ps him as little more
scrupulous than Father Humphreys, of venerated memory. Mr. Logan's
belief that assessment and tax-paying are one and the same thing is
here regarded as ridiculous, and my friend thinks that if Mr.
Gladstone should impose a tax on Brains, the Grand Old Man's followers
will escape with an easy assessment.

Mullingar (Co. Westmeath), June 1st.

No. 30.--THE "UNION OF HEARTS."

It was strange to hear the tune of "Rule Britannia" in the streets of
Mullingar. The Irish madden at "God Save the Queen," and would make
short work of the performer. It was market day, and the singer was
selling printed sheets of poesy. The old tune was fairly correct, but
the words were strange and sad. "When Britain first at Hell's command
Prepared to cross the Irish main, Thus spake a prophet in our land,
'Mid traitors' scoff and fools' disdain, 'If Britannia cross the
waves, Irish ever shall be slaves.' In vain the warning patriot spoke,
In treach'rous guise Britannia came--Divided, bent us to her yoke,
Till Ireland rose, in Freedom's name, and Britannia boldly braves!
Irish are no longer slaves." The people were too busily engaged in
selling pigs to pay much attention to the minstrel who, however, was
plainly depending on disloyalty for custom. Westmeath was once the
home of Whiteboyism, Ribbonism, Fenianism, and all the other isms
which have successively ruined the country by banishing security; and
a spice of the old leaven still flavours the popular sentiment. "They
may swear as they often did our wretchedness to cure, But we'll never
trust John Bull again nor let his lies allure. No we won't Bull, we
won't Bull, for now nor ever more; For we've hopes on the ocean, we've
trust on the shore. Oh! remember the days when their reign we did
disturb, At Limerick and Thurles, Blackwater and Benburb. And ask this
proud Saxon if our blows he did enjoy When we met him on the
battlefield of France, at Fontenoy. Then we'll up for the green, boys,
and up for the green! Oh! 'tis still in the dust and a shame to be
seen! But we've hearts and we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I
ween, To rescue and to raise again our own unsullied green." A group
of farmers standing hard by paid some attention to this chant, and one
of them, in answer to my inquiry as to how the Union of Hearts was
getting on, chuckled vociferously and said, "Aye, aye, Union iv
Hearts, how are ye? How are ye, Union iv Hearts?" The group joined in
the la