turf that is cut out of them; but the places from whence this useful article has been taken, are presently filled by a black, unwholesome water, necessarily stagnant; from the effluvia of which, arise many a thing as noxious to the natural, as O'Connell is in the moral, and political, and spiritual health of that unhappy country. But don't you know that a bog reclaimed,—that is, drained of its evil properties, and cultivated,-furnishes the richest soil possible, for the purposes of agricultural use, or of ornamental embellishments? No, no; it is no reflection on dear Ireland, to say that I wish her bogs reclaimed, their O'Connell's extinguished, and her poor distracted children settled down in cottages of peaceful industry, where now the wild and treacherous meteor leads them on to present ruin, and future perdition!'

Surely,' said I, 'the people of England who may allow themselves to be misled by this evil man, will be far more culpable than are his own deluded countrymen.'

¿ Undoubtedly it is impossible to avoid a mixture of compassion, even when surveying the darkest atrocities of those infuriated people; for we know that they are spiritually blinded by their priests, on the one hand, and on the other, awakened to a most false, exaggerated, and distorted view of national grievances political wrongs-and, what they are taught to regard as foreign oppression. The man who stirs them up is their countryman, claiming a fellowship-affecting a personal sympathy withthe injuries that he artfully represents them as exposed to, in their civil and religious character. But what, on earth, has Daniel O'Connell, of Derrinane,

to do with our English artizans, and mechanics, and field-labourers? As to the gentry, and respectable traders of our peaceful towns, if they find their level in such society, we must needs leave them there, as far below their original grade as they have thought proper to fall. But, oh, my dear child, this is speaking too much after the spirit of the world-too proudly, too scornfully, for one who should rather, in deepest humility before the Lord, be confessing his own sin, and the sin of his people, which has brought down upon their guilty heads the infliction of a walking pestilence, far worse than the most devouring plague that ever filled our cemetries with corruption, and our cities with mourning, and lamentation, and wo!'

I was not sorry to see my uncle sit down, holding his handkerchief to his face, whether in tears or in prayer I could not exactly tell. The fact is, that he is naturally of a very fiery temperament; and when it breaks out, as on this occasion, he condemns himself sorely afterwards. For my own part, I was not a whit behindhand in feeling all the burning indignation that he had expressed; till something came over me like the voice of sweet little David Brown's1 tender plea for the heathen, 'But they have souls.' Surely these wretched men who are labouring thus in the service of Satan, have souls likewise; and we ought to pray for them, as not knowing-in its full extent-what they do. With this thought in my mind, I spoke to my uncle: I often think, dear sir, of the good hope that we have respecting the late but sincere conversion of poor Dr. Doyle, who was so zealous a fellow-helper in the same bad cause.'

1 'Notices of Two Infant Brothers.' See page 368.

My uncle looked up, smilingly, and rejoined, " May the Lord overcome all His enemies, not in wrathful, but redeeming power! My heart was too full, after reading O'Sullivan's thrilling description at Hereford of those dear suffering Irish clergy, to go forth, as it ought to do, in Christian charity towards the wretched author of their cruel wrongs. I think the devil is afraid, lest it should enter the minds of God's people unitedly to pray for O'Connell's conversion.

'Oh that they would!' I exclaimed-and bright indeed was the scene that opened to my mental eyes, as the thought was suggested.

Humanly speaking,' resumed my uncle, ' no man but himself can undo the mischief that he has accomplished. Would it not be glorious to see such an enemy struck down, like Saul of Tarsus, to be raised up again a preacher of the faith which now he destroys?'

Let my readers dwell upon this: and strive in prayer. The Lord may send an answer of peace.

My uncle asked me, how went on my Tuam Diocesan Education Society.

Slowly as yet, uncle. I am waiting for farther documents from Ireland, in order to finish a little book, by means of which I hope to engage the assistance of friends. The attack made on me in the Globe of September 9, has roused me a little. The charge of being willing to sacrifice the souls of Protestant children, though brought in rather a scoffing way, has resolved me to give them all the information in my power, on the subject of those Protestant children; though not exactly in the secret way that the Board (for you know the paragraph is expressly

given by authority) seem to point out. I earnestly desire to do nothing through strife or vain glory; nevertheless, uncle, I will not be beaten off this ground, even by the chief organ of government. I am indirectly taxed with falsehood; and directly with unjust hostilitý against the Board of what they are pleased to call national education. You know that I did not, originally, intrude beyond my proper sphere. I brought the subject before my own sex, in a Ladies' Magazine: the passage was referred to, and the Editor called on to substantiate the charge, by a well-known and pious clergyman, in the columns of a truly Christian journal. I obeyed the call; and in the same journal, published the documents referred to in the magazine. This brought on me a severe attack, in the government newspaper; and led me into a wider field than I had thought of occupying. But, uncle, though it would be to the credit of the men to come forward and help me, yet if they leave me to fight it out alone, why, fight it I will.'

Oh, the pugnacity of the creatures!' said my uncle in an under tone.

And, oh, the excellence of the cause, sir,' rejoined I, not a bit daunted. 'The cause of dear Ireland's little ones, whom they are delivering over to the common enemy-the cause of the Bible, which they have mutilated, and perverted; and, even in this dishonoured state, permit the priests of Rome altogether to withhold from them.-Is this a cause for even a woman's heart to quail in?'

No, my dear. You are weak, and must put no confidence in yourself; but the cause in which you labour is that of truth: and Truth is mighty, and will prevail.'

THE

CHRISTIAN LADY'S MAGAZINE.

NOVEMBER, 1835.

CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS.

THE Guernsey Lily may not be known to all my readers; but those who have seen it will admit its claim to rank with the most beautiful of that elegant family. Rising in a slender stem of reddish hue without the slightest appearance of any thing resembling a leaf, it shoots up, exhibiting a dull-looking sort of blossom, from which, in time, escape as from a cell, numerous other buds, all wearing the same dusky aspect. So far, all is unpromising enough, but on a sudden, out bursts such a display of beauty as the eye cannot soon weary of. From the top of the single stem, flower-stalks branch off, to the number of eight, each bearing a lily of the most glowing rose-colour, and rivalling in form any production that our parterre or conservatory can bring to compete the prize of elegance. Each flower would be a star with six points, did not the graceful curl of the