Irish as natural enemies." It is true that the English historian paints the Irish as even more savage, but we may lawfully allow a little liberty of such decoration to a Pict. In this state of things the chieftains rejoiced as sincerely at the victory of Bannockburn, as their descendants did at that of New-Orleans, and for a like cause. Lord Ufford was despatched by the English king to treat with his beloved cousins, the O'Neils, and the other chieftains, and with probably just as much affection and sincerity as his sacred majesty, king George the fourth, of virtuous fame, sent the Marquis of Anglesea to treat with his beloved cousins, O'Connell, MeDonald, O'Shiel, and the other chieftains of our day. But as the king of Scots had come to the aid of the cousins, they took the field: and as is always the case with the generous government of the land of roast beef and plum pudding, the measure of Ireland's strength was that of England's kindness. Master John de Hotham, who for his good services was subsequently made Bishop of Ely, went over as a plenipotentiary, to make terms in the best way he could. He promised "the savages" that they should have all the benefits of the English laws, provided they would peaceably submit themselves to the king's good pleasure: but this being far too much to grant them, and it not being thought wise to refuse their request, the consideration of their offer to accede to the proposal, was deferred until the king would have more leisure, "at a more convenient time"-probably the Greek Kalends, which we believe was the period at which the British government had latterly determined to emancipate the Catholics. However, whether by the aid of Columbkille or some other prophetic friend, they got a glimpse of the manner in which the articles of Limerick would be observed, or from their own shrewd mode of scanning English policy, we know not, and it boots very little; but so it happened, that the chieftains thought those Kalends were too far away; and in union with Edward Bruce, to work they went, and the O'Tooles, O'Briens and O'Carrols, piped up such a jig, to use a true Hibernian idiom, as made their own hearts merry, and brought tears, but not of joy, into the eyes of the Sassanagh. Next year came Robert Bruce "leading more of his Scots" to their aid, and just as Wellington now turns to the Pope to make his bargain about keeping the cousins quiet, so did the good ministers of Edward II. complain to John XII. of the rebelling turbulent Irish. John sent his commission to the Archbishops of Dublin, and of Cashel, to admonish "the agitators," and to excommunicate the refractory. And it was under those circumstances that the Remonstrance was sent back to him, through Joscelin and Fieschi, papal legates in Scotland. The two last paragraphs which we give, exhibit a manly determination, on the part of those chiefs, to defend their rights; and whilst they adhere firmly to the religion of the Pope, and acknowledge him as the head of their church, they assert their own civil rights, with which they will not permit his interference; "they will defend their liberties as well as they can;" "they hold such defence to be meritorious;" "without remorse of conscience they will attack tyrants and usurpers in defence of their just rights;" "they cannot be accused of rebellion;" "they

will prove their allegations before twelve or more Bishops," the tribunal from which they might expect some impartiality. They do not ask the Pope to withdraw his excommunication, for of its own nature it was of no force, even by the principles of their religion, being an interference with their civil rights. This is the language which the oppressed Irish have always held: this is the language of their association to day.

But what a character does it give of their opponents? In the day of prosperity they would not recur to Rome. Then the Pope would be-we shall not say what. Really the parallel is striking; but we must avoid politics. Still we are inclined to think, that in the Irish nation there is much of a brave spirit of honest independence; but England has been too strong for a people who, during upwards of six centuries have been uneasy under her yoke.

"OUR ancient English Saxon's language," as good old Verstegan hath it, (Restit. of Decayed Intelligence,) "is to be accompted the Teutonick tong, and albeit we have in latter ages mixed it with many borrowed words, especially out of Latin and French; yet remaineth the Teutonick unto this day the ground of our speech, for no other offspring hath our language originally had than that."

Our burly moralist, Sam. Johnson, did his best to make the matter otherwise, and by his confounded sesquipedalianisms to take from our venerable father, as aforesaid, all cause for national congratulation in this respect; and there were other laborers in this cruel business of subjecting our native speech, because of its alledged rudenesses, to the pert glibness of a French, and the senatorial stiffness of a Latin mastery. That they have not entirely succeeded in this object, is owing entirely to certain inherent virtues in the tongue itself, and something to the dogged nature of the Saxon stock, which could resist your foreign graffing quite as tenaciously as did (and does) the vernacular. They will mutually hold out, we may venture to add, as long as Englishman or Anglo-American has a tongue to wag. Had it been left to those silly formalists, who insist upon finding a language perfect at its birth, or who were too indifferent or too feeble to improve and polish it,-the nice and fashionable people of a season, we should now be prating in a mongrel dialect, which neither gods, nor mortals, nor monkeys, could well have tolerated. We owe every thing to the patriotism of genius-and true genius has patriotism always for its inheritance, if nothing more-that this has not been the case. Our genuine English writers-those who rank first now, and will rank only hereafter-were all singularly observant of the claims of the Saxon. It has been urged against Chaucer, by a singular misapprehension of facts, that he Frenchified the language; and this has been made a ground for denying some of the claims urged in his behalf as the certain sire of British poesy. But it is really to Chaucer that we owe the restoration of the Saxon, and perhaps its complete triumph over the lingo of the invaders from Aquitaine and Poiton. It must not be forgotten, that in Chaucer's day the Norman French was the spoken language of Court and State,

and he was a bold man to attempt literature-then the delight of Court only in the language of the degraded classics. The merit of Chaucer was, in fact, precisely that of Danté, at another period and country. In all probability, Dan. Chaucer brought the language into vogue by showing its susceptibilities. That he should address himself to the common people of the country, rather than to the nobility, is in proof of his patriotism and good sense. It proves him, though a courtier, to have been something of a real man,-a genuine, frank Christian-we use the word without irreverence,-who had bowels of compassion and a soul full of sympathy for the solid and manly character of a people whom no tyranny could utterly emasculate. It may be that something of his motive to composition in English, arose from the fact of his making so many translations from the Provençal and the French. But this, too, was an act of patriotism, not less than of policy, since it introduced the commonalty to an acquaintance with a foreign literature with which the Court was already familiar He cannot be well said to have translated his Romaunt of the Rose for the latter, and, we have no doubt, that it was eagerly sought and sung by such of the latter as could read, and was eagerly heard and remembered by thousands who could not. It might lead to curious discoveries, were we to enquire into the extent of the practice, such as described in the progress to Canterbury, of beguiling the weariness of pilgrimage by the arts of the Racontern. But we must not go aside too far, and will content ourselves, speaking for Chaucer, by saying that he put as little French into his dialect, as was possible to his time and habit, and deserves our lasting commendations for putting so much of it in genuine English. His simplicity, his hearty nature, his eye to the beauties of homelinessfor homeliness, in our sense of the word, is a beauty, and has a charm, of its own-these are all English, and would not have been at all, had they been attempted in the foreign language. It would be as impossible to express in French poetry, the English nature of Chaucer's muse, as it would be to conjure out of the world of French literature, a free, flexible, natural drama, such as that of Shakspeare, or any half dozen of his contemporaries. What Chaucer begun so well, has been carried on with a rare good fortune for us and the language. The English satirical proverb, "Jack would be a gentleman could he speak French," has ceased to be of any force as a sarcasm. The good old Saxon roots, under choice weeding and cultivation, have put up the most generous and glorious growth of fruits and flowers. The language has been steadily acquiring force, in degree as it has acquired freedom from foreign shackles, and the various "grafts" which are made upon it are so evidently subservient, that they contribute to its credit with the world, because of their inferior relation. Refined by adroit masters, it is now proved capable to compare with any language on the globe's surface, whether for strength or flexibility. Indeed, in the possession of English literature, in spite of what your professors tell you, you may dispense-so far, mark me, as the mere pleasure of reading it is concerned-with that of all other nations. For volume, for compass, for music, for comprehensiveness, for thought;

for all that confers excellence on language and literature, it is equal to any that the world has ever known, and to most is infinitely superior. Let your grim classicists make as many mouths at this assertion as they please. When we talk of the music of the English, we do not pretend to speak of it in regard to a comparison with the extreme susceptibilities of the Italian. We can't sing tragedies to opera music-no, nor could the Italians before their national emasculation,— but, by the pipers! we have a tongue which can be made to speak such thunders as would shake all Italy-rare, real, English thunders-which shall have echoes when there shall be no Virgils and no Tassos to be heard of, with their imitative penny whistles any where. Their Danté is made of more enduring stuff. The virtue of a language-its tenacity and strength-depend really quite as much upon the freedom of a people, as upon any other influence. What is burning for utterance within the soul, will struggle finally into utterance, and frame words for itself, befitting what it feels. And a lofty sense of character, a daring nature, a proud spirit, conscious of its merits and the magnitude of its achievements and its aims, will en dow, with an eagle's vigor, its ordinary speech, so that it shall not fail to impress itself forever upon the senses and the memories of nations. That the Greek and the Latin live to us, in so much authority now, is due to a soul, in their people, which infused, so subtly and so perfectly their speech, that it partakes of the immortality which their own achievements deserved. The vigor of a language corresponds with the conquests, the possessions, the wealth and the desires, physical and mental, of the nation. These, if noble, will, in like degree, ennoble the language, however low may have been its original.

We have made a long digression, but it does not misbeseem the rambling character of what we have to say. Something, we know not well what-in groping through certain black-letter volumes— prompted us to wish for the learning of Gibbon, and the eloquence of Burke-"for what?" you ask, good reader, and you may well ask. Why, to denounce the cruel wrongs which have been done to the ancient technicalities of the law. But without these, they shall have their dies in banco. All manner of slanderous things have been spoken of them. How cruelly have they been defamed, and by some, too-chiefs in the profession-who might have been looked to for better things. The law-latin, say they, is a language sui generis. And what if it is? What if it should be proved to be, as they allege, a strange compound, like the olla-podidra of the Spaniard, of the Gothic, the Latin and the French-nay, suppose the hash to have been spiced even more highly, by seasonings from other sources equally anomalous. I say, so much the better for the language of the law, and so much more completely does it accord and sympathise with those delightful fictions and pregnant philosophies, which constitute so many of its primary elements. Grave young men, who wear nothing but the wig of antiquity, would cry it down for such small reasons as its barbarousness; its conflict with the progress of the age; its preservation of old falsehoods; its vulgar object to im