"Move on," said a policeman to a poor Irishman, who was gazing with astonishment at a shop window in the Strand, his eyes and mouth open equally, with intensity of admiration. But Paddy neither heard nor moved. "Move on, Sir, I say," came in a voice of command delivered into his very ear. "_Arrah, ph-why?_" said the poor fellow, looking up with wonder, and still retaining his place. "_You must move on, you Irish vagabond_," now roared the policeman, "_and not stop the pathway_," accompanying the "must" with a push of no very gentle nature. Paddy did move, for he could not help it; but as he turned away from the sight which was yielding him harmless enjoyment, to the forgetfulness of misery for the moment, and perhaps to create in him desires for better things, and give him greater energy to work and labour for them; he was rudely branded, with a mark of debasement, and I could see in the poor fellow's eye and gait, though _labourer_ he was, pride and degradation contending for the mastery; but the latter conquered, and he did "move on," almost admitting by the act that he _was_ "AN IRISH VAGABOND." * * * * * The position of the lower class of Irish in England is evidently not to be envied, but what is it in Ireland? In the paper annexed, on "_The Potato Truck System of Ireland_," will be found the ground-work of the misery of the peasantry. The whole recompense for their labour is the potato. If it fail, they starve. In summer's heat and winter's cold the potato is their only food; water their only drink. They hunger from labour and exertion--the potato satisfies their craving appetite. Sickness comes, and they thirst from fever--water quenches their burning desire. Nature overcomes disease, and they long for food to re-invigorate their frame. What get they?--the potato! The child sinks in weakness towards its grave. What holds it betwixt life and death?--the potato. It is the Alpha and Omega of their existence. A blessing granted by Providence to man, but made by man a curse to his fellow-beings. From what causes come the charges made, and made with truth, against the Irish peasant, of "_indolence_" and "_filth in and about their habitations_?"--One and all from that dreadful system, the "_potato truck_!" Tourists tell that "_the cabin of the Irish peasant must be approached through heaps of manure at either side, making it necessary to step over pool after pool, to reach the entrance_." This is no more than fact, but the cause should be told too.