in all social intercourse, and others of the same stamp; whilst little else is left us but a barren catalogue of broken and dishonest promises, and the consciousness of having been at once fleeced and laughed at.  And it would be well if we could stop here, but truth forces us onward.  The Irishman of the present day—­the creature of agitation—­is neither honest, nor candid, nor manly, nor generous, but a poor, skulking dupe, at once slavish and insolent, offensive and cowardly—­who carries, as a necessary consequence, the principles of political dishonesty into the practices of private life, and is consequently disingenuous and fraudulent.

Let me not be misunderstood.  I love truth; and have never been either afraid or ashamed to speak it; and I trust I never shall.  I now allude to the principles of Conciliation Hall, and the system by which they were led.  I feel bound, however, to exempt the party called Young Irelanders from having had any participation in bringing about results so disastrous to the best moral interests of the country.  It is true, that, as politicians, they were insane; but then they were at least sincere and honest; and I am satisfied that there is not a man of them, who would not have abandoned the object he had in view, sooner than accomplish it by sacrificing the popular virtues and moral character of the country for its attainment.  I have myself been a, strong anti-repealer during my whole life, and though some of the Young Irelanders are my personal friends, yet none know better than they do, that I was strenuously opposed to their principles, and have often endeavored—­need I say unsuccessfully?—­to dissuade them from the madness of their agitation.

Having made these few necessary observations, I now beg to introduce to my readers the extraordinary narrative already spoken of—­a narrative whose force and graphic power will serve only to bring shame upon the feeble superstructure which I have endeavored to erect upon it.  It is termed—­

THE MURDER OF THE BOLANDS.

In the year 1808, there lived near Croom, in the county of Limerick, a farmer named Michael Boland.  He was an intelligent and prosperous man, and the owner of many hundred acres of the best land in that fine county.

He had two sons and two daughters, all grown up to manhood and womanhood, in this year, and the parish chapel never saw, in their time, a finer family for stature, symmetry, and comeliness, attend its mass than Michael Boland, his wife, and children.  With the growth of his family, his ambition and desire of increased wealthiness grew; and, by the agency of some hundred pounds, he became the tithe-proctor, or rector of several patches of tithes throughout the county.

At first he was successful in this speculation, and with his increased profits, himself and his children assumed a higher and more important tone and bearing in society.  In fact, his sons and daughters passed as ladies and gentlemen, not only in external appearance, but in elegance of manners and cultivation of mind; for he spared no expense on their education, as well in his original as in his subsequent condition of life; besides that at this period, and for a long time previous, the County of Limerick was the great school-house, not only of Munster, but of all Ireland—­vide Carleton’s “Poor Scholar.”