. them rise too from out their common grave and fight together for you. He that first led his countrymen to union, will lead them now to victory. Bid Call on the multitude of reverend men of all the various sects of Christian faith, whom you have murdered. Call on them by the sacred office of their priesthood, and by that God, whose holy word they taught, to pray for you. But if they sleep too sound, or will not hearken, go to the Sir Edward Crosby, Bart. flocks they led, and they will follow you with many and many a blessing. Call from the earth where Porter's ashes lie, the gentle emanations of his genius, the lucid beams of mild philosophy; you want such lights; they will be very serviceable. Go to Belfast, and parley with the heads you there impaled, those silent witnesses of your humanity, who gave to all that looked askance and terrified upon them, such moving lessons of your mild persuasion as won all hearts to love you; those tongueless monitors were passing eloquent; bid them now speak for you; they will recruit you soldiers that will honor you and draw their willing swords to fight your battles. Call upon Russel, whose once gentle heart you turned to desperate madness, and slew him like a ruffian. Invoke the crowd of brave and gallant victims, whom "memory cannot count, nor choice select," and you will have an army strong in numbers, stronger in well tried courage and in UNION. But if this cannot be, and victory declares against your ruffian banners, remember ORR! He was the first that gave his life to Union; EMMET the last that sealed it with his blood. Their parting words may teach you how to die! But no, you will not, dare not, die like them? You will betray your country first an hundred times; and rather than meet death as men should do, lay at the con + See the Answer of Mrs. Tone to the Hibernian Provident Society, on receiving a medallion presented by them in honor of her husband, where this sentiment is elegantly conveyed. (See Appendix No. XVI.) SS queror's feet your city's charter and your monarch'a crown.t LETTER xxxvi. The Irish Emigrant. BORN in the country of affliction; his days were days of sorrow. He tilled the soil of his fathers, and was an alien in their land He tasted not of the fruits which grew by the sweat of his brow. He fed a foreign landlord, whose face he never saw, and a minister of the gospel, whose name he hardly knew; an unfeeling bailiff was his tyrant, and the tax-gatherer his oppressor. Hunted by unrighteous magistrates, and punished by unjust judges. The soldier devoured his substance and laughed his complaints to scorn. He toiled the hopeless day, and at night lay down in weariness. heart, though his estate was lowly. His cottage was open to the poor. He brake his children's bread, and ate of it sparingly, that the hungry might have share. He welcomed the benighted traveller, and rose with the stars of the morning to put him on his way. But his soul repined within him, and he sought relief in change. He had heard of a land where the poor were in peace, labourer thought worthy of his hire, where the blood of his fathers had purchased an asylum. He leads the aged Yet noble he was of and the ↑ Jeffries and Kirk were as treacherous as they were atrocious He bears his parent whom love grappled to his heart. infants in his arms. His wife followed his weary steps. They escape from the barbarous laws that would make their country their prison. They cross the trackless ocean, they descry the promised land, and hope brightens the prospect to their view; but happiness is not for him. The ruthless spirit of persecution pursues him through the waste of the ocean. Shall his foot never find rest, nor his heart repose? No! the prowling bird of prey hovers on Columbia's coast. Wafted on eagle wings, the British pirate comes, ravishes the poor fugitive from the partner of his sorrows and the tender pledges of their love. See the haggard eyes of a father to whom nature denies a tear! a stupid monument of living death. He would interpose his feeble arm, but it is motionless; he would bid adieu, but his voice refuses its office. The prop of his declining years torn remorselessly from before him, he stands like the blasted oak, dead to hope and every earthly joy! Was it not then enough that this victim of oppression had left his native land to the rapacity of its invaders? Might he not have been permitted to seek a shelter in the gloom of the wilderness? No! the ruthless spirit of persecution is not yet sated with his sufferings. The torments of one element exhausted, those of another are now prepared for him. Enslaved to scornful masters, the authors of his misery, and forced to fight the battles of those his soul abhors. Death, that relieves the wretch, brings u relief to him, for he lived not for himself, but for those more dear to him than life. Not for himself does he feel the winter's blast, but for those who are now unprotected, houseless and forlorn. Where shall his wife now wander, when |