A COUNTRY which is in a state of transition is an attractive subject, for a man ambitious to write a book. There is in a country so circumstanced such a variety of contrasts, the lingering old and the unshapen new are so picturesquely brought into juxtaposition, -and the entire system of things is necessarily so replete with anomalies of one kind or other, that if a man possess but a moderate share of observation, and ordinary descriptive powers, he can hardly fail to produce a very amusing, if not a very instructive book. No man appears to understand the worth of such facilities and materials better than M. De Feuillide; and being obviously desirous to execute something likely to be popular in his own country, he certainly made no bad selection, when, duly equipped with all the approved appliances of literary travel, he directed his steps

towards Ireland.

A real anxiety to become better acquainted with the social and political condition of these kingdoms, has strongly manifested itself of recent years, among our continental neighbours; and it is probable that a feeling so natural will increase rather than diminish. The likelihood, moreover, of its growing more minutely inquisitive, and more eloquently communicative, regarding all that may yield it gratification, appears equally obvious. The tendencies of society are every where towards mutual knowledge among nations. Countries that relatively existed in times past, but as points of theoretical geography, have already become neighbours; occasional curiosity has changed into permanent sympathy or aversion; and the fate of those, who, save in the dim speculum of world-wide philanthropy, was

once a thing of absolute indifference to us, solicits and obtains our attention and regard. Of necessity, those who live next door, have peculiarly numerous and abiding motives for enquiry into each other's welfare. Example is contagions, and opinion spreads its wavecircles around, irrespective of the bird lines that define national individuality. Thus Germany, differing though she does in so many vital elements from France, sensitively feels the vibration of every murmuring in that volcanic land;—with long drawn breath, Italy listens at her prison door, to hear if any sounds of hope come from the shores of the Danube or the Rhine;-and isolated, as we seem to be in Ireland from the rest of the world, few amongst us are unconscious of the external-but no longer in its ancient sense-foreign influence, that irresistibly bears upon our political state,-upon the temperature of our press and public opinion. Which of us has forgotten the quickening of the pulse that was felt during the last days of July, 1830, when the events that hurled the Bourbons from their twice re-founded throne, were authenticated? Who doubts the influence that quickening of the popular circulation had, in hastening the total change that was almost within a few months afterwards secured, in the Scotch and English representation? And who disbelieves that, were events of equal magnitude to occur in Germany to-morrow, the sympathy of a vast majority of our own people would be as intensely called into action as they then were;-let us hope with better effect. Day by day this feeling of approach into mutual presence is becoming more vivid; day by day it more behoves the statesmen of each country, to master the by-gone history, and

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the actual condition of its neighbours. No longer can such knowledge be dispensed with; no longer is it even enough that a few leading men should possess it. Statesmen are fast becoming less impersonations of opinion, than obedient reflectors, set in elevated places, to reveal with promptitude and fidelity all that is taking place around, all those events, whether comparatively far off or near, that tend to modify and shape opinion. They appear thus to know rather sooner than the multitude beneath them, what is passing in the foreign or domestic world; but if the matters be of moment, it is not unlikely that those other cabinet ministers, the daily journalists, have anticipated their information; or if not, their own responsibility compels them to divulge all that is of any vital interest to be known. State craft is rapidly passing from the possession or pretence of peculiar knowledge, to superior capacity for applying promptly, and, as it were, by an intuitive anticipation of the popular will, the knowledge which all must obtain. As for exclusive information, it is nearly passed away from our remembrance; and secrecy, that in the elder days of diplomacy was the hereditary privilege of half a dozen families, the cabalistic wand of European power, which feared no molestation or interference, save from cypher-reading treachery, has well-nigh forgot its cunning; so stringent is the statute of limitations which every representative government has enacted; and under which, the official, who can now prevent a secret from nipping the shell for several days together, is looked on as a marvellous man.

From this state of things has sprung, amongst many other phenomena, the swarm of political tourists, who, if not all gathering wisdom, are at least busy and buzzing in all degrees of latitude and longitude. From no country perhaps, have so many indefatigable purveyors to popular appetite gone forth, as from England. Every region of the elder and the junior world is now periodically traversed and reported on, by English and Scotch men. Indeed the exception is the man who, having wandered, refuses to print and publish, for the stay at home curiosity of his countrymen, all he hath jotted down: for that, having been to any out of the way corner of earth, he hath failed to jot down, is no longer credible.

In return, Frenchmen, Germans, and Americans have more recently entered the field; and, much to the displeasure and discomfort of certain old fashioned opinionists of Britain, have very unceremoniously avowed what of weakness, of oddity, and of

evil, they witnessed during their sojournings here.

As might have been expected, Irelandthe suffering member of the family,—the standing blunder of British rule,-the just, and, as far as regards the past, ineffacable stain on British character,-Ireland has been held up to the residue of the world as a lesson of example and of warning. Flippant tourists, it is true, have fallen occasionally into ludicrous mistakes about the causes of many things they have seen; how else could they fare, when from mail coach summit, or after dinner chit chat, they ventured to draw their inspirations? To see rags and to bewail them is easy enough, for a good hearted stranger among a pauperised people; but if a remedy be in question,-if a specific is to be broached,-it is of primary importance to know what the rags are made of,-whether they be rags of idleness, or of ignorance, or of oppression,-or, as some not unwisely have supposed, of all of these together. Such enquiries,-he who does Ireland in five weeks, and gives his results to the world in two volumes octavo,—has of course no time to make. Poor man, he cannot make five weeks go farther than he does. He gets up early, rides and walks through all weather, keeps his eyes vigorously wide open, talks much to every one, asks every body all sorts of questions, visits every remarkable object, and jots down voluminously. And "feeling upon his return home, that much of what he has seen and heard must be interesting to the public," he resolves incontinently to give the curious world the whole benefit of his guesses, good and bad, at the truth, concerning "that most interesting country." Nor, in spite of all his mistakes is the book of such a man without its use: far from it. The drawing of attention to a dangerous spot, though the first lights planted there flicker and are but short-lived, is no ordinary good. 'Tis for the vain, the blind, the doomed, to scorn imperfect guidance, and to prefer their old base way of staggering on in darkness. In utter darkness have the rulers of Ireland in times past, stupidly staggered on, unconscious of the dangers there; unable to discern, that if Ireland's misery be not healed, and the fountain of her woes dried up, the moral law, by which the fate of kindred nations has by Providence been linked together, forewarns Great Britain that in the embrace of Ireland's beggary, she may herself be made to totter on the dizzy summit of that height of empire, whereon she hath so long sat preeminent 'mid her imperial peers.