In consequence of the gross mismanagement of John Bull’s possessions at home and abroad, by unprincipled servants and dishonest stewards; especially in the land of St. Patrick, we have met together without distinction to country or creed, to consider the best means of alleviating the sufferings of that ill-used country. When the down-trodden sons of Erin shall dig their spades into their own native soil, free from the stone and gravel of tyranny, then, and not till then, shall the wrongs of Ireland cease. Friends and Fellow Countrymen, The country calls us in divers places to reform abuses, and assist the unemployed, by offering new gates of labor, in place of those that have been most cruelly shut at Woolwich and elsewhere, and although the old saying says “Charity begins at home,” it is no reason why we should forget our neighbour next door; therefore I pray and beseech thee, oh! John Bull and Sandy, to sympathise with poor Brother Pat, who for knocking his shillaleigh a little too hard about the heads of the varmint, was popped into quod till the Almighty will of the people shall compel the Lords of St. Stephen’s to let them go free. _The Lesson for the Day is taken from one of the dark pages of Irish History._ Now it came to pass when that renowned Irish Champion, Brian O’Lynn, bequeathed his ghost to all the wakes in Tipperary, behold there arose four kings to suck up the best of the buttermilk and dance with the prettiest girls in Ould Ireland. Then arose a Royal Judas among them, who sold his country to the Saxon Harry of Fair Rosamond notoriety. And it came to pass, after many years, Hooknosed Billy the Dutchman, went over and deprived poor Jamie Stuart of his rights. And he cried aloud to his redcoats, Down with the Spirit of Freedom! and eat up all the good of the land, and let it be a refuge for foreigners, and let the children of St. Patrick wander elsewhere. Here endeth the Lesson. _The Second Lesson is taken from the Irish Land Question._ Now it is well known that the curse of Ireland or any other country is “Land Monopoly,” especially in our own country, where one man has thousands of acres, and another poor fellow not enough whereon to rest his aching bones. For in the Emerald Isle the rich Landowner cries aloud to his Steward, Steward! collect my rents in my absence, who, instead of studying the prosperity of my tenants am squandering away in debauchery and vice the hard earnings of a poor and oppressed people. Then the Agent answers, I must put money in my purse, and straightway he cries aloud to his tenantry, Lo, this is my master’s land and all that is thereon, pay more rent or skedaddle, and make room for strangers who are ready to pop into your place. For the Irish land monopoly is like a landlord, who, when he turns his tenant out of doors, stick to his goods and furniture, saying, these are mine, are they not on my premises? Thus endeth the Lesson. LET US SAY,