to effect that object. This malady is said to be his coi genital disease. It appears to me that disunion is the congenital disease of Irishmen. Ireland, no doubt, is composed of various and conflicting elements of population; it has its Protestants and Catholics, its Celts and Anglo-Saxons, the dominant and the subjugated races ; and it is not unnatural that those conflicting elements should sometimes sound a discordant note. But what is really to be deplored is that spirit of dissension that exists among parties whose interests are identical. On every public occasion where the interests of the country are at stake, we find the popular party always split up among themselves. Hence, the bitterest feelings are aroused, life-long enmities are created, and the national cause remains at the same eternal stand-still. Now, perhaps, what is more extraordinary still is, that those seeds of congenital disease in the national character appear to flourish and develop themselves in a foreign clime even more vigorously than on their native soil, although the class who emigrate are, for the most part, the mass of the people who are Celtic, Catholic, and English-hating to the back-bone. If Irishmen ever united, it surely ought to be in this country, where they have only one great common interest—to establish a Celtic, Christian, free Ireland, which they are debarred from establishing at home. And yet, what is the fact? I learned it with surprise, I perceive it with shame, I deuounce it with indignation, even here, Irishmen have their dislikes, their prejudices, their jealousies, their clannish antipathies, their vocabulary of abuse against each other. I was not long in America when I became aware of the existence of this feeling amongst my fellow-countrymen. I refused to believe it, but I have now travelled, and mixed too much amongst them to hoodwink the fact. It confounds, distresses, and humiliates me. I found that amongst a section of my countrymen who happen to be born in what is called the North, as if, at this distance, the cardinal points of our little island were a matter of any great importance, --the province, and particularly the county from which I hail, were regarded with contempt. I should like to know what the poor county of Cork has done that it should be regarded with contempt. I believe our accent is remarkably Irish. Would it be more respectable if it were English or Scotch? And is it so great a stigma on an Irishman to have an Irish accent? I wish some body would tell me what is the contemptible point of a Corkman's character, that I might honestly grapple with it, and see what it is worth. Have we not produced as many great men as any other Irish county? If I am not mistaken, we have added to the catalogue of Irish greatness the name of Edmund Burke, one of the greatest statesmen, philosophers, and orators the world has ever seen. We claim the nativity of John P. Curran. William Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania, was born in the county of Cork. The Sheares, brothers, who perished on the scaffold for the cause of their country, were born in the suburbs of Cork city. The celebrated Arthur O'Leary was a Corkman; so was James Barry, the painter; so was Maclise, one of the greatest painters of modern times. Thomas Davis, the poet, was born in Mallow, in the county of Cork. Father Prout was a native of Cork city. These names occur to me by accident. I could find many more, were I to search, but they are sufficient to show that, in the ranks of intellect, we Corkmen have nothing to be ashamed of. In any popular outburst of patriotism, is Cork behind-haud? What then is wrong with us? Are we not as good-looking as if we were raised in Sligo or Donegal? Do we not spend our money as freely as you do in Antrim or Tyrone? Are we not as well educated? But why do I dwell on this point? To show you that, instead of tweaking your noses at any county, you should be proud of them all, as part of that dear old land which has produced so many great and noble men. I need not tell you that these feelings of mutual antipathy are never dreamt of at home. Let there be an end of them here, for surely they are not the inspiration of the Angel of Peace. And now I have done. I have pointed out what I consider the good and the weak points of our national character what should excite our pride, and what should suffuse our cheeks with shame. In this latter part of my analysis, I have acted with a boldness for which I entreat your indulgence. Men do not like to be reminded of their faults, and we Irish have been treated too frequently to unqualified praise. For my part, I love the truth, and I should consider myself the veriest coward and dissembler if I came here to analyze your character, and did not point out your faults. Every day's experience proves to me that you are a great and a noble people; that you are doing more for the promotion of Christianity, and con sequent civilization, and for the dignity of manhood, than any nation on the face of the earth: and one of the noblest features of your character, which I have not touched (for I could not touch them all), is the lofty indifference with which you treat the view with which other nationalities regard you -you proceed in the proud consciousness that you are doing what is just and right, and you must triumph in the end. But, if you love the God who made you, and would secure His blessing if you value the approval of a good conscience - if you prize the esteem of all good men if you would secure success in the race for the world's legitimate enjoyments, study the virtue of temperance, and, instead of disparaging each other, pull together; union is strength — your enemies will not help you in the road to success they rather rejoice in your discord as their best ally against you. On yourselves alone you must rely, whether toiling in solitude or mingling in the hum and shock of men: — "Then flung alone, or hand in hand, In social hall, or charging column; In training up a troubled nation; |