Ned laughed heartily. "Wait a while," said he, "and if we live to see that day I am a pickled herring. No, sir, 'tis not because I am no longer a _Roman_ myself that I say it, but the never a bit of good would emancipation do in this country. The _name_ of it indeed, would make the people light fires, and drink a double dose of whiskey, when they heard of it; and they would shout, and those that have hats would throw them up into the air. You would have more noise, and drunkenness, and bloodshed, and battery for a week or so, and when that was over, and not a rap was to be found in their pockets, or a tatter left on their backs, they would begin to look about them, and ask one another, what they had got? Whether the potato-garden was lowered in its rent, or leather in its price? Whether wages were raised or the necessaries of life cheaper than they were before; and when they discovered that all the difference in their condition was, that Daniel O'Connell and his partner Shiel, might stun the House of Commons in London, with their blustering speeches as they do now the Catholic Association in Dublin; the people would find that they had gained nothing but broken heads." "But though it were only a shadow, a mere name," said I, "if the people's hearts are set upon obtaining it, will they not be happier and more tranquil, if they succeed in the object of their wishes?" "Why, sir, as to _wishes_, you may set an ignorant multitude wishing for anything you please. You might make them wish, like an infant, for the moon, though they know no more about it, than that it looks like a fine big Gloucester cheese; but if the moon dropped down to them, and they discovered that they could not neither eat, drink, nor wear it; that it would neither relieve them from tithe, nor cess, pay their rent, nor manure the ground; nor, in fact do anything but set a few learned men in the college talking about the length and the breadth of it; I would not go security for their being satisfied with ther bargain. Sir, when people are set on wishing, without knowing what they are wishing for, it is well for them if it ends as well as the fable, in a yard of good black pudding." We were excessively amused by Ned's dry sarcastic manner. Bentley continued: "I think, however," said he, "that let Parliament decide as it may, the bonds of affection between landlord and tenant will be drawn closer by the discussions that have taken place. The poor will love the rich better from finding the sympathy so general in their suffering, whether the wrongs of which they complain be real or imaginary."