could Montmagny, or Tracy, or Vaudreuil, or Frontenac, have ever imagined on such occasions that for the lank dusky forms of the Iroquois or Ottawa emissaries, would one day be substituted the beaming countenances and burly proportions of English-speaking mayors and aldermen and reeves. And now, gentlemen, again good-bye. I cannot tell you how deeply I regret that Lady Dufferin should not be present to share the gratification I have experienced by your visit. Tell your friends at home how deeply I have been moved by this last and signal proof of their good-will, that their kindness shall never be forgotten, and that as long as I live it will be one of the chief ambitions of my life to render them faithful and effectual service.

A PLEA FOR TOLERATION.1

Gentlemen, Few things could have given me greater pleasure than to receive such an address as that which you have presented to me. I recollect the friendly reception you gave me on my first arrival, and I rejoice at this opportunity of bidding you farewell. I am well aware of the useful nature of the task you have set yourselves, and of the broad and liberal spirit in which you execute it, and it is, therefore, to you, and through you to the rest of our Irish fellow-countrymen in Canada, that I feel irresistibly compelled to convey one last and parting entreaty. No one can have watched the recent course of events without having observed, almost with feelings of terror, the unaccountable exacerbation and recrudescence of those party feuds and religious animosities from which for many a long day we have been comparatively free. Now, gentlemen, this is a most serious matter; its import cannot be exaggerated; and I would beseech you and every Canadian in the land who exercises any influence amid the circle of his acquaintance-nay, every Canadian woman, whether mother, wife, sister, or daughter, to strain every nerve, to exert every faculty they possess, to stifle and eradicate this hateful and abominable root of bitterness from amongst us. Gentlemen, I have had a terrible experience in these matters. I have seen one of the greatest and most prosperous towns of Ireland -the city of Belfast-helplessly given over

A speech to the Irish Protestant Benevolent Society, Toronto, Sept. 25, 1878, in reply to an address read by

Captain M Master.

for an entire week into the hands of two contending religious factions. I have gone into the hospital and beheld the dead bodies of young men in the prime of life lying stark and cold upon the hospital floor-the delicate forms of innocent women writhing in agony upon the hospital beds-and every one of these struck down by an unknown bulletby those with whom they had no personal quarrel-towards whom they felt no animosity, and from whom, had they encountered them in the intercourse of ordinary life, they would have probably received every mark of kindness and good-will. But where these tragedies occurred-senseless and wicked as were the occasions which produced themthere had long existed between the contending parties traditions of animosity and ill-will and the memory of ancient grievances; but what can be more Cain-like, more insane, than to import into this country-unsullied as it is by any evil record of civil strife-a stainless paradise, fresh and bright from the hands of its Maker, where all have been freely admitted upon equal terms-the blood-thirsty strife and brutal quarrels of the Old World? Divided as you are into various powerful religious communities, none of whom are entitled to claim either pre-eminence or ascendency over the other, but each of which reckons amongst its adherents enormous masses of the population, what hopes can you have except in mutual forbearance and a generous liberality of sentiment? Why, your very existence defeuds. Be wise, therefore, in time, I say, while pends upon the disappearance of these ancient it is still time, for it is the property of these hateful quarrels to feed on their own excesses; if once engendered they widen their bloody circuit from year to year, till they engulf the entire community in internecine strife. happily, it is not by legislation or statutory restrictions, or even by the interference of the armed executive, that the evil can be effectually and radically remedied. Such alternatives, even when successful at the timeI am not alluding to anything that has taken place in Canada, but to my Irish experiences

Un

-are apt to leave a sense of injustice and of a partial administration of the law rankling in the minds of one or other of the parties; but surely when reinforced by such obvious considerations of self-preservation as those I have indicated, the public opinion of the community at large ought to be sufficient to repress the evil. Believe me, if you desire to avert an impending calamity, it is the duty of

sion; with a skull curiously round; with a figure graceful, lithe, yet of well-strung muscles, capable of great endurance. It is a type which some Irish ethnologists suppose, not without reason, to be of Spanish origin; and there were two very remarkable Irishmen of the same period who were fine examples of its form. One was General Clarke, Duc de Feltre, French minister of war throughout, and indeed before, Napoleon's reign, and who was also for some time Governor-general of Prussia; the other, not built on so grand a scale, was Thomas Moore, the poet. Nature gave to Mr. O'Connell a frame as perfect and commanding as ever was developed of this rare type; a voice of unparalleled volume and range; ever-buoyant energy, unfatiguing perseverance, a quick wit, a sound and capacious understanding, craft bred and stimulated by the sense of oppression, courage easily flaming to headlong wrath at the hurt to pride of withheld right; every talent that every great orator has possessed (some in excess), with, most of all, the talent of speaking in the strain of its own sympathies to every audience, from the highest and most accomplished to the lowest and most ignorant; and to these last he often spoke of his best, and he loved to speak best of all. In Kerry there still remained, a hundred years ago, there even yet remains, more that tells of what Celtic and Catholic Ireland was like than in any other district of the south. Many of the native gentry, elsewhere banished and erased, or reduced to become traders in the towns built by their ancestors and tenants on their own estates, in Kerry held some little-coveted fragment of ancient property on sufferance, and maintained at least the show among their people of the old tribal order. Of the Irish titles which are still borne by the heads of Celtic septs, by far the greater number were transmitted in Kerry, or in neighbouring districts of Cork and Limerick," where the king's writ did not run." There or thereabouts, in the wild south-west, dwelt a hundred years ago, and there are still to be seen, representatives of The O'Donoghue of the Glens (near kinsmen of the O'Connells), O'Grady of Killballyowen, MacGillicuddy of the Reeks, The O'Donovan, The O'Driscoll-and two titles which, though only dating from the period of the Pale, told of traditions hardly less dear to the Irish memory and imagination, the Knight of Glin and the Knight of Kerry, scions of that illustrious house which for many a hundred years accepted for its motto the reproach

that it was more Irish than the Irish themselves. Five years before O'Connell's birth died the last MacCarthy More, greatest of the Kerry toparchs, and lineal descendant of that Florence MacCarthy who, as Sir William Herbert once said, "was a man infinitely adored in Munster:" and now Kerry was about to give birth to a man destined to be infinitely adored throughout Ireland. Kerry still spoke the Irish tongue, and it was the tongue that Daniel O'Connell learned on his nurse's knee. Such was the soil from which he sprung, and he was racy of it..

It is very difficult to apply the standard of historical criticism to Mr. O'Connell's character and career without at least seeming to speak in a strain of hyperbole. Lord Lytton, in those lines of singular power and felicity which describe him in the act of addressing a monster meeting, raises the image of the great Athenian orator as the fitting illustration of his marvellous mind-compelling power and majestic energy and ease of speech. But even his enemies would have said that Demosthenes was not his perfect parallel; that he had all the craft of Ulysses, and, when he pleased, the tongue of Thersites as well. In our modern days the son of a Corsican notary, immediately after the most all-levelling revolution the world has as yet witnessed, implanted a worship of himself in the heart of the French nation, surpassing in its self-sacrificing devotion all the loyalty ever lavished on its bravest and holiest kings. But Napoleon was a great soldier, and empires are the natural estate of conquerors, and from a very early age he had the whole power of the government of France to work out his purposes. O'Connell had the whole power of the government which conquered Napoleon, wielded at last by the soldier who gave him his final defeat, opposed to him at every point, and from the beginning to the end of his great achievement; and his method was to try if it were possible to make the same use of peace as a means of victory that soldiers make of war. He led his people out of bondage not less ignominious than the Egyptian, through a probation that may fitly be compared, even in point of time, with that of the Sinaitic desert, and, on the whole, with perhaps a better behaviour on the part of those who followed him; yet he was not visibly, awfully, raised and inspired by the living God, face to face, as Moses was. His career is unique. From its commencement to its close he carried the whole apparatus of his

power within his head. His sceptre and sword was the gift of speech; and he spoke to and for the most impoverished, neglected, and uncultivated people in all Christendom.

THE COAST OF CLARE.

(FROM THE "DUBLIN REVIEW.")

The state of Ireland throughout the autumn and winter which have passed may be likened to a day such as often comes on its western coast, when the one season is passing into the other, and all the elements seem to be mingled in the weather. Overhead masses of cloud, gaunt and vast, career across a sky at one moment muffled in gloomy vapour fringed with fire, at another so blue, so lofty, and so clear, that the pale light of the moon and the strong ray of the northern star aid in its atmosphere the labouring flame which strives almost in vain to assert the realm of day. He who hears the ocean break, when in those days the indefatigable sou'-wester hurls wave after wave against the mountain scarp of the coast of Clare, will not find much of melancholy in the music with which the Atlantic first hails the shores of Ireland- but a sound like the cheering of many men in the stress of some great labour, with now and then an undertone of joyous melody, felt as it were through the sphere, when a tall billow, which

has made its boisterous way from Labrador, sinks to sudden rest on velvet sand under the echoing dome of some stalactite - incrusted cave. But when the tide ebbs at the same hour that the sun is setting in this climacteric of the year, then the cloud-compelling wind pauses for a while, and the peace which falls upon land and sea is, in the variety of its beauty, the depth of its serenity, and the extent of its horizon, peculiar to the place and of its genius. The broad golden track that marks the line of the sunset on the waters, visibly connects earth and sky. Nowhere does the sun sink in such an aureole of light and such a canopy of colour, with such a glow of longing ardour, and such a lingering pomp of promise. Nowhere in our latitudes are clouds to be seen of such strange shapes and such vivid colours-violet, vermilion and purple, and crimson and azure and orange, and the white of the dove's down, and the tender green of young leaves. Weary ocean makes a truce with land, and seems to have changed its hue for that of the invincible verdure, which gleams through every fissure of the scarred rocks and mantles the stalwart battlements of the bay. Already the dawning moonlight falls softly on the venerable cone of that Round Tower on Scattery's holy isle, where Christ was worshipped first in the far west; and bleaches the sails of the Bostonbound emigrant-ship rushing swiftly over the bar on the flood of the Shannon.

volumes of her collected stories have also appeared. She has also translated a number of works from the French, including Pictorial Life in Japan, The Government of M. Thiers, &c.

Mrs. Hoey is a constant contributor to high-class periodical literature, being perhaps at her best in such writings as a critic. She has written, besides, the following works:A House of Cards, Falsely True, Out of Court, The Blossoming of an Aloe, A Golden Sorrow,

Our extract is taken from No Sign-one of her shorter tales-in our opinion the most powerful thing she has written.]

A TERRIBLE INTERVIEW.1

[Dominick Daly is in jail on a charge of murdering his wife. The crime has really been committed by Kate Farrell, a woman by

1 By permission of the authoress.