the small boat's flag, and flung it over the body of his friend. That is the British flag! touch what is beneath its shelter, if you dare!' was his fearless challenge. The mob recoiled: dastard as it was, each ruffian who composed it had a spirit of his own that, once wakened, would be heard. That red rag saved by mere spirit force.

Easily might we multiply instances where not only individuals, but nations, have confessed their innate spirituality by acknowledging the sovereignty of a master-spirit. Thus, Peter the Hermit, a squalid, poverty-bound monk, waved his cross with certain invocations. Talk to us no more of Oberon's power all Europe rose like a single man, and rushed to Palestine! Martin Luther is a poor friar; he makes a notable discovery that his spirit lies in bondage where bondage is not due: he struggles himself free, and the rending of his chain is a signal to the world: kings, princes, and peasants (for the spirit-world knows no ranking) rise up; they tear away the veil, (a tapestry of saints, angels, and other spirit-agents) that hung 'twixt them and heaven; they claim the God-given privilege to pray directly to their God.

What wonders of what story books can equal these? Why should we not teach to our children marvellous truths rather than marvellons falsehoods? Why should we not teach ourselves the reality of spiritual existence, and act upon them too, and thus ennoble our natures.

HISTORICAL BALLADS.-No. III.
By Lord John Manners, M. P.

LORD STRAFFORD OPENING THE IRISH PARLIAMENT, JULY 14th, 1634.

I.

CONFUSION reigns o'er Ireland's plains, and Church and King are tossed

On the blast of every veering wind, by every faction crossed.

Each grasping noble sets his foot on God's Church and her Poor,
And fearful are the wrongs and woes the common folk endure.

II.

Nor do those men of worldly pride alone the Church oppose,
From out of her own bosom rise her saddest, deadliest foes;
Archbishops spoil the treasure they should guard with holy zeal,
And Waterford and Cashel's Grace prey on her commonweal.

III.

The Isle of Saints,' a den of thieves in godless ruin lies,
Whence mount to Heaven no holy prayers, but rude tumultuous cries;
And the Prelate, and the Peer, and the Puritan combine

To rob the Poor, insult the King, and violate the Shrine.

IV.

But on this July morning, lo, in Dublin's antique streets,

Strange are the looks and words wherewith each man his neighbour greets.

There's fear on many a Noble's brow, while in the eye of care
Flickers the gleams of dawning hope contending with despair.

v.

For the clarion and the trumpet notes that shake the summer breeze,
And glide down gentle Liffey's wave, and nestle in the trees,

Bid the lowly and th' oppressed take heart, and raise in joyful awe
Their eyes to Him, the gracious source of Justice and of Law.

VI.

Begirt with Ireland's chivalry in pomp and meet array,

To open Ireland's Parliament Lord Strafford takes his way;
And who that marks that pallid brow, and eye of living light,

That dauntless mien, those glances keen, but owns Lord Strafford's might?

VII.

And 'mid the crowd of flaunting Peers, and ermined robbers there,
His eye falls pleased on some full meet his lofty aims to share ;
On Kilmore and good Clanricarde, in after perils tried,

And on Ormonde, the stout-hearted, his country's hope and pride.

VIII.

The glorious show has swept along, and nears St. Patrick's shrine-
The mightiness of human power adores the Power divine;

For never yet were solemn aims unblessed by praise and prayer,
So the Viceroy kneels in all his pride a humbled sinner there.

IX.

The Litany's low piteous tones have echoed up the choir,
And St. Patrick's meek successor, in words of blameless fire,
Has summoned all the chivalry and worth of that fair land

To aid their gracious lord, King Charles, with soul, and heart, and hand.

X.

The pomp is o'er; for weal or woe the gauntlet is thrown down,
One stalwart arm does battle for the Church, the Poor, the Crown.
And other days and future lays, till England's glories end,

Shall tell the fame of Strafford's name, lost Erin's martyred friend!

The People. By T. MICHELET. Translated by C. Cocks, B.L. Longman, London, 1846.

The Claims of Labour. An Essay on the Duties of the Employers to the Employed. Pickering, London, 1845.

WHERE shall a man that is not of the People learn the love of the people?

Is it among their self-styled friends?

Is it among themselves? or

Is it elsewhere?

And each of these very questions has its who? what? where? when? why? and an endless string of inquisitive categories inextricably involved in it.

6

Yet they are questions to be asked sometimes, especially after perusing the pleasing pages of such an essay as the 'Claims of Labour, or in the face of such a book as Michelet's People." And many, we trust, have put them to their own hearts, and will do so again, and diligently seek for some kind of answer without any such reminders whatsoever.

First, perhaps, before seeking to look into my own questions at all, I shall be called upon to answer what is termed a leading question put to me by others.

Who are the people?

Of course, it would be an easy thing to answer-The Queen, Lords, and Commons of this realm. They are the people. An answer I would gladly give-a noble answer, though not suited to the present purpose exactly; an answer, moreover, in which would lurk a splendid and great-hearted deception-or delusion shall I call it?

Well, then, I will look into my books again. Michelet says, that to speak of the people as especially the workman, and most especially the workman in manufactories, would be a mode of speech not entirely out of place in England: as for our anonymous essayist, I cannot pitch upon any precise definition of his ; but, from the pervading tone and principle of his book, one might perhaps be justified in fastening upon him some such definition as this: the people are―men, in contradistinction to masters.

Well, perhaps after all, we can do without an exact definition in this case; I shall at all events postpone it.

To return then to the original questions, Shall one learn the love of the people among their self-styled friends? It will be pretty safe to answer in the negative. Some of these self-styled friends terrify, others merely disgust one. Of course the former,

the terrible school is most deserving of our attention, they are those devotees of democracy, who really believe in and worship, in a way, the popular giants Bía and Kpáros, whom they know to be lying dormant in the crowd: M. Michelet may be fairly said to belong to that school, and so may some of the men, who were our most distinguished Chartist leaders a few years back as for the others, the men who affect a spurious demo. cratic spirit, just enough to conciliate radical cheesemongers who have borough votes, and others of the same stamp, we need not specify concerning them. The brood flourish at the time of general elections, and do Mirabeau in a small way upon the hustings; but under their waistcoats the creatures worship 'capital,' and have not heart enough to love the people or the popular power even with a generous fanaticism. Where much fear is there is little love, and where any contempt is there can be none; so we will pass on, and consider for a little the second question: -Shall one learn the love of the people among the people themselves? Of course, naturally, every person would freely answer yes! and in so doing would be quite right; but the answer must not be given hastily, if it is to have a deep and real meaning. This is to be noted, if the love of the people is to be learnt among the people; the lesson must be, like all other valuable lessons, learned by degrees, with difficulty and with pain; from this there is no escape.

It may seem a hard saying, perhaps; for, to speak superficially, what is more easy than to love! what more delightful! The young man's heart, especially, seems a well-spring of warm affections, and the brotherhood of a common humanity is sufficient claim upon its kindliness. This may be very true in a certain sense; a spark soon runs over a piece of soft tinder, but it takes more than tinder to kindle a pure, bright, and lasting flame. True love involves self-denial, and self-denial of any kind is not such easy matter. Viewed even in the subject, love has to be learned; and though we may read the word aright at first and on a sudden, we return again at some period to the starting point, and spell it, letter by letter, before we are quite masters of it. But view love with regard to the object, and the difficulties of learning its lesson aright are magnified and multiplied at once. All the intricate and manifold action of sympathies and antipathies are called at once into play; laws of psychical and spiritual attraction and repulsion interfere, and these are far more subtle and baffling in their operation than the laws of the same order in the physical world. To learn these abstractions: I have said that we must learn to love the people by degrees, with difficulty, and with pain, if we are to learn this love among themselves. If any one wish to test the truth or falsehood of this assertion, he must do something more than think about it; he must try, try

to love them by going among them; and let him first hold of this problem, that the solution is to be found in that proposed for the fallacy of the tortoise in the old logic book, 'Solvitur ambulando,'-let him seek the solution by walking.

The first experiment must be made in a town, some denselypeopled manufacturing town: this will give him two advantages; he will be isolated himself, and have a mass to contemplate. And here I will give him a caution, taken from Michelet; he will do well to bear it in mind.

Many people judge of this population,' he says, 'generally at the moment when it is the most shocking to the sight; according to the aspect it presents on leaving the manufactory, when the bell casts them forth into the street. This exit is always noisy. The men speak very loud. You would fancy they were quarrelling. The girls scream to one another with discordant, hoarse voices. The children fight and throw stones, and are violent in their behaviour. This spectacle is not pleasing to behold; the passers by turn aside. The ladies are afraid; fancy a riot is at hand, and take another street.'

Certainly it would be unjust to judge by this moment: and what follows is equally true.

'We must not turn aside. We must enter the manufactory whilst it is working, and then we understand how that silence, that captivity during long hours, enjoin, at their exit, noise, cries, and movement, for the re-establishment of the vital equilibrium.'

True, as I have said; and the explanation is quite satisfactory as regards passing judgment on the people; but when you are thinking of loving them, unless you are in good earnest, your gush of feeling will be apt to be choked by the stream of turbulent humanity that pours out at the sound of the factory bell.† But walk on, experimentalist; walk on, and prolong your walk till evening, at the close of a summer's day. The street is ill paved, we will suppose, and ill drained: or very probably is neither paved nor drained at all; and though it may be very unjust of you to be affected by such circumstance, still, unless, again, you are in earnest, they do somehow unstring the harmony of one's affections. Well, this objectionable street is teeming with its population; the day's work is over, the rush of animal spirits, consequent on release from daily toil amongst the stunning dizzy inquirer, has gone by; the workman stands in his doorway with arms crossed, the mother is beside him with her last-born at her breast, seated on a rocking-chair, the elder urchins play out in

*The People, p. 34.

+ The writer has lived for months within ten yards of the factory walls, and speaks wittingly.