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At this moment, whenever she speaks of civil liberty, all the world calls her liar, tyrant, assassin; whenever she talks of liberty of conscience, all Europe scouts her as a persecutor, a hypocrite, an unblushing slanderer; whenever she attempts to introduce the name of God, and to talk of sanctity, and of English Christianity, all Europe burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter, and cries shame at her, and poo' coner treachery, her scandals, her murders, her suicides, her blasphemies, her infidelities, her crimes, her enormities; and mankind considers Sodom and Gomorrah, and Babylon, as so many earthly paradises in comparison of the multitudinous sinfulness of England. She is met in every market-place in Europe at this moment, and called liar, and demon; her embassadors are jibed at this moment at every court in Europe, and called hypocrites, soupers, infidels; and her travellers, tourists, correspondents, are watched in every corner of Europe, as so many burglars, assassins, and demons of naked infidelity. The Lord be praised, she is caught at last. Yes, Ireland shall soon be free from English persecution, and from the oppression of the Protestant establishment. Two curses have been inflicted on Ireland, namely, the rackrenting landlords, and the accursed tithes. These two embodiments of malediction have bent Ireland to the earth, and have crushed her, body and soul; and like a swarm of locusts, they ate up every green and living thing, and left nothing behind but the flint of the land. After centuries of this oppression, it suddenly pleases our rulers to make a law of Free Trade. No one, more than I do, advocates the principle of cheap bread for the workingman, and of employment for his children in the mechanical arts of commerce. But the principle has introduced a scene of woe, which no pencil can paint. The poor are exterminated, the ditches are crowded with the weak and aged; the poor-houses are charnel-places of pestilence and death; and the emigrant ship, like an ocean hearse, is sailing with her flag of distress hoisted, moving slowly through the waves, as she throws out her putrid dead; and, like the telegraph company laying down their submarine wires, the crews of the emigrant ships have learned, by long practice, to tell off a line of the Irish dead along the bottom of the deep, and at the same time to sail six or seven knots an hour. England has practised them in this ocean sepulture

so that, before the end of the year 1849, they could smoke, tell off the winding sheets, and sail, all at the same time, from this dexterous, nautical, cholera practice. Men there are who assert that the Government could not avoid this catastrophe. I answer, it is a cruel lie. If there must be a change in the laws of trade, well, then, let it be made; but let the law-makers bear the responsibility. If they must have a new law, well, then, let them pay for their whims; let them make compensation for the damaging results of their own free, deliberate acts. They say the law is good in principle; I answer, but bad in detail. They say it has healthy premises; I reply yes, and a deadly conclusion. They say, it is perfect in argument; but I assert, it is murder in practice. They assert, it is the law; but I resume, and say, so much the worse — it legalizes and authorizes the public massacre of the people. This is a legal mockery, to hear the legislators tell the dying, starving, rotting peasant, that he ought to be quite content with his lot, since he dies a constitutional death, he will be buried according to law, in a Parliamentary churchyard, and will sleep till the day of judgment in a logical grave. I am no politician; all I know is, that the English laws have killed the people; and what care I for the principle of Protection, or the logic of Free Trade, if the triumph of either party murder the poor. And I reply to the free-trader and to the merchant, and to the Cobden's school, by saying, If you will and must have your way, then be prepared for the consequences, meet the consequences, pay for the consequences — if there is to be suffering, then let the guilty suffer — punish the landlords — afflict the money-lenders — exterminate the House of Commons — murder the English Cabinets — extirpate the Protestant church — yes, punish the guilty who produced the catastrophe; if there will be a famine, then buy bread for the dying, give them the twenty millions of gold you have in the i Treasury; add twenty millions more to the national debt if necessary — treat the Irish with the same justice as you have treated the slaves of Jamaica — do pay for your own acts — do punish the guilty —but in the name of honor, truth, justice, humanity, and in the sacred name of oaths pledged and ratified at the foot of the throne, do not punish the innocent poor – spare the unoffending peasantry — shield the defenceless tenantry who trusted you; do not massacre

ine millions who confided in your former laws, and as you nave done it—and massacred all Ireland trusting in you—I swear, before high Heaven, that you have mixed up a curse with your bread, which will eat into the marrow of your bones; and you have awakened in the swelling bosom of Irishmen, a flame of legitimate anger which will never be quenched, till you shall have made satisfaction for the sufferings, the extermination, the expatriation, the death, and I shall add, the massacre of the unoffending children of Ireland.



yoADIES AND GENTLEMEN, - I assure you, though I have # had the pleasure of meeting you here before, I never was so completely overpowered in my life as upon the present occaso, sion. I have made a bow to you as gracefully as I could,

* endeavoring to acknowledge the compliment you have paid me, but that was with the front of my head. As there are a great many of my friends at my back, and as I am not able to make a bow with the back of my head, permit me to turn about and make a bow to the ladies and gentlemen behind me. I am endeavoring to take in breath to give myself voice to fill this most extensive hall. Since I have had the pleasure of being here with you, I have addressed large assemblies in the city of New York and elsewhere; but whether it is the height of the hall, or whether it is my excitement, I think this is the largest assembly I have ever seen in the whole course of my life. I never shall forget the compliment paid to me to come here this day. It is not so much the delight of meeting you here as the delight I experienced in witnessing your glorious procession. I came from the city of Troy yesterday. (A voice— Where were you?) I like to see you all up to concert pitch, and I would be a bad performer, indeed, if we don't have abundance of melody this evening. I little thought of the glorious satisfaction that awaited me in looking at your procession. I assure you I never felt more proud of Irishmen than on this day. I have been told that if I had been present at the Cathedral this morning I would have learned eloquence from the most beautiful and polished discourse of the gentleman who preached there to-day. I am sorry I could not be there. It is a loss I shall regret as long as I live. When I went out to look at the procession I was delighted to see the number of banners, the cap of liberty over the harp of Ireland; and what I was very glad to see was the American flag side by side with every banner as it passed my hotel. The stars and stripes went, if I may use the phrase, hand in hand with the harp of Ireland. How I longed to be a great man, as I saw every one uncover his head as he passed the statue of Washington. I was delighted to see such worship, if I may so speak, offered to the memory of the dead. Thousands of men taking off their hats and bending themselves in humble posture as they passed by the "Father of his Country.” I was delighted to see one man drive six horses, but my astonishment was drowned when eight horses came afterwards, to see the crowded reins in the hands of the skilful driver. Then I beheld the men clad in armor passing along, and I saw the forest of steel lifted above the harp of Ireland. A suggestive idea presented itself to my mind as I saw brave men, in regular military step, with their muskets lifted, their bayonets fixed, and there, going before, beside, and after, the glorious harp of Ireland. I saw the cavalry, the soldiers mounted on their beautiful horses, and they held their swords so much to my taste, and they moved so regular, and the whole procession was so orderly. There were Ireland and America joined in the two emblems, the Irish harp and the American stripes and stars. But I was greatly astonished when I saw a man driving twelve horses. The horses seemed to go by the same kind of sense as if they were twelve human beings. When I saw the driver with the bundle of reins in his hand, and the horsee moving with such regularity and precision, I said, I would like to know the name of that driver. That man must be from Tipperary, and his name O'Connell, for that is just the way O'Connell used to drive a coach and four through every act of Parliament. So you see I have been looking sharply; and my weakness was such, if you so call it, that, as the whole scene passed before me, and my heart upon Ireland, tears, Irish tears, stood in my eyes. Perhaps these tears made the men look bigger and finer, but I thought they were the finest men I ever saw. I have seen the

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