In England Parliament responds to the national will, and has gathered the reverence of ages around it; in Ireland it is a foreign and alien assembly, with which the mass of the people has no sympathy. In England the aristocracy is at the head of public affairs, leads society, commands universal respect; in Ireland it has lost all authority; has no weight in the National Councils; has no popular support, is even disliked at the Castle. In England the middle class is enormously strong, and is the best bulwark of order and law; in England the democracy is almost wholly free from revolutionary ideas, as regards property, and seeks reforms by constitutional methods. In Ireland, it is unhappily quite otherwise; the middle class is comparatively weak, and, in its lower strata, is opposed to the existing order of things; the democracy is an easily led multitude, ready at its leaders' bidding to rush into socialistic courses. In England, too, the Commonwealth is completely secure; in Ireland there is literally no Commonwealth; and such organisations as the Land, the National, and the United Irish Leagues, are dangerous symptoms of a kind of Jacobin antipathy to the State. The words of Peel are still unhappily true; but painful as the contrast he pointed out is, even this is not the worst circumstance in the present condition of Irish affairs. What, I think, most alarms a reflecting mind, is the restlessness that pervades the mass of the people, an eagerness for some undefined change, a demand for the universal spoliation of a class, a sense of insecurity spreading far and wide, a neglect of the pursuits of calm industry in the hope of what a revolution may effect, an instability in the social fabric from top to bottom. The agitation, the disorder, and, I will add, the vicious legislation of late years, will, however, largely explain these phenomena.