Here I must end these extracts from my travelling diary. Of what use could it be to continue noting day by day all that I saw in Ireland? Besides, the inquiry, summary as it is, to which I devoted myself, has left me with an impression of profound melancholy. Every one knows the traps in which one sees the captive mice beating against the wire that ornaments one of the extremities, and in their desperate efforts to obtain their freedom they thrust and wound themselves against the bars of their cage. On this side they see the light; here they fancy they have the best chance of escape. They can never succeed, for the door lies exactly at the other end. The poor Irish--so interesting, so sympathetic--are a little like them. They, too, are exhausting their strength in despairing efforts to escape from a misery that is only too real; but for them, too, the way out is not on the side where they are seeking it. When we see, on one hand, the great fermentation going on in the lower classes of the population, and, on the other, the Government utterly incapable of restoring order, one is tempted to believe that a bloody revolution is about to break out. This seems to be the only logical solution which the situation admits of. Evidently, so they say, the heads of this powerful organisation which binds the whole country, wish to break out; they form their lists and keep their followers in working order. The daily skirmishes which one hears perpetually discussed can have but that end; they keep the hand in whilst waiting for action. As soon as a favourable opportunity offers, they will call the whole population of five million souls to arms; they are only waiting for the signal. An immense popular uprising will take place immediately, and if the English rule is to be re-established in the country, it will only be after a long and bloody war.