The man with five pounds in his pocket starts to spend it in England; make it ten, and he goes to Paris; fifteen, and he's up the Rhine; twenty, and Constantinople is not far enough for him! Whereas, if the sum of his wealth had been a matter of shillings, he'd have been satisfied with a trip to Kingstown, a chop at Jude's, a place in the pit, and a penny to the repeal fund; all of which would redound to his patriotism, and the “prosperity of Ireland.”
The same line of argument applies to every feature of expense. If we patronise “Irish manufacture,” it is because we cannot afford English. If we like Dublin society, it is upon the same principle; and, in fact, the cheap pleasures of home, form the sheet-anchor of our patriotism, and we are only “guardian angels,” because “we have n't a tester.”
Away then with any flimsy endeavours to introduce English capital or Scotch industry. Let us persevere in our present habits of mutual dislike, attack, and recrimination; let us interfere with the projects of English civilisation, and forward, by every means in our power, the enlightened doctrines of popery, and the patriotic pastime of parson-shooting, for even in sporting we dispense with a “game license;” let no influx of wealth offer to us the seduction of quitting home, and never let us feel with our national poet that “Ireland is a beautiful country to live out of.”
A NUT FOR “GRAND DUKES.”
God help me but I have always looked upon a “grand duke” pretty much in the same light that I have regarded the “Great Lama,” that is to say, a very singular and curious object of worship in its native country. How any thing totally destitute of sovereign attributes could ever be an idol, either for religious or political adoration, is somewhat singular, and after much pains and reflections on the subject, I came to the opinion, that German princes were valued by their subjects pretty much on the principle the Indians select their idols, and knowing men admire thorough-bred Scotch terriers—viz., not their beauty.