even in her calmest moments, like those fair cities on the side of Vesuvius, but a tenant at will to the volcano on which she is placed!

"Is not this singular ?" he added, "is not this melancholy? That, while the progress of time produces a change in all other nations, the destiny of Ireland remains still the same—that here we still find her, at the end of so many centuries, struggling, like Ixion, on her wheel of torture-never advancing, always suffering -her whole existence one monotonous round of agony! While a principle of compensation is observable throughout the fortunes of all the rest of mankind, and they, who enjoy liberty, must pay for it by struggles, and they, who have sunk into slavery, have, at least, the consolation of tranquillity-in this unhappy country it is only the evil of each system that is perpetuated-eternal struggles, without one glimpse or freedom, and an unrelaxing pressure of power, without one moment of consolidation or repose!"

At Roscrea, about half-way between Dublin and Limerick, I parted with this gentleman― having, in the course of conversation, communi

b

cated to him the object of my journey to the South, at which, I observed he smiled rather significantly.

From Roscrea I turned off the main road, to pay a visit to an old friend, the Rev. Mr. whom I found comfortably situated in his new living, with the sole drawback, it is true, of being obliged to barricade his house of an evening, and having little embrasures in his hall door, to fire through at unwelcome visitors.

In the neighbourhood of my friend's house there are the ruins of a celebrated abbey, which stand, picturesquely enough, on the banks of the river, and are much resorted to by romantic travellers. A wish had, more than once, occurred to me to see the effect of these ruins by moonlight; but the alarming indications of the gun-holes in the hall-door had prevented me from entertaining any serious thoughts of such ́an enterprize.

On the third evening of my stay, however, the influence of the genial "mountain dew,”*

Whiskey, "that has never seen the face of a gauger.”

which my Reverend host rather bountifully dispensed, so far prevailed over my fears and my prudence, that I sallied forth, alone, to visit these ruins.

Of my walk I have no very clear recollection. I only remember that from behind the venerable walls, as I approached them, a confused murmur arose, which startled me for a moment —but all again was silent, and I cautiously proeeeded. Just then, a dark cloud happened to flit over the moon, which, added to the effects of the "mountain dew," prevented me from seeing the objects before me very distinctly. I reached, however, in safety the great portal of the abbey, and passing through it to the bank which overhangs the river, found myself all at once, to my astonishment and horror, (the moon at that moment breaking out of a cloud), in the midst of some hundreds of awful-looking persons all arrayed in white shirts, and ranged in silent order on each side to receive me !

This sight sobered me completely — I was ready to sink with terror-when a voice, which, I could observe, proceeded from a tall

man with a plume of white feathers in his hat,* said, sternly, "Pass on," and I, of course, promptly obeyed. Though there was something in the voice, that seemed rather familiar to my ears, it was not without exceeding horror that I perceived the figure that spoke, advance · out of the ranks, and slowly follow me.

We had not gone many steps, when I politely motioned to him to take precedencenot feeling quite comfortable with such a goblin after me. He, accordingly, went before, and having conducted me to a spot, at some distance from the band, where we could not be observed by them, turned hastily round, and took me, with much cordiality, by the hand.

I now perceived-what the reader must have anticipated that this personage was no other than the disguised gentleman in green spectacles; nor was it long before I learned, from his own lips, that I then actually stood in the presence of the great CAPTAIN Rock.

What passed between the Captain and me

* Hickey, a Pseudo Captain Rock who was hanged last Summer at Cork, appears to have generally worn feathers in his nightly expeditions.

at that interview, I do not feel myself, as yet, at liberty to reveal. I can only state that it was in the course of that short meeting, he presented me with the Manuscript which I have now the honour of submitting to the Public-requesting of me, as a favour, that I would read it attentively over, before I threw away any further labour or thought upon the mission which I had undertaken.

I lost no time, as may easily be supposed, in complying with the Captain's wish. That very night, before I slept, I carefully perused the whole of his Manuscript; and so strong was the impression it left upon my mind, that it is the Rulers, not the People of Ireland, who require to be instructed and converted, that I ordered horses early the next morning-returned with all possible dispatch to my constituentscalled instantly a full meeting of the Ladies of the Society, and proposed that a new mission should forthwith be instituted, for the express purpose of enlightening certain Dignitaries both of Church and State, who are, in every thing that relates to Ireland, involved in the most destitute darkness.