ment of the empire. Are we to remain passive, and suffer this great evil to come upon us, without an effort on our parts to avert it? If we do, our ruin, which is inevitable, must be laid at our own door. We cannot complain of not having had sufficient warning of the fate that awaits us, if we neglect to take the proper precautions by which it might be avoided. The designs and the practices of the clerical demagogues whom we have raised up, have been exhibited, in full relief, to the astonishment and indignation of the parliament and the people; and if, knowing what we know, and seeing what we see, we suffer the train to be laid and fired, but few will pity us when we perish by the explosion. Nothing would be easier than to put O'Connell and the priests into an exhausted receiver. Let the franchise in Ireland be raised to twenty pounds, and the thing is done. This would not be to deprive the people of any valuable privilege. The great majority of the Irish Roman Catholic peasantry feel their right of voting for members of parliament much less as a benefit than as a burden. They have themselves but little feeling on the subject, as far as the enjoyment of the right is concerned; and they regard it as a great practical grievance to be compelled, periodically, to act in hostility to their landlords, or incur the malediction of their priests. We are confident in saying, that to them it would be a great relief to be exempted from the necessity of thus wounding their best benefactors, or labouring under the stigma, and becoming exposed to the persecution visited upon those who are guilty of deserting the cause of their religion. The only individuals who would, in reality, be deprived of power by thus raising the franchise, are the demagogues and the priests; and upon them it was never intended that it should have been conferred. Can it be supposed for one moment that the legislature would have enfranchised the population of Ireland as they are at present enfranchised, if it was clearly foreseen that priests and demagogues would or could have availed themselves of their superstition and ignorance to the extent that has been proved before the committee upon the Carlow election? No, truly. To have done so would have been to substitute one set of rotten boroughs for another, and to give the preference to that which was immeasurably the most hostile to the spirit of the constitution. Why, then, should not that which was improvidently granted be rightfully resumed, especially when it is most plain that the further continuance of the franchise upon its present footing can benefit none but the worst enemies of the empire? We would give it to all who may be truly called free agents. We would take it from all who are under the influence of a spiritual tyranny, which coerces them in the employment of it, and converts it into an instrument for the destruction of the church, and the subversion of British influence in Ireland. We repeat it, parliament has the power of rectifying every abuse by which this country at present suffers, if it only does its duty. It is our government that has made popery what it is. If we are only wise in time, much may yet be done towards making it what it ought to be, or, at least, towards depriving it of the means of doing any extensive or irreparable mischief. By our mispolicy popery has been aggrandized; by sound policy and determination it may yet be humbled. But if we do not resolve to retrace our steps, or at least to withhold our hands from giving it any further encouragement, we should fairly make up our minds to the fatal consequences, and not express any surprise when the hour of retribution arrives. As Juvenal said of the goddess Fortune, so we say of the demon Popery : "Nullum numen habes si sit prudentia; nos te Nos fascimus deam, coloque locamus." The Barrow, the Nore, and the Suir are called the Three Sisters, and justly so; for they spring from the breast of one parent mountain, and, after wandering, each her own way, through various regions, unite again in the same valley and descend into the sea together. Of these wandering daughters of Slieve Bloom, it would be hard to say which is the fairest; for, though Nore dances at times along a path hung with garlands and enamelled with daisies that are no more than just types of her own sprightliness and purity, Suir moves with a more conscious dignity, and Barrow, in her mature beauty, is majestic. There are few finer river scenes, east of the Shannon, than where the Barrow, crowned with the oak wreaths of Bahana, comes down from Brandon, like a priestess of the woods, to welcome the novice Nore out of Kilkenny. In summer, the Nore slides into the embrace of her elder sister with a gush of gentle and subdued emotion; but their winter confluence is one of stormier delight; and he who did not know that the same breast of mountain had fed the infant streams of both, might mistake the tumult of their congratulation for a strife of floods. The traveller who climbs the southern side of Brandon, may see the united waters lingering in tranquil enjoyment through the rich valley, at his feet, and past the ancient walls of Ross, as if waiting for the Suir to join them ere yet they lose themselves in the wide estuary of Waterford; but many a mountain intervenes, and the Suir, when at length she sweeps past Reginald's Tower, to clasp her long severed sisters, scarce feels the genial flow of their fresh currents among the salt and stormy tides of the Atlantic. Here, a commodious haven, wide, deep, and sheltered, has invited the traffic of the most remote ages; the beacon on Hook Tower at its entrance guiding the course of the mariner, time out of mind, from the main sea without; and Waterford and Ross upon their rival streams, at nearly equal distances above the estuary, contending through centuries for his resort within. Waterford is now the favoured city; and, of the numerous sails which may be seen daily sweeping in from the sea, scarce one out of twenty holds on its course up the deserted Barrow; the seacaptain cries "starboard," and the Suir receives her tribute from the Thames, the Avon, or the Mersey; the merchants of Waterford smile with congratulation as they meet one another in her streets, and their quays and bridges glow with the tumult of prosperous labour: meanwhile, the idler on the banks of the Barrow, starts to behold the unusual sight of a sail threading the woods towards her decayed warehouses; the solitary ferryman plying among the piles and uprights of her broken bridge,* gazes with unwonted admiration on a vessel larger Let it be borne in mind that this is spoken in the reign of Elizabeth. Ross is now a place of considerable trade; and may probably ere long enjoy the full advantages of its unrivaled situation. than his own, and the poor inhabitants crowd to the water side with such commodities, as their scanty farms produce, to barter with the strangers for the rare luxury of a few casks of Spanish wine. Yet there was a time when Ross was rich and populous; the first town for hospitality and liberal traffic in all Ireland, and as far before Waterford in extent and splendour, as Waterford is now superior to it. Michael of Kildare sings thus of Ross, in the time of Henry III. : Full many a haubergeon is there, Three thousand who ne'er turned their backs; And ever nore the same before, Of mounted knights five score and four It is of the Ross here described that we have now to treat. How it fell to its present lamentable decay, shall appear in due time. The flourishing city described by the Kildare monk, stood on the eastern bank of the Barrow, at the extremity of a stately bridge, which crossed that river a little below its confluence with the Nore. From this bridge, the main pass into Kilkenny, the town had derived its appellation of Ross-Pont, while it was also distinguished from a still more ancient city of the same name, lying at a distance of about three miles to the east, by the additional title of New Ross. On the bridge here described, one spring afternoon, were assembled numbers of the citizens of Ross, to witness thǝ departure of a fleet of galleys which VOL. VII. lay in the middle of the river, ready to set sail. One group detached from the rest, was calculated to arrest particular attention. On a bench, which had been placed so as to command a full view of the river, sat an aged lady, surrounded by a number of the higher class of citizens, who seemed to treat her with great deference and respect. Before her stood three richly dressed gentlemen, and on the arm of one of them leaned a very beautiful girl, apparently not many months a bride. Three boats floated on the river below, and the expectant looks of their crews, as they sat handling their oars, showed that they were waiting to take some of the assembled gentry on board the departing vessels. The characters of the personages described may be gathered from the following conversation which H took place between one of the burgesses in the crowd, and a stranger, to whom he was showing the sights and wonders of his town. 66 By Saint Anthony it is a brave fleet; and a noble and liberal lady she is that owns it," said the citizen. "A goodly show of galleys, by my faith," replied the stranger; "but thou wouldst not have one think they all belong to the Lady Rosabel alone." "One and all, as I told you," replied his companion; " and her ships at sea are not half of the value of her wealth on shore ; she is the richest lady this day in all Ireland, and a kindlier or more liberal lady there does not breathe in Christendom; stand to this side, and I will show her to you; that is she sitting in the midst of the aldermen and gentry; she has come down to see her Spanish fleet set sail, and they have gathered round her, as is their custom, whenever she comes abroad, to wish her good day, and make her their reverences; for it is incredible in what respect the good lady is held by all the town; and yet it is no more than her bounties and charities deserve at all our hands." “Truly, if it was she who built all those hospitals and chapels which thou hast shown me by the way, as the work of her bounty, she must be a rare benefactress to the place where she dwells." 66 Oh, Sir, it is not alone in the town that the effects of her charity and piety are to be seen; for many a mile round, the country blesses her name; sure heaven will continue to prosper her, for she has the prayers of all who know her here on earth." "Amen, for charity, say I; but she is old, and cannot have many more years of usefulness before her; whom does the wealth go to when she is gone ?" : "Thank God, she has three brave sons to inherit-tall gentlemen all, as any in Ireland they received the honor of knighthood, one and all, the last time the lord justice was in our town, these are they with the gold chains about their necks, standing before her." "Married all, I'll warrant." "Not so; the younger two are still among the number of our bachelors; well favoured gallants they are in the eyes of city maidens, I promise you." "The eldest is married then; belike Marry, they say she is of noble blood enough for an Irishwoman; and, as she had been reared by the Lady Rosabel, who took her under her protection in her tender years, she may be counted in some sort, as it were, one of ourselves." "Irish or English, by the rood she is a very lovely lady!" "No doubt-no doubt; but take care how Sir Gilbert hears you so loud in your admiration of his wife; for he is a very hot and choleric gentleman, and, as I hear, does not love to have his lady looked too freely on." By the rood, I little wonder if such a jewel were mine—” You would not leave her for the sea so soon, I'll warrant ?" "What, and the honeymoon scarce over! I cannot credit it; the marriage bed scarce warmed! You surely mock me." "Not a whit, neighbour; not a whit. Sir Gilbert, I believe, is as loth to part with his bride as any bridegroom can be; but, leave her he must he and his brothers are taking leave of the good lady, their mother, even now; these boats you see below, wait to carry them on ship-board." "Were I Sir Gilbert, I would never leave my bride behind.” "The seas are rough at this season of the year; and the good lady, their mother, could ill afford to lose young lady Anna's company." "Then, by the rood, I would stay at home, and hire some sea captain to command my ship for that voyage at least." Fie, neighbour, it would not be for jealousy, but for the pleasure of so fair a lady's company. But tell me who is the dark-visaged man standing behind the elder lady's seat, in the sad coloured cloak; he with the tablets and pen in his hand ?” a "That, Sir, is Master Richard, the Lady Rosabel's chief steward : shrewd cipherer as any within the four seas." "And the monk who stands beside; (by the mass, a proper man for his calling, and a comely!) he with the blue gown and the long staff with the crucifix at the end; of what fraternity is he?" "One of the crouched friars of St. Saviour's, Father Edmund, a most worthy and gentle churchman; though in appearance scarce so mortified as others of the brotherhood. There be some of them, let me whisper in your ear-see you yonder sanctimonious lean fellow, he with his back to the railing, talking so freely with that gaudy citizen's wife? (she is one Dame Medlicot, the wife of a crackbrained tailor of our town ;) there are shrewd reports abroad about that fellow, I can promise you." "He, the ill-favoured knave!" "Ay, little as he looks it, such is the tale they tell; but as for Father Edmund." "Who is, to my thinking, a likely man enough to fill a lady's eye-" "He is not more comely in his countenance than pure in his mind; he is a most mild and virtuous youth; so cheerful and frank withal, that there is no company pleasanter he is a great favourite with the Lady Rosabel; and, I can promise you, the church owes many of its richest acres here to his influence with her." : Methinks, however, Master Richard the steward regards him with no great good will.” They are here, madam, but they are already full," replied the steward. "We must find room, Master Richard, for one disbursement more," replied the lady; "set down twenty marks additional to the brothers of St. Saviour's, for their prayers against the dangers of the sea." 66 Nay, generous lady," said the friar, "we would ill deserve the bounties thou hast showered on us, did we crave fee or reward for that which it is our sacred duty, as well as our pride and pleasure, to perform." "It is the first time I have had to cancel a gift rejected by the church," said the steward, with a sarcastic smile, drawing his pen across the half-completed memorandum. Stay," cried the lady," God forbid that I should withdraw a free bounty; let the twenty marks be divided among the poor of the market-place." "It shall be as you desire, madam," replied the steward, his features relapsing into deferential indifference; "and whom does it please you, madam, to name for the distributor ?" "If thou, pious Edmund, wilt be my almoner, I shall be much beholden to thee," said the lady to the friar. The steward bit his lips: the monk accepted the office with gratitude, and the benevolent lady turned anxiously towards her sons. The two younger had just taken their farewells of the friends who stood near them, and now advanced to bid adieu to their parent and receive her blessing. The pious Rosabel rose, and having kissed the young men on the cheek, fervently bestowed her benediction, to which the good friar responded with a hearty amen; and now came Sir Gilbert's turn to resign his bride into other hands, stranger hands now, even though they were those of a mother; he had been walking a little apart, with the fair Anna's arm drawn through his |