No particular rule had been observed in the architecture of these modest

dwellings, whose builders had been more remarkable for indolence than

for refinement of taste, and had carefully avoided overworking

themselves during their construction. The simplest materials had

sufficed, and had been used in the same rough state in which nature

afforded them. The walls were constructed of the smaller boughs of the

cotton-tree, with Spanish moss stuffed into the interstices. Instead of

the clapboards, wherewith, to the west of the Alleghany range, the

dwellings of the poorer class of country people are usually roofed, the

palmetto reed had been made use of, a selection that gave the hamlet a

peculiar air of rustic simplicity. The houses were for the most part

without windows, and their interior received light through the chimney

or door, which latter, instead of being of wood, consisted of a buffalo

hide suspended in front of the doorway, and thrown back during the day

upon the low roof. The principal charm of the village, however, lay not

in its style of building, but in the manner in which the humble

dwellings seemed to nestle under the numerous clusters of trees. The

universal cleanliness and absence of all offal formed another remarkable

feature, and went far to increase the favourable impression made by the

delightful situation of the hamlet. It was truly a lovely spot, as its

ruins still show. The broad Natchez flowing majestically by, on its way

to the sea; the dark framework of cypresses and mangroves fringing its

shores, their tall shadows reflected in the clear waters; the

innumerable groups of trees, with huts peeping out of their shade like

so many hermitages; and finally, the spacious clearing itself, enclosed

at either end by the waving palmettos, and bounded on the third side by

a wall of gigantic and venerable trees, gave to the whole scene an air

of enchanting repose and seclusion.

The inhabitants of this retired spot, although offering fewer charms

than did their residence, were in many respects scarcely less

interesting. In front of the foremost hut was assembled a group of

creatures with dark shining skins, which, at a first glance, and owing

to their comical movements, might well have been taken for a herd of

apes. Now, like those animals, they leaped the hedges and bushes, and

then, like snakes, wound along the ground, or rolled down the river bank

with a rapidity of motion that the eye could scarcely follow. Further on

in the village were seen lads of a maturer age, practising warlike games

and exercises. They were performing the spy-dance. Whilst one party

crept stealthily over the grass, others lay upon the ground in a

listening posture, and with their ears pressed to the earth, strove to

distinguish the movements of their antagonists. At last, when the two

parties had approached each other, they sprang suddenly up, and forming

themselves in Indian file, commenced a combat in which they dealt

furious blows with their blunt wooden tomahawks, exhibiting in every

movement an extraordinary degree of activity and natural grace. Little

interest was shown in these evolutions by the adult inhabitants of the

village, whose extreme apathy and indifference contrasted curiously with

the display of violent exertion on the part of the young Indians. Before

the open doors of the huts sat the squaws and their daughters, stripping

the maize from the ear, beating hemp, or picking tobacco; the children,

who, according to Indian custom, are from their very birth kept in an

upright posture, hanging against the outer walls on long concave boards

or pieces of bark, to which their hands and feet were fastened by thongs

of buffalo hide, their only garment a strip of calico round the hips.

At a short distance from the upper part of the clearing stood two wooden

huts, which might have passed for two of the school or meeting-houses

often met with in the American backwoods. Like the other dwellings

composing the hamlet, they were propped against sycamore-trees, but they

were distinguished by their larger dimensions and more careful style of

building, by the bowers of palm and mangrove that surrounded them, and

the plots of smooth turf before their doors. In front of one of these

little houses, and in the centre of the lawn, about fifty men were

squatted upon the ground, enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke,

proceeding from tobacco-pipes, three to five feet in length, with which

all of them were provided. They were attired in hunting-shirts, open in

front, and showing the naked breast down to the wampum girdle, to which

a second garment, reaching to the knee, was attached. Instead of the

shaved head and scalping-tuft adopted by many Indian tribes, they wore

the whole of their hair. They appeared to have taken their places

according to their rank, the inner half-circle being composed of the

older warriors, whilst the young men formed a second and third line. In

the centre of the curve sat an old warrior, on whom the eyes of the

assembly were respectfully fixed, and whose remarkable exterior,

combined with the deference shown him, bespoke the chief of the tribe.

It would be difficult to imagine a more singular, and at the same time

interesting-looking person, than this old man, whose body seemed to

consist of nothing but skin and bone. All the coarse and fleshy portions

of his frame were dried up, and only veins and sinews remained. His open

hunting-shirt disclosed a breast far broader than that of any one of his

companions, resembling a board that had been chopped and hacked, so

covered was it with the scars of many wounds. The chief characteristic

of his countenance was a gloomy stoical gravity, mingled with a resigned

expression, telling a tale of many a fearful struggle, and of grievous

mental suffering. The fall of his tribe, and seven years' exile, had

brought about this change in the Miko of the Oconees.

This old man is Tokeah, who, driven by the Americans from his hunting

grounds, has taken refuge, with the remnant of his tribe, upon Mexican

territory. Canondah is his daughter, and the young man whom she rescued

from the jaws of the alligator is an English midshipman belonging to a

frigate employed in sounding the entrances of the Mississippi,

preparatory to the expedition against New Orleans. Whilst away from his

ship on a turtling party, he and two of his comrades have been captured

by Lafitte, the famous French pirate, whose chief haunt was on the

island of Barataria, in the Gulf of Mexico, whence, from amidst shoals

and swamps impenetrable to those unacquainted with their intricacies, he

issued forth to commit depredations on the high seas, and especially in

the Mexican Gulf. During an inland excursion, about two years previously

to the date of this tale, Lafitte discovered the Indian village on the

Natchez, and was at first about to attack and plunder it; but the

determined attitude of its defenders, and, still more, the reflection

that their alliance might be useful to him against the Louisianian

authorities, who had set a price upon his head, induced him to change

his intention, and to hold out the right hand of good fellowship to the

red men. Tokeah, whose ruling passion is hatred of the Americans, gladly

concluded an alliance with the pirate, who professed an equal

detestation of them. The Frenchman speedily ingratiated himself with the

old chief, with whom he bartered a portion of his plunder for provisions

of various kinds; and after a time, Tokeah, unsuspicious of the real

character of his disreputable ally, whom he believed the chief of an

independent tribe living on the sea-shore, promised him Rosa in

marriage, an arrangement to which, as has already been seen, the poor

girl was any thing but a consenting party.

Early upon the morrow of the arrival of the midshipman, upon whom our

author has bestowed the unromantic name of James Hodges, the Oconee

warriors depart on a hunting expedition, and the wounded man is removed

to a hut in the village. During their absence, Canondah, at the entreaty

of Rosa, between whom and the young Englishman a kindness has grown up

during the convalescence of the latter, and who fears for his life

should Tokeah discover him, disguises the midshipman in Indian paint and

apparel, supplies him with arms, and explains to him the road to New

Orleans, which he trusts to find occupied by British troops. She has

guided him through the swamp and ferried him across the Sabine, when

some words she lets fall apprise him of the peril she and Rosa will be

in from her father's anger, when he returns from his hunting party, and

is informed by the squaws of the evasion of one of the detested

Americans, to which nation he will naturally feel assured that the

English midshipman belongs. To avert all danger from the heads of his

deliverers, the young man then wishes to go back to the village, but

this the noble-minded girl refuses to allow, and pushes off her canoe

from the shore, to which all his entreaties are insufficient to induce

her to return. She retraces her steps to the hamlet, and shut up in her

wigwam with Rosa, awaits, in alarm and deep dejection, her father's

return from the chase.

Twenty-four hours had elapsed, during the whole of which time Canondah

had not left her hut, nor had any of the squaws been to visit her. At

last, towards morning, the voices of men were heard upon the shore. It

was the Miko and his hunters. His daughter rose, her knees trembling

under her, and looked out of the window. She saw the old squaws

whispering to the men, and pointing to the wigwam in which the

Englishman had dwelt. Presently the Miko entered his hut, followed by

several warriors, and Canondah stepped forward to welcome her father.

With hands folded upon her throbbing bosom, she silently awaited his

commands.

"The men of the Oconees," he began, after a pause, during which he

seemed to read his daughter's soul, "have told their Miko that a

messenger from the chief of the Salt Lake has reached his wigwam. Why do

not my eyes behold him?"

The trembling girl made no reply, but remained with her eyes fixed upon

the ground.

"Has Canondah so forgotten her father's blood as to bring a Yankee into

his wigwam, and to show him the path that leads to the villages of the

pale faces? The Miko thought he had a daughter," said the old man, with

the most cutting scorn; "but Canondah is not the daughter of the Miko of

the Oconees. Go," continued he, in an accent of unspeakable disgust; "a

miserable Seminole deceived her mother, and gave life to a traitress."

On hearing these terrible words, the maiden sank to the ground as if

struck by lightning, and, writhing like a worm, crept to her father's

feet, and laid hold of his garment. He pushed her from him with

loathing.

"Go," said he; "she sang in the ears of the Miko, and implored the Great

Spirit to protect him, whilst she cherished and concealed the foe of his

race. Therefore could not the White Rose sing the night-song, because

the spy was waiting for her in the forest. The Miko has nourished a

snake in his bosom, his beaver-skins have been thrown away, and the

White Rose has brought a spy into his wigwam to betray him to his foes.

In a few suns he and his will be hunted by their enemies like the wild

panther of the forests."

An angry howl escaped the Indians, and two of the most ferocious looking

glided towards the curtain of Rosa's apartment. Canondah was lying

speechless, apparently almost senseless, upon the ground, but hardly had

the red men taken a step, when she suddenly stood before them.

"It is I," she cried; "it is Canondah, who guided the pale face across

the swamp, and showed him the path he should follow. The White Rose

knows it not."

Scarcely had she spoken, when the curtain was lifted and Rosa appeared.

The Indian girl clasped her in her arms as if to shield her from harm,

and the two maidens stood with drooping heads before the incensed Miko.

The eyes of the chief had followed the rapid movement of his daughter,

and he appeared astounded at the boldness with which she interposed

between him and the intended sacrifice to his wrath. On beholding Rosa,

a grim smile distorted his features; he made a step forward, and raised

his knife.

"It was I!" cried the affrighted Canondah.

"No!" exclaimed Rose, in trembling tones; "I it was who brought the

white youth into the wigwam."

The Miko stood like one petrified. Gradually, however, the generous

rivalry and self-devotion of the two beautiful beings before him

produced its effect on his savage nature. The expression of his features

softened.

"Go," said he with bitter scorn; "does Canondah think the Miko a fool,

and that his eyes do not see who brought the white spy into the wigwam?

It was the foot of Canondah that opened the path, but the treacherous

tongue of the White Rose prevailed with her to do it."

"Will my father," said Canondah, folding her hands humbly on her

breast--"will my father loosen the tongue of his daughter?"

A long pause ensued, during which anger and paternal feeling held a

visible contest in the bosom of the deeply-moved chief. Finally, the

latter prevailed.

"Canondah may speak."

"My father, the white youth has sworn to me that he is no spy, and not

one of the Yengheese. He is from the island of the foolish chief, the

land of which you have told me that it is cold and icy. His people are

on the war-path against our foes, the Yengheese. It is but a few suns

since he and his friends came across the great salt lake; they will go

up the great river and burn the wigwams of our enemies. The chief of the

Salt Lake, he says, is a thief, who overpowered him and his brothers

whilst they caught oysters and turtle, and took them to his wigwam. He

escaped, and for eight suns he suffered hunger. His people will hang the

chief of the Salt Lake by the neck to a tree. See, father, thy daughter

delivered him from the jaws of the great water-snake, and he was already

nearly dead. He has returned to his brothers, to lift the hatchet

against your foes. He is no spy; his hands are soft and he was weak."

"Has Canondah more lies to tell her father?" said the old man, in a

milder tone. "Her tongue is very nimble."

The abashed maiden cast her eyes to the ground. Her words, however, had

visibly made a deep impression upon the Miko, and he remained for a

while sunk in reflection. Tokeah was a savage by birth, habit, and

education; but he was neither bloodthirsty nor cruel. Under other

circumstances, and in a civilized land, he might have been a hero, a

benefactor of thousands or millions of his fellow-creatures; but in his

wild condition, despised, goaded and insulted as he felt himself, his

better feelings blunted, and his whole nature soured by real and fancied

injuries, what wonder was it that he raised his knife even against his

own daughter, entering the hut as he did with the full persuasion that

the young man she had sheltered was a spy and emissary of his bitterest

foes?

The account given of himself by the midshipman, and the imputations cast

by him on the chief of the Salt Lake, as Lafitte is called by the

Indians, receive strong confirmation from two handbills, which Tokeah,

who has learned to read English in the course of his long intercourse

with the white men, has torn, during his recent expedition, from a wall

in one of the new Louisianian settlements. One of these papers is a

proclamation by the authorities of Louisiana, enumerating the crimes and

cruelties of the pirate of Barataria, and offering a reward of five

hundred dollars for his head. The other is an address to the citizens of

the state, summoning them to the defence of their country against the

British. Notwithstanding this corroborative evidence of the correctness

of his daughter's statement, Tokeah, unwilling to remain with the

smallest doubt upon his mind, or to risk the discovery of the nook in

which, for seven years, he has been unseen by an American eye, sets off

with a party of warriors in pursuit of the young Englishman. The ensuing

chapter, the last of the first volume, we will translate with small

abridgement, and therewith, for the present, conclude our extracts.

The mood of mind in which we left our young Englishman may aptly be

compared with that of the assassin neophytes, whom, according to the

tale, the Old Man of the Mountain was wont to introduce into an

enchanted garden, peopled with ravishing houris, whence, after a short

enjoyment of the most voluptuous delights, he again thrust them forth

into the dark and dismal night of the desert, with nothing remaining of

their past pleasures save a wild confusion of the senses, a chaos of

images and visions, and a burning desire to recover the lost paradise.

True it is, as our readers know, that the young sailor had no such

enjoyments to regret, and equally true that his own wish had driven him

from his Eden; but he nevertheless experienced the tumult and confusion

of thought, and the longing to return, above described. It seemed as if

the nobler and inferior qualities of his nature were striving within

him, the two principles alternately, as either got the upper hand,

impelling him onwards and calling him back. A full hour elapsed, during

which he several times walked away from the shore and then again

returned to it, until at last he was surprised by the first beams of the

sun, disclosing to him a scene whose sight assisted him to prompt

decision.

Agreeably with what Canondah had told him, he found the left bank of the

Sabine bare of trees, with the exception of a few stunted firs and

cedars growing along the shore. Before him was spread a landscape which

the most skilful pencil could but imperfectly sketch, the most powerful

fancy with difficulty conceive. It was an interminable tract of meadow

land, its long grass waving in the morning breeze, presenting an endless

succession of gentle undulations, whilst in the far distance isolated

groups of trees appeared to rock like ships upon the boundless ocean.

Nowhere was a fixed point to be seen, and the whole stupendous landscape

swam before his eyes, waving like the surface of the sea in a soft

tropical breeze. Towards the north, the plain rose gradually into

highlands, between whose picturesque clusters of trees his eye

penetrated to the extremity of the vast panorama, where the bright tints

of the landscape blended with those of the horizon. Eastward the huge

meadow sank down into bottoms, shaded by trees, and overgrown with reeds

and palmettos, shining, as the wind stirred them, like sails in the

sunshine. The profound stillness of the sky-bounded plain, only broken

by the plash of the waterfowl, or the distant howl of the savanna wolf,

and the splendour of the rising sun, imparted an indescribable solemnity

and grandeur to the scene. Lower down the river were detached groups of

trees, amongst which grazed deer, who, with wondering glances, seemed to

ask the wanderer whence he came; and after gazing at him for a while,

tossed their antlers proudly in the air, and, as if displeased at the

intrusion upon their territory, paced slowly back into the thicket. The

whole landscape was dotted with diminutive hillocks of a conical form,

the habitations of small brown animals, who sat in front of them with

their faces to the sun, making their breakfast on the tender grass.

The district just described is the western portion of Louisiana, which,

from the alluvial land of the Mississippi, Red River, Atchafalaya, and

other smaller but deep streams, swells gradually upwards towards the

west, and ends in these vast and magnificent savannas. The detached

pictures that we have laid before our readers, in the endeavour to

convey to them some idea of the whole, burst at once upon the young

Englishman; and their view put him in much the same state of mind with

the seaman, who, having left his ship during the night in a frail skiff,

finds himself in the morning alone upon the wide waters, and hesitates

whether he shall not, by one desperate plunge, avoid the misery and

suffering that await him. This feeling of isolation and helplessness,

like the last grain thrown into the balance, suddenly terminated the

young man's indecision, and induced him to take a step, which, whilst it

seemed to ensure his own destruction, attested the triumph of the better

principle within. Hastily stripping off his clothes, he tied then in a

bundle, and jumping into the chilly stream, in a quarter of an hour

reached the opposite shore. The parting words of the noble Indian girl

had decided him to return to the village, and give himself up to the

fury of the terrible Miko. Any other consideration was subordinate to

that generous motive.

Upon reaching the right bank of the river, Hodges proceeded to seek the

path through the thicket. But the difficulties he encountered were such

as might well deter the most persevering. The western side of the

Sabine, like that of the Natchez, is a gentle slope, ending in a ridge

which again sinks gradually and imperceptibly down to the swamp. The

black masses of cypress and cedar allowed him to penetrate a few hundred

paces through them, and to reach the summit of the rising ground; but as

soon as the descent began, he found it impossible to get a step further.

The slope was covered with a description of tree which he had never

before seen or heard of. The stems were not thicker than a man's body,

but they grew close together, and were covered with thorns as long as

his arm, presenting the appearance of millions of brown bayonets, so

thickly planted, and so manifold in their direction, as scarcely to

allow a squirrel to set foot upon the trees on which they grew. He tried

to call to mind the position of the path along which Canondah had

conducted him; he investigated every thicket and opening in the bushes,

but all in vain; hours passed away, and he had not found it. When he

detected the trace of footsteps, they invariably proved to be his own.

At last fortune seemed to smile upon him; he discovered the place where

the canoe was concealed. He had still long to look, however, before he

could find the track leading through the forest; and when he did hit

upon it, it was so intricate, and led in such a zigzag line, now up the

slope and then down again, that darkness came on, and he had not yet

reached the swamp. Hungry and fatigued, he returned to the Sabine, and,

fully determined to try his luck again next morning, he trusted with

better success, he loaded the canoe upon his shoulders, launched it upon

the water, and rowed to the opposite bank, where he had left the

provisions with which Canondah had supplied him. Taking them with him,

he recrossed the river, and after a short but hearty meal, busied

himself in the preparation of a sleeping place. In that heavenly region,

nature has supplied the means for a simple, but delightful bed, in the

tillandsea or Spanish moss, whose long, delicate, horsehair-like

threads, compose the most luxurious couch. With this moss Hodges now

filled the canoe, and carried it to the hiding-place where he had found

it. This had been selected between two cedars, whose lower boughs served

as rollers, upon which he only had to raise the boat to be secure from

observation. His gun at his side, and wrapped in his blanket, he fell

asleep.

The fatigues of the day procured the young Englishman several hours of

profound and untroubled slumber, but at the end of that time he was

tormented by a strange dream. He thought he saw the corpses of Rosa and

Canondah lying pale and bleeding before him, whilst over them strode a

fantastical-looking monster, a knife in its claws, levelled at his

heart. He turned round, he fought and wrestled, and strove to seize his

gun. The desperate struggle awoke him.

That which had been a dream had now become reality. A grim savage really

stood over him, one foot upon the canoe, in his hand a tomahawk, which

he waved above his head with a scowl of triumph. One blow, and all would

be over. Quick as thought the young Englishman raised his rifle, and

pointed it at the breast of the Indian, who started on one side. The

tomahawk descended, but, fortunately for Hodges, his sudden movement

overturned the canoe at the very moment that the blow fell. This saved

his life. Clasping the knees of the Indian with the strength of

desperation, he brought him to the ground, and threw himself upon him.

The deadly scalping-knife was about to pierce his heart, when he caught

the wrist of the savage in his right hand, and with his left clutched

his throat. For a moment the Indian struggled, glared at him with an

expression of inveterate hate, and then his breath left him, his

features became distorted, and he let the knife fall. The next instant

it glittered in the hand of Hodges, and the Indian lay defenceless, his

antagonist's knee on his breast, awaiting, with set teeth and staring

eyes, the death which he deemed inevitable. During one second, the young

man appeared to hesitate; then he sprang to his feet.

"Go," said he; "I will not sully myself with your blood."

"My young brother is really a friend of the red men," said a voice

behind him.

Hodges turned, and beheld another Indian, a scalping-knife in his hand,

which he seemed about to plunge into his back. Springing on one side, he

confronted this new foe.

"My brother need not fear," said the second Indian, behind whom the

other had now retreated, not unlike a dog, who, feeling himself guilty

of a misdeed, creeps, with tail between his legs, behind the back of his

master. The new-comer surveyed him with a severe glance.

"Milimach," said he, "would have taken a scalp from a sleeping man, but

he has to thank the white youth that his own is still upon his head.

Milimach has disobeyed the Miko."

"Are you the Miko?" cried Hodges--"the Miko of the Oconees?"

The old man fixed his calm and penetrating look upon his interrogator,

and replied with much dignity, "My young brother has said it. He has

nothing to fear; the Miko stretches out to him his hand, in peace and

friendship."

"You the Miko of the Oconees?" repeated Hodges, grasping the Indian's

hand, and heartily shaking it. "I am delighted to see you; and, to say

the truth, I was on my way to your village."

"The maidens," said the chief, "told the Miko that the son of the great

father who owns the two Canadas, had escaped from the chief of the Salt

Lake, and sought shelter in his wigwam. My eyes have seen, and my soul

believes what is true. But my brother has travelled very little of the

path leading to his people."

"I will tell you why," said the young man. "You have an excellent girl

for a daughter--Heaven bless her!--and she and that angel, Rosa, were

like sisters to me. I would gladly have remained longer, had not the

voice of duty called me away. But when your daughter left me upon the

other side of the river, something escaped her that made it my first

duty to return to your wigwam."

The chief had listened with much attention. "What did my daughter

whisper in the ear of my young brother?" said he.

"Few words," was the reply, "but weighty ones. I understood that the

poor girls would suffer for their goodness to me; and that, suspecting

they had brought a Yankee spy into your wigwam, you would perhaps kill

them."

"And my brother?" said the Miko.

"Held himself bound to return, to avert the danger from their innocent

heads."

The Indian stood for a while in silent reflection. Then his countenance

brightened, and once more he stretched out his hand to the Englishman,

to whom this sign of good-will was rendered the more welcome by the

appearance of a long line of savages who just then glided out of the

thicket, and ranged themselves behind their leader.

"Does my brother wish to go to the village of the whites?" said Tokeah

after a pause.

"I do wish," said Hodges, "to rejoin my ship as soon as possible. I am a

British officer, and must not be wanting at my post."

The Indian shook his head. "The Miko," said he, "knows the sons of the

great father of the Canadas; he has lifted the war-hatchet with them

against the Yankees. Great warriors are they, but in our forests blind

as the night-owl. My brother would never reach his people; he would

perish of hunger in the wide wilderness. See," continued he, pointing to

a group of trees that appeared like a black speck on the distant

horizon, "my brother will go to those trees, but when he gets there, his

head will dance and turn round, and he will wander in a circle, like a

dog pursuing his own tail. In a hundred suns he will not find his way

out of the meadows."

The comparison was not a very elegant one; but a single glance at the

vast plain before him, convinced the young man that the Indian spoke the

truth.

"Answer me one question," said he. "Have the maidens nothing to fear,

and will the Miko generously forgive them for having brought a stranger

into his wigwam?"

"The Miko will look upon his daughters with a well-pleased eye."

"Then I have nothing to do but to be off as quickly as possible. If I

can only get to the Mississippi, I shall find our ships there."

The Indian seemed to reflect. "My brother's path is very long," said he,

"and the canoes of his people are far away. His great father has many

warriors, but the Yankees have more. Will my brother listen to the words

of an old man, who has seen many summers, and whose hair is grey with

age and sorrow?"

Hodges bowed his head, perhaps even lower than he intended to do.

"Let my young brother return to the wigwam of the Miko. The warriors

will smoke with him, and the maidens will sing in his ears. In two suns

the chief of the Salt Lake will come. To him will the Miko whisper, and

he will take my brother in his canoe and restore him to his people."

"The chief of the Salt Lake! The pirate take me back to my people?"

exclaimed Hodges, shaking his head. "My dear Miko, you are vastly

mistaken. He will take good care not to do so, for his welcome would be

a halter."

"Is the chief of the Salt Lake also at war with my brother's tribe?"

inquired the Miko.

"Not at war; but he is a pirate, who robs and plunders wherever he goes,

and, if taken, will of course be hung."

The countenance of the Indian darkened, and Hodges feared that he had

touched a dangerous string.

"My brother is right," said Tokeah; "he must go. But, if he will remain,

the wigwam of the Miko is open to him; the White Rose will cook his

venison, and he shall be the son of Tokeah."

The Englishman took the old warrior's hand, and pressed it kindly.

"When the Oconees," said he, adopting the Indian phraseology, "have

sworn to their Miko to lift the war-hatchet in his behalf, they must

keep their word, or they are dogs. Even so must the son of the great

father of the Canadas observe the oath that he has taken. He must hasten

to his brothers, or he will be looked upon as a coward, and his name

will be spoken with contempt."

These words, uttered with feeling and emphasis, were decisive. The chief

nodded his approbation.

"The sun was low behind the hills," said he, "when my young brother

approached the wigwam of Tokeah, and the chief was buried in sleep. His

footsteps must not be seen by the white men. Will my brother swear by

Him whom the Oconees call the Great Spirit, and the pale-faces name

their God, that he will not betray Tokeah to his enemies?"

"I swear it solemnly."

"Will he promise never to say that the Miko and the chief of the Salt

Lake have been friends?"

"I promise that also," replied Hodges, after a brief pause.

"Then may the bones of his fathers moulder in peace," said the old man,

laying his hands on the shoulders of the Englishman. "The Miko will

clear his brother's path from thorns, and his runners shall show him the

way to the Coshattoes. But my brother is hungry," he added, "and his

path is a long one."

He made a sign to his followers, and one of them emptied a hunting-pouch

upon the grass; the Miko sat down, and, beckoning Hodges to do the same,

offered him some cold game, of which he himself sparingly partook. A

handful of roasted corn, and a calabash of tolerable wine, completed the

repast. The meal dispatched, Tokeah rose, nodded in a friendly manner,

and plunged into the forest, followed by all but one of the Indians.

Hodges cast a last glance after their dark figures, as they disappeared

between the trees, and then seized the canoe to carry it to the water.

Upon reaching the opposite shore, the Indian concealed the boat amongst

the bushes, and started off across the prairie at a pace with which the

young Englishman had some difficulty in keeping up.

IRELAND--ITS CONDITION--THE LIFE AND PROPERTY BILL--THE DEBATE, AND THE

FAMINE.

It is now some years since, in the pages of this Periodical, we pointed

out to Sir Robert Peel's government the necessity of adopting coercive

measures towards Ireland, in mercy to the peasantry themselves, and the

folly of permitting sedition to run its course, in the delusive hope

that the fallacy on which the arguments of the demagogues were founded

would at length be discovered by their dupes, and that the repeated

disappointment of their expectations would ultimately induce the deluded

people to withdraw the confidence which they reposed in their political

leaders. But our remonstrances, as well as the advice of others who

equally understood the Irish character, were disregarded; and the

consequences have been the destruction of property, the sacrifice of

life, and the increase of crime, to such an appalling extent, that very

shame compels the administration to propose _now_ (with small chance of

its efficiency, even should it be adopted) a measure, which, incomplete

though it be, might then have been attended with considerable success.

The coercion bill introduced by Lord St Germains, is, though much to be

approved of so far as it goes, perfectly inadequate to accomplish what

it is intended to effect; for while it recognises the fact, that the

action of the ordinary laws is inadequate to cope with the difficulties

and the dangers of the emergency, it stops far short of the limits which

would ensure its utility. It suspends the constitution, and incurs the

odium which must ever attach to the violation of popular rights, without

affording much hope of its being able to attain those results which

alone can render such a proceeding justifiable. The perpetrator of crime

is by it to be subjected to pains and penalties; while he who instigates

him to the commission of it, is to be left in the full enjoyment of the

liberty of action: the peasant is to be confined to his dwelling at

night, but the demagogue may hold his monster meetings by day, when the

law enacted "for the preservation of life and property" will be derided

and denounced, and his misguided followers taught how to violate its

provisions with safety, and to defeat its objects with success. But the

principal defect of the bill is, that it does not enact a law, under

which immediate and summary justice could be administered and the very

terror of which would go far to check the commission of crime, by

depriving the guilty of all hope of escape from the partisanship or the

fear of their judges.

In their speeches on Lord St Germains' bill, both the Home Secretary and

Mr O'Connell congratulated themselves that there was nothing of a

sectarian or political character in the Irish outrages, that the lives

and properties of Roman Catholics and Repealers were as much sought

after, as were those of persons who differed from them in doctrines and

opinions; yet this we consider the very worst feature in the case, for

it exhibits a loosening of those ties which bind society together, and

shows evidently enough that spoliation, and not redress, is the object

of the people in the disturbed districts. Mr Sidney Herbert tells us,

"men were there under the dominion of a power more irresponsible than

any of the powers conferred by this bill--a power exercised by persons

unseen, and for causes unknown, and exercised, too, in a manner not to

be foreseen, which no conduct, no character however excellent, no

virtue, no station, could avert." And it is while society is in such a

state, that persons are to be found ranting about the violation of the

constitution, and refusing to protect the lives of the virtuous and the

innocent, lest in their endeavours to do so they should intrench on the

liberties of the guilty. We cannot conceive how Christian men can, under

such circumstances, put party objects in competition with the obvious

dictates of duty, or seek to secure the triumph of their political

principles at the expense of the blood of their fellow-creatures. Yet

do we see a formidable opposition raised against what is represented to

be an impotent measure, and English gentlemen battling in defence of the

perpetrators of crime, under the banner of him who is morally

responsible in the eyes of God and man for the awful state of his

unfortunate country. But those protectors of anarchy will say--"In

following Mr O'Connell, we must be right; O'Connell and his party

represent the feelings of the Irish people"--ay, just as much as the

Terrorists of the Revolution did the sentiments and the feelings of the

people of France. His is indeed a reign of terror--of moral terror, if

you will--but of a terror quite as effectual, and more powerful than

that of the guillotine; a terror which pervades all classes of society,

which is "exercised by persons unseen, and for causes unknown," and

whose influence "no conduct, no character however excellent, no virtue,

no station, can avert;" a terror which seeks to regulate not only

political but private concerns, which causes even the Bishops of his own

faith who dare to oppose him without the means of support, and such men

as Sir William Somerville, to crouch under his denunciations, and at his

behest to violate what must be the dictates of their own consciences, in

order to purchase immunity from political defeat.

Judging from the tone of the debate, the admissions of the ministerial

speakers, and the delays which have been submitted to, we would almost

be inclined to doubt the sincerity of the government in wishing to pass

even this measure, imperfect as it is. There seems to exist an

extraordinary and ominous good feeling between the opposing parties. Sir

James Graham is described by Mr O'Connell as having "stated the case of

the promoters of the bill in a manner which could not dissatisfy any

one;" "so hard a measure had never a more moderate exponent," (and well

might the wily agitator pay the compliment, for his own share in

producing the lamentable state of things was entirely left out of

sight;) and, in detailing his budget of enormities, the minister seemed

actuated by the most delicate feelings towards the guilty. "There were

no indignant bursts of feeling;" and he even went the length of

declaring, that he would have suppressed one of the most atrocious cases

in the whole catalogue, "only that it had been previously alluded to by

Lord George Bentinck." Of a verity, "the convicted conspirator" and the

denounced "renegade" seem now to have a perfect understanding. But if

the mild manner of the Home Secretary on the introduction of the bill is

calculated to excite distrust in the minds of those who really wish for

the establishment of tranquillity in Ireland, the speech of the

Secretary at War is sufficient to convince them, that the government do

not care to go the necessary length for accomplishing that object, for

fear of coming in violent contact with the really guilty. Mr O'Connell

twitted them with the obvious fact, that they gave no protection under

their bill by day, although it was notorious that almost all the

assassinations were then perpetrated. Mr Sidney Herbert is reported,

with great naïveté, and innocently enough, to have offered the following

reasons for the omission:--"He could show from proofs before him, that

the murders which were committed in broad day were, generally speaking,

murders perpetrated against persons in the higher ranks of life; and

that, on the other hand, the night murders were committed on the poor

and defenceless; and for this reason,--the rich man lived in a house

carefully secured, with his servants well armed, his windows barricaded,

and every thing about it capable of standing a siege; _and when such a

man was murdered it was usually in the open day; perhaps fired at from a

hedge when he was returning from the quarter sessions, or some other

duty_. But the poor man, who lived in a wretched thatched cottage, with

the door and window ill secured--that man was attacked at night, shots

were fired into his house, and incendiarism was almost solely confined

to him, because he was poor and defenceless--he had no servants to repel

the invasion of what ought to be his castle; and, therefore, he

maintained that an obvious distinction must be made between the night

class of murders, which especially required their interference, and

those that were committed in broad day. The one class of victims

called much more loudly for protection than did the other."--(Hear.)

Here we have it unreservedly stated, that no restriction is sought to be

imposed upon the evil-disposed by day--merely because none are then

murdered but landlords, who cannot with convenience be come at by night;

but, as if more fully to show the little sympathy which exists between

the Irish proprietors and the government, the Secretary at War asks, in

a subsequent passage, "How many murders of landlords had there been? _Or

rather, he should say, how few had there been?_ God knew he was not

underrating the number who had thus lost their lives, but he asked the

House to consider how few landlords had been murdered, in comparison

with the whole number which had taken place in the five counties in

which outrage had been so conspicuous. In these five counties there had

been the following offences:--Firing at the person, 85; incendiarism,

139; threatening witnesses, 1043; firing into dwelling-houses, 93. Now,

of all these, how many were attacks on landlords? There was Mr Gloster,

Mr M'Leod, Mr Hoskins, Mr Carrick, Mr Booth, and some others; but they

formed no comparison to the number of poor and defenceless."

Far be it from us to impute improper motives to any man, much less to a

person of Mr Sidney Herbert's private character; but we would calmly ask

that gentleman, whether such admissions, coming from a minister of the

crown, are not likely to have the most pernicious effects upon the Irish

people? No man who understands the system pursued in Ireland, can doubt

but that they will be applied to the worst of purposes; the agitators

will tell their dupes that the reason government took no precautions to

protect life by day was, "because the only persons then murdered were

the gentry;" and it will be said, "let the poor alone, and you may shoot

as many landlords as you please--the opportunity is afforded you." A

hint on the subject will be found perfectly sufficient for such

intelligent persons.

"See," cries Mr Sidney Herbert, "the _few_, the _very few_, landlords

murdered--_only five, and a few others_!" If the honourable gentleman's

memory was not very fallacious, he might have greatly enlarged the list;

and if those persecuted men do survive, they certainly do not owe their

preservation to any extraordinary sympathy in their behalf, or any

exertions made to protect them, by the administration of which he is a

member. The very system of self-defence which they are compelled to

practise seems to be perfectly well known to the government, without

appearing to produce the slightest uneasiness in their minds; and a

measure which its advocates propose for the suppression of crime is

defended, not because the gentry are insecure under the operation of the

existing laws, "but because the peasantry, not being able to have

recourse to the same means of defence, are more easy victims to their

assailants;" as if the executive were only bound to protect the poor,

and had no responsibility imposed upon them as regards the rich. It

appears the old system, said to have so long prevailed in Ireland, is

still to be persevered in--with this difference only, that _now_ the law

is to be exclusively for the benefit of the poor, while the rich are

left to shift for themselves. "Turn about" is, no doubt, considered as

"_fair play_."

When we couple the delicacy of the Home Secretary with the admissions of

Mr Sidney Herbert; and, further, take into consideration the statement

of the O'Connor Don, that on his return from the Roscommon Assizes, in

July last, Sir Thomas Freemantle, then Chief Secretary for Ireland, told

him he was right in opposing a petition got up by the Grand Jury of his

county, praying government to cause the enactment of some coercive law,

"as ministers had no intention of introducing any such measure;" yet, at

that very moment, we find, according to Lord George Bentinck's

statement, that _the crimes committed in the five disturbed counties

greatly exceeded the number perpetrated now--when they find it

convenient to do so_. In the quarter ending 1st of August 1845, when we

are thus told the Chief Secretary declared to O'Connor Don that the

ministers would not interfere with the career of the assassins, the

number of outrages perpetrated was 1180--in the last three months, when

they profess an anxiety to do so, it amounted only to 806.

Sir Robert Peel affects to be embarrassed as to which of the two

measures--the Corn Bill or Coercion Act--he should most immediately

pass. On the one hand he says, "He wishes to prevent crime, but,

perhaps, he should first relieve destitution." Now, as far as the

present laws affect the introduction of food into Ireland, they are

virtually repealed already; for the Indian corn is being and has been

introduced duty free long since. We therefore humbly submit, that as no

persons are said to be starving in this country, the preservation of the

lives of our Irish fellow-subjects should first engross his attention.

But as if the open admission on the part of the government, that after

witnessing for years the operation of a system of assassination with

indifference, _because_ the victims were of the upper order, they are

now induced to apply a remedy, because latterly the peasantry were

subjected to the same sanguinary code, would not be sufficient to mar

the success of any measure they might introduce for the suppression of

crime in Ireland, they accompany their Coercion Act with scraps of

comfort to the discontented. On the one hand they hold out the terrors

of a penal law, while on the other the people are led to hope that some

of their wildest expectations may speedily be realized. Crime, they are

told, (at least so far as regards its commission on their own class,)

must be repressed; but they are left to infer that spoliation is to

follow.

There never was a period of our history at which the state of Ireland

formed a more important topic for the consideration of the British

people than at the present moment. The hard-won earnings of their

industry are applied to relieve her immediate wants, and to reduce her

local burdens; while a change in their commercial policy, pregnant with

the most momentous consequences, is sought to be effected, avowedly

based upon the necessity of rescuing her impoverished people from the

horrors of pestilence and famine. That there is much of what we should

call misery and wretchedness in Ireland, there can be no doubt. The

question is not, whether such is the case or not? for the fact is

admitted; but the problem to be solved is, from what cause does this

state of things arise? Is it from the misconduct of the landlords, or of

the people themselves?--from the severity or mal-administration of the

laws?--or from the absolute and total disregard of all social restraint

whatever? And it is important, beyond measure, to ascertain the truth,

not only because, upon the supposition that the people are blameless,

the rights of private property are threatened with invasion, and a

precedent established for legislative interference with personal

privileges, which may at no distant period, in those days of uncertainty

and change, be extended to ourselves; but because the disease being

mistaken, and a wrong remedy applied, the state of that unhappy country

must become worse, instead of better--her social condition more

complicated and inexplicable, and demoralization and discontent be still

further increased. In those days poverty and wretchedness appear to be

the best recommendations to sympathy and support; to be poor and of the

people, is sufficient to imply the possession of every virtue; to be

rich, and of the aristocracy, is, in the estimation of the majority,

proof "strong as holy writ" of hardness of heart and depravity of

disposition. And hence it is that all compassion is reserved for the

Irish people, because they are said to be poor, without duly inquiring

whether or not their own misconduct is the principal cause of the

misfortunes they suffer; and universal reprehension is heaped upon the

Irish landlords, because, the people being impoverished, they are

supposed to have neglected their duties;--and no inquiry is made as to

whether they are enabled, if inclined, to perform their parts; or

whether all their schemes to improve the condition of the people

entrusted to their care, are not thwarted and counteracted by designing

and unprincipled men, acting, from self-interested motives, on the

passions and the prejudices of an excitable and ignorant population. We

respect and would assist the poor man struggling with the difficulties

which Providence has imposed upon his condition; but that is no reason

why we should extend our kindly feelings to the degraded ruffian who

reels in rags from the gin-shop.

The Irish people have been so trained by the agitators in the art of

deception, that it is almost impossible for those who have not an

accurate and perfect knowledge of their objects, and their practices, to

fathom their intentions, or to detect their impositions. They are always

ready, always prepared, with arrangements to support their statements.

Perhaps a better instance to exemplify their disregard of truth, and the

lengths they will go to attain their objects, cannot be adduced, than

one which we select from a letter of the "_Times_ commissioner," who

visited the property of Mr O'Connell. After describing the general

wretchedness of the population, this gentleman proceeds--"A little apart

from these was the house of T. Sullivan, jun., who, with his twelve

children, a sick cow, and two pigs suffering under some grievous malady,

occupied the same room. In answer to our enquiries as to his condition,

he replied that the food of himself and family all the year round was

potatoes and buttermilk. 'Were the potatoes good?' 'Troth they were

not--bad as could be,' (and he proved the assertion by cutting open a

number of them taken at random from a heap, and showing us the extent of

the disease.) 'Had he plenty of potatoes?' 'Indeed he had not.' 'Of

milk?' 'Never--nor half enough--never had enough for either dinner or

breakfast.' All his children were as badly off as himself--not half

enough of potatoes, and often nothing to drink with them, as he could

only afford the milk of one stripper for his family.' He had no fish,

'and very little of any thing.' This was the substance of his story,

translated to us by an interpreter, Mr Connell; and yet he was a large

holder, though his bed was of straw--his cabin falling to pieces--and

the mud outside percolating to the interior, where it was trodden into a

filthy, adhesive, earthy glue, by the feet and hooves of the semi-naked

children, pigs, fowl, and cattle." Now, can there be a more perfect

picture of desolation and misery than this man's case presents? Could

any rational person raise a doubt as to the truth of the sufferer's

representations?--his potatoes were rotten, "and he proved it by taking

them _indiscriminately from a heap_." Nothing could be more

conclusive--"here there could be no deception"--and the graphic sketch

which the talented gentleman drew of this wretched wight, would no doubt

have formed the groundwork of many leading articles in the influential

journal for which he reported, had he not been undeceived before he had

time to forward his dispatch, and _undeceived, too, by no less an

authority than Mr Sullivan himself_. At the conclusion of the very

letter which contains this harrowing picture, we find the commissioner

writing--"Whilst sitting at the hotel at Cahirceveen, Mr Trant, a

magistrate of the county, entering the room, informed me that Thomas

Sullivan of Aaghenming, whose house I visited on the preceding day, and

whose testimony I have already given, was outside, and _wished to make

evidence on oath that he had quite misinformed me as to his condition_;

in other words, that he was desirous of swearing that he had been

telling me lies. Sullivan was called in, and it appeared that he was

quite ready to take an affidavit. I took from Mr Trant, who acted as

interpreter, the following explanation of Sullivan's previous

statements--'_He imagined that I and your commissioner were coming from

government to enquire into the state of the potato crop, and he

therefore exaggerated the badness of its condition and his own poverty,

as much as possible._' He now wished to say, '_That he was not nearly so

badly off as he had stated; that he had plenty of potatoes and

milk--that he had a bed-tick which was in the loft when we inspected his

cottage_.'"[3]

Now, had Professors Playfair and Lyndley entered this man's house

instead of the agents of the _Times_, no doubt his case would have been

before this on the table of the House of Commons. Nor could we be much

surprised that all should be taken as truth, when we consider his

admirable state of preparation. The diseased potatoes selected and

placed ready to be appealed to, as if they were the bulk of the crop.

The bed-tick stowed away, "and all clear for action." _We are indebted

for the discovery of the cheat solely to the fact, that his statements

would, if uncontradicted, have damaged Mr O'Connell._ "Neither,

unfortunately, can this be considered an isolated case; the bulk of the

population are actuated by the same motives; and are, we lament to say,

not only willing to deceive, but ready, no doubt, if need were, to

substantiate their assertions by their oaths."

Hence arises the difficulty of ascertaining the true state of things in

Ireland--hence the signal failures of the different commissions which

have from time to time been appointed by the government of the day, when

the truthfulness of their reports came to be tested by the working of

the legislative measures founded upon them--"hence it comes, that out of

2,800,000 Irish persons reported to be in a state of utter destitution

by the Poor-law Commissioners, _not more than 68,000 could in any one

year, since the establishment of the Poor-law, be induced to accept the

relief which Parliament provided for them_;" and for this reason it is,

that the condition of the most idle and indolent people in Europe is

compassionated, as if it resulted from the misconduct of others rather

than their own; and that "the patient endurance" of the most turbulent

and bloodstained peasantry on earth is pronounced, in Lord Devon's

report, "as deserving of the highest commendation, and as entitling them

to the best attention of the government."

It also most unfortunately happens, that in Ireland you can always find

men--ay, and sometimes men in respectable stations in life too--who not

only take the most opposite views of the same subjects, but who give a

totally different explanation of the same facts--even when bound by the

solemn obligations of an oath. Let any man look into Lord Devon's

blue-book, and he will find ample evidence in support of our assertion;

unhappily, the dicta of those least worthy of credit are generally

adopted, because they pander to the popular feeling; and the country is

called upon to decide a disputed point, and Parliament to legislate, on

evidence[4] to which no private individual would pay the slightest

attention, merely because it has been adopted and sanctioned by the

report of a government commission.

To explain the anomaly which the condition of Ireland presents to our

consideration, has often been attempted without success, chiefly because

we allow our feeling to overcome our judgment. We there see a people

holding the most fertile lands on infinitely cheaper terms than ground

of a much inferior quality is rented at in the other portions of the

kingdom, relieved by special enactments from almost all the local

burdens which press upon their fellow-subjects, and freed from

participation to a most incredible extent in the general taxation of the

country, enjoying the exclusive advantage of an easy access to the best

markets in the world; and yet, with all those advantages, we find them

in a continual state of destitution, a disgrace to our reputation, and

a drain upon our resources.[5]

In his opposition to the Life Preservation Bill, Mr O'Connell exhibited

his usual extent of craft, with more than his habitual amount of

exaggeration. With that cunning for which he is so remarkable, he kept

aloof from all topics which could bring his own political conduct before

the House, while there were no bounds, no limits, to his assertions. He

appealed to evidence taken before commissions which sat some twenty

years ago, to account for the present state of Ireland; while he

studiously avoided quoting that which was more recently taken before

Lord Devon's--contenting himself with adopting the oft-quoted

description of the sufferings of the peasantry, which is contained in

the report, and which has so often before been successfully pressed into

his service. Now his reason for pursuing this course was simply because

the passages on which he relied, were _opinions_ given by persons

supposed to be well informed as to the then condition of the country.

They were generalities, and therefore their errors were even at the time

difficult of detection, and are now wholly so; but the evidence taken

before Lord Devon's committee contained special accusations, which were

widely promulgated, and which, when they came to be substantiated, were

proved to be utterly groundless. And this merit at least is due to those

commissioners, that they gave each party an opportunity of being heard,

and placed fairly before the world their respective statements. Had Mr

O'Connell alluded to the charges, he must have also adverted to the

explanations, and this would not have suited him; for with all his

talent for perversion, and, until the appearance of Lord Devon's report,

we thought that in this respect he was unequalled, he never could have

made so good a thing out of the same materials as he found left cut and

dry to his hand, in the passage of the report which he so often appeals

to. He therefore most wisely left "well alone." May we not ask what

became of all the instances of tyranny which were brought to light by

"the committee of grievances" of the Association? why were they burked

now, "when they might legitimately be used?" why go back for a quarter

of a century, when the atrocities reported and disseminated by Mr Balfe,

might have served him as an unanswerable justification for the adoption

by his followers of the "wild justice of revenge?" It was because the

charges made against the proprietors were proved to have been

fabrications, and because the unblushing perjury of the peasantry would,

if investigated, have excited horror and disgust. Even the kind-hearted

and sympathizing commissioners, in speaking of the people whose

condition they so much commiserated, are obliged to admit, that "there

is frequently a readiness amongst these to attribute their own wretched

condition exclusively to the conduct of their landlords, _sometimes with

an utter disregard of truth_, and almost always without admitting,

perhaps without seeing, how much of it arises from their own indolence

or want of skill." With his usual disregard of truth, Mr O'Connell

attributes the assassinations which have taken place in Tipperary, to

the number of ejectments which have been carried into execution. "They

found that in Tipperary, where the greatest number of ejectments took

place, murders were most frequent. For that county, in one year, no less

than 5304 ejectments issued from the Civil Bill Court, to which there

were 14,816 defendants; and 1724 ejectments issued from the superior

courts, to which there were 16,503 defendants; making a total of 7028

ejectments, and 31,319 defendants. Within the last five years, upwards

of 150,000 persons had been evicted from their lands in the county of

Tipperary."

As an instance of the extraordinary ignorance of the laws, in which the

commissioners venture to propose amendments, and of the negligence with

which the report is drawn up, we quote the following passage from the

report:--"By the present practice, when a mesne lessee exercises his

power of redeeming under an ejectment for rent, the landlord may be

required to give up the land to him, without any occupiers upon it; and

it is _suggested_ that cases have occurred in which a mesne tenant has

permitted, or even encouraged, a process of ejectment against himself,

in order to throw upon the landlord the unpleasant task of removing a

number of sub-tenants, so that he himself might, upon redeeming, obtain

entire possession of the land. This requires alteration.

"The defendant, upon redeeming, is only entitled in justice to have the

land restored to him in the same state as to occupiers in which it was

when the ejectment was brought; and we recommend that the law should be

amended in this respect. The possession of the under-tenants, or

occupiers, who were upon the land when the process commenced, should,

for this purpose, be treated as the possession of the lessee."

It is almost unnecessary to say, that the restitution of the interest of

the mesne lessee by redemption, involves as a matter of course, as the

law now stands, the restitution of all the minor interests derived under

him--Who could have "suggested" such nonsense to the commissioners?--In

like manner, the notices which they suggest in cases of ejectment and

distress, are at this moment _absolutely indispensable to render either

proceedings valid_.

Now, in this statement, the learned gentleman has not given even the

particular year in which these evictions are said to have taken place;

neither did he specify the period within which a _third_ of the

population of that county are said to have been displaced; while the

land commissioners themselves admit, that the number of ejectment

decrees obtained in all parts of Ireland, bear no proportion to the

number of processes issued, and that those again are infinitely greater

than the numbers which are executed. This Mr O'Connell well knows to be

the case; because in a country where distress cannot be made available,

the landlords have recourse to ejectment as the only means by which they

can coerce their tenants into payment of the rent. All the assistant

barristers in their evidence bear testimony to this fact, and to the

comparatively few decrees under which possession is taken. Mr Tickell,

one of those gentlemen, states that, according to the clerk of the

peace's return made to him, the number of ejectments entered in the

years 1839, 1840, 1841, 1842, 1843, in his court, were 1753, and there

were decrees or dismissals in 1210 of those cases. He is asked--"10.

Have you any opportunity of knowing whether a considerable proportion of

those cases in which decrees are so made are carried into

effect?--"There is in the county of Armagh a very intelligent

sub-sheriff, Mr McKinstry, and he informed his brother, the deputy-clerk

of the peace, that the number of warrants signed by him as sub-sheriff

in the last five years was, according to the best of his knowledge and

computation, _about seventy in each year; and that of these seventy, he

thought not more then one-fourth was put_ in force; _so as to cause a

change of tenancy, certainly not more than one-third_."

So that out of 1765 processes issued in one of the most populous

counties within five years, only about 350 decrees were presented to the

sheriff for signature; and that officer declared, he thought that not

more than a fourth of the number (90) were put in execution--and this

gives an annual average of about 23. But had the number of ejectments in

Tipperary been as great as Mr O'Connell asserts, still the eviction of

the tenantry would have been fully justified; for we have the evidence

of Mr Sergeant Howley, the assistant barrister, to prove that no tenant

was so proceeded against who did not owe an enormous arrear. This

gentleman is asked--"6. In your experience, has it occurred to you to

observe whether, in the majority of cases, more than a year's rent has

been usually due, or just enough to found a suit?--My experience enables

me to say, that more than a year's rent, and frequently three years'

rent, is due before an ejectment is brought."

Mr Dillon O'Brien, a sessions attorney in that same county, and an

out-and-out follower of Mr O'Connell, admits--"That the landlords have

recourse to ejectment more as a means of getting the rent, than of

evicting the tenantry." The Liberator's reference to Tipperary is an

unfortunate one for his purposes; for not only have we it in our power

to prove, by the most unimpeachable evidence, that comparatively few

evictions or consolidations of farms have taken place there, but we can

demonstrate most satisfactorily, that the tenantry in this bloodstained

district hold on the most moderate terms as regards rent, in general by

a lease, and that they are in the full enjoyment of "the tenant-right,"

the honourable gentleman's most favourite panacea.--Mr Thomas O'Brien,

an extensive land-valuator, in a letter written to Mr Colles, the

superintendent of Trinity College estates, (which was laid before the

land commissioners,) writes--"I will say that Kerry tenants pay the

highest rents I have met with in any part of Ireland, _and Tipperary men

the lowest_."

Mr Griffith, the able engineer under whose superintendence the

government valuation is being made, and who, as he states himself, has

walked over nearly every part of Ireland, and has personal knowledge of

almost every locality, is asked--"In the county of Tipperary, can you

say whether the tenant-right prevails there?"--"_The tenants generally

hold under leases there_; but the tenant-right does prevail to such an

extent, that few are bold enough to take the land where a tenant has

been dispossessed."

Mr Nicolas Maher, the Repeal member for the county, replies to the

question--"Do you understand at all in Tipperary what is known in the

north of Ireland as the tenant-right, by which a tenant, without a

lease, expects a sum of money for giving up the possession of the land,

either from the landlord if taking possession, or from another tenant to

whom he may give up the farm?"--"That is expected in Tipperary. I have

offered myself for fourteen Irish acres to a tenant-at-will who held at

thirty shillings an acre; and if that land was to be let to-morrow, I

would not charge more for it; so much so do I look on this land as

fairly set, that last year and this year I gave this tenant fifteen per

cent abatement upon his rent from the fall of agricultural produce, and

conceived he had a right to it; and, though there is no lease, I offered

him £200 for his interest, which he refused." Without _one solitary

exception_, every witness examined in Tipperary, both at Roscrea and

Nenagh, touching the point, by the Land Commissioners, bears testimony

to its universal prevalence.

Mr O'Brien Dillon is asked--"73. Does the sale of the good-will of farms

prevail much in the district?--Very much, I should say."

Mr Digan.--"39. Is the sale of the good-will of farms the custom of that

district?--Yes, for small spots it is.

"40. Is it recognised by the landlord?--It is recognised by the agent.

If there is a poor fellow who wishes to go to America, he gets £8 or £10

for his plot of ground, and he will let him go off if he gets a better

tenant.

"41. Do they generally ask the agent's permission?--Sometimes, and

sometimes not."

The Rev. William Minchin.--"73. Is the sale of the good-will of farms

prevalent in the district, and recognised by the landlords?--Yes; it is

quite recognised.

"74. Is the value of it increasing or diminishing?--I do not see any

thing to make land decrease, though of course the purchase of the

good-will will bear a proportion to the rent that the land bears.

"75. Suppose the landlord requires the land for himself, to add to his

demesne, does he pay the usual price?--Yes, in general he does.

"76. Has there been any consolidation of farms?--No, not in the

neighbourhood; nothing to any extent worth speaking of."

George Heenan, Esq., after stating the existence of the practice, is

asked--"88. Does it take place in reference to lands held at will?--Yes;

and for lands held at will the sum is altogether disproportioned to the

apparent value of the interest given.

"89. Does a man purchase without knowing whether he will be recognised

as the tenant?--Yes; I have known many instances of that.

"90. In case of a landlord taking land himself from a tenant, would he

be expected to pay him for the possession of it?--Certainly, provided

the rent of it was clear and the land was taken up, it would be expected

he should pay him liberally for it;" and he further says, "in

confirmation of the correctness of a former part of my evidence relating

to the sale of the good-will of the land, I beg to produce a document

which has recently come into my hands. The farm in question consists of

fourteen acres Irish, which but three years ago was set by me to a

tenant from year to year. The purchase to which the document refers, was

effected without the consent of the proprietor, or of his agent. [_The

witness delivered in the following paper_:--]

"Received from Michael Scully, £34 for all my land in Ballywilliam,

containing fourteen acres, with all my wheat, dung, manure, &c.;

and Michael Scully pledges himself to pay Ford Ross one half-year's

rent of the said lands, now due--amount, £5:11:8. Given under our

hands, at Ballywilliam, this 11th day of March 1843.

"£34.

his

"JOHN X HORAN.

mark.

her

"CATHERINE X HORAN.

mark.

"Present, PATRICK SCULLY."

"Received from Michael Scully, the sum of £10 sterling, being the

consideration for one and one-half acre of the lands of

Ballywilliam, for seven years, commencing 1st November last 1842,

and ending 1st November 1849. Dated this 19th December 1842.

"£10.

his

"JOHN X HORAN.

mark.

her

"CATHERINE X HORAN.

mark.

"Present, PATRICK SCULLY."

Mr John Kennedy, who denies altogether the existence of any such system,

admits--"That though the landlords _never, in any instance, give

remuneration for improvements, they always give money for subsistence

and support_;" and with regard to the incoming tenant he naïvely

observes--"How they dispose of it is this: another tenant proposes to

come and get it, and the other tenant is sure to be murdered if he does

not give him something, and he gives him something; or, however long he

has been out of possession, he will be either murdered or burnt, or his

stock maimed, if he does not do something in that way."

Neither is the assertion that evictions of the tenantry, to any extent,

have taken place, borne out by the evidence; and where such have

occurred, it is admitted, or proved in the explanations of the accused,

that non-payment of rent, and general misconduct, were the causes to

which they might be attributed.

Mr Dennis Kennedy is asked--"56. Has there been any consolidation of

farms in the district?--No, not in my district."

Mr Michael Digan--"46. Has there been any consolidation of farms in the

district with which you are acquainted in the county of Tipperary?--No.

In my immediate neighbourhood the cottier system of having five or six

acres is more practised than in the county of Clare."

And where any instances have been adduced, on turning to the

explanations we find they were fully merited; while many alluded to by

the priests and agitators will give some idea of the lengths those

persons go, and the distance of time they are compelled to travel back

to support their assertions. One man, Mr John Moylan, refers to

"exterminations" which occurred just thirty years ago "on the estate of

Mr Kinahan;" and was replied to by that gentleman's son, who states

"that his father paid the then tenants £10,000 for their interest."

All the witnesses bear testimony to the mild manner in which those

removals, necessary for the good of all parties, have been effected.

Mr Edward Byrne is asked--"35. Does the landlord, in general, remove

for any other reason than considering that the lands are too thickly

populated?--I never heard of the landlords putting them out, except that

the land was too much divided, or too much devoted to the support of

those families, that nothing would be left to pay the rent."

And Mr John Meagher--"27. When there is a large number of tenants upon a

townland, what do they do when the middleman's lease expires?--I never

knew them to do any thing harsh to them; they let them pull on one with

another, except where some of their lands are mixed with their own, and

they get some of the land to themselves.

"28. Do they give the tenants any thing in that case?--Yes, they forgive

them what is due; and I knew one landlord to give a man £24 for leaving

four acres, and forgave him what was due, and he was tenant-at-will."

Mr O'Brien Dillon, who has been proved to be very inaccurate in his

statements, and who most probably, if asked to name the instances, could

not adduce one, is forced to admit the paucity of their numbers--"67.

Have tenants who have made improvements been ejected in order to get in

fresh tenants, or been charged a higher rent themselves?--I do not know

of any having been ejected on that estate for that reason; but there are

some few instances in which they have been so treated: I should say, not

generally; very few instances indeed."

Now, touching the disputed point of want of tenant-right, and insecurity

of tenure, and displacement of the tenantry, we have quoted only the

evidence of small farmers and some few agents, with one exception Roman

Catholics, and _to a man devoted followers of Mr O'Connell_; if they

have not heard of those dispossessions, and prove on oath the existence

of that which he denies, what value should we place upon his

statements--"that the enormous extent of the evictions in Tipperary, and

the want of security in possession, have been the active causes of the

state of crime in that county?" We have the sworn testimony of reluctant

witnesses against the honourable gentleman's whole assertions. What

becomes, then, of the one hundred and fifty thousand "men in buckram?"

Could a third of the population have been dispossessed unknown to their

neighbours?

It is not only proved that the Tipperary men in general hold by lease;

but that, in some instances, when leases are offered them, they refuse

to accept them.

Mr Maher, M.P., (then agent for his relative Mr Valentine Maher,)

states, "that some four years ago, his principal ordered him to grant

leases to any one who wished for them; that he announced this to the

tenantry, and that on an estate containing 19,000 acres only six or

seven parties made application, and not one of these afterwards took

them out." We could adduce other testimony. We have selected Mr Maher's,

because he will not be suspected of any undue leaning against the

people, and because his estate is admitted to be most reasonably let. It

is further proved, and every man who has any knowledge of Ireland knows

the fact, that the most comfortable and improving tenantry hold at will.

Mr Guinness, the extensive agent, holding employments in twenty-seven

counties, and himself a proprietor in Tipperary, confirms the fact of

leases being generally granted in that county; and contrasts the state

of the inhabitants with that of Wexford, one of the most improved

districts in Ireland, where the land is much worse in quality, the rents

much higher, and the tenantry peaceable and independent, and _almost

universally tenants-at-will_. And Mr Kincaid, the head of one of the

largest agency houses in the kingdom, says in his examination--"I may

state generally, that I never knew a case of a tenant inclined to

improve, who declined making such improvements for want of a lease." But

if the causes to which Mr O'Connell assigns the state of the disturbed

counties be untenable as regards Tipperary, they are still more so as

regards the others. It is admitted by all the witnesses who have been

examined before the land commission touching the condition of Clare,

Limerick, and Roscommon, that the tenant-right or "good-will" is

recognized in these districts; that the evictions of the tenantry, or

consolidation of the farms, have not been carried to any extent; and

that, when such have taken place, most liberal allowances were given by

the landlords.--Our space will not permit us to give extracts. But as

regards Leitrim, the county next in criminality to Tipperary, there is

not a shadow of any such excuses for agrarian disturbance in that

district. There have been neither evictions nor consolidation, even to

the most trifling extent;[6] and yet in this county, in which there is

nothing to qualify agrarian outrage, we find, according to Sir James

Graham's statement, the number of crimes committed in 1844 to be 226,

and in 1845, 922. Amongst those who have spoken to the condition of this

county, and who reside in the most disturbed parts, is the Rev. George

Geraty, parish priest, who is asked--"30. Has there been any

considerable consolidation of farms in your neighbourhood?--No; the

population is as dense as it was formerly: there may be a few isolated

cases."

Mr G. H. Peyton.--"22. Has there been any consolidation of farms in that

neighbourhood?--No, I have not known of any for some years past."

Major Jones.--"44. Has the consolidation of farms taken place to any

extent in the district?--No; no man is ever ejected if he pays his rent.

It does not signify who he is, or what he is."

Touching the tenant-right, which is admitted to exist by Mr Geraty, the

priest, Mr Burchall Lindsay is asked--"49. Is the sale of the good-will

of farms prevalent in the district, and to whom is the purchase-money

paid?--It is; and the money is paid to the tenant."

Mr Little, in answer to the same question, says, "Yes." He is further

asked--"42. How far is it recognised by the landlords?--The landlord

merely consents to the party coming in: he does not interfere with the

tenant disposing of his interest, if he gets a decent man and an honest

man for a tenant, whose character is recommended. He has no objection to

the tenant disposing of his farm to the best advantage."

If we test the amount of rent by making the usual addition of 25 per

cent to the government valuation, it will appear that in this county the

tenantry pay for good land not more than _seven_ shillings the acre; and

this certainly is not a price which should produce either poverty or

outrage. But it may be said, perhaps, the landlords are non-resident and

negligent: the people have no example set them; they have no knowledge

of a proper system of cultivation; and hence the poverty which generates

crime. It so happens, however, that there are not better or more

painstaking landlords in England than are to be found in this very

district, and in the adjoining and equally disturbed county of Cavan.

The Lord Primate has a large estate in Leitrim, and in the most

disorganized part, on which he has had a Scotch agriculturist for the

last sixteen years, merely for the purpose of instructing his tenantry.

His grace is a model in every position of life; but as a landlord he is

most conspicuous. Mr Latouche has an immense tract of land. He, too, has

a Scotch steward for the same purpose; and his brother, who is his agent

and resides on the estate, was regularly qualified by an agricultural

education. The Earl of Leitrim has a Scotch steward: so has Mr White, Mr

Simpson, Mr Crofton, and a host of minor proprietors who reside in the

neighbourhood; and it is an important fact, that for the last three

years, during which crime has so awfully increased, a great additional

source of employment has been given the people by the improvement of the

navigation of the Shannon.

"The _Times_ Commissioner" has fallen into a great error in attributing

the disturbances in Leitrim to evictions and non-resident landlords. He

asserts--"There are no resident landlords in the neighbourhood of

Balnamory," where the direct contrary is the truth, all the proprietors

to any considerable extent being resident Irish landlords. Again he

writes--"Nearly the same thing may be said of the parish of Cloone, the

headquarters of Molly Maguire. In the Appendix to the Report of the Land

Commission, Part II., page 90, _Henry Smith, of Kells, in this county_,

swears to ejectments served on twenty-eight families, consisting of one

hundred and fifty. He swears to seven families being ejected there in

1843, and of sixty-four people being ejected out of Irishtown, who owed

no rent and received no compensation." Now Kells, where those evictions

_were said_ to have taken place, is in the county Meath, about fifty

Irish miles from Cloone, where the commissioner states they occurred. We

have only to refer our readers to the evidence of Mr Sergeant, the agent

of the Marquis of Headfort, to show how unfounded the charge was, that

so many people were ejected even there. The evidence of this gentleman

was before the commissioner, and he should have attended to it.