they have returned to Congress.  Such a candidate, having succeeded so far as even to become a Secretary for Foreign Affairs, was one day waited on by a man, who reminded him that some part of this eminent success had been due to his vote; and really—­ Mr Secretary might think as he pleased—­but him it struck, that a “pretty considerable of a debt” was owing in gratitude to his particular exertions.  Mr Secretary bowed.  The stranger proceeded—­“His ambition was moderate:  might he look for the office of postmaster-general?” Unfortunately, said the secretary, that office required special experience, and it was at present filled to the satisfaction of the President.  “Indeed! that was unhappy:  but he was not particular; perhaps the ambassador to London had not yet been appointed?” There, said the secretary, you are still more unfortunate:  the appointment was open until 11 P.M. on this very day, and at that hour it was filled up.  “Well,” said the excellent and Christian supplicant, “any thing whatever for me; beggars must not be choosers:  possibly the office of vice-president might soon be vacant; it was said that the present man lay shockingly ill.”  Not at all; he was rapidly recovering; and the reversion, even if he should die, required enormous interest, for which a canvass had long since commenced on the part of fifty-three candidates.  Thus proceeded the assault upon the secretary, and thus was it evaded.  So moved the chase, and thus retreated the game, until at length nothing under heaven remained amongst all official prizes which the voter could ask, or which the secretary could refuse.  Pensively the visitor reflected for a few minutes, and, suddenly raising his eye doubtfully, he said, “Why then, Mr Secretary, have you ever an old black coat that you could give me?” Oh, aspiring genius of ambition! from that topmast round of thy aerial ladder that a man should descend thus awfully!—­from the office of vice-president for the U.S. that he should drop, within three minutes, to “an old black coat!” The secretary was aghast:  he rang the bell for such a coat; the coat appeared; the martyr of ambition was solemnly inducted into its sleeves; and the two parties, equally happy at the sudden issue of the interview bowing profoundly to each other, separated for ever.

Even upon this model, sinking from a regal honour to an old black coat, Mr O’ Connell has actually agreed to accept—­has volunteered to accept—­for the name and rank of a separate nation, some trivial right of holding county meetings for local purposes of bridges, roads, turnpike gates.  This privilege he calls by the name of “federalism;” a misnomer, it is true; but, were it the right name, names cannot change realities.  These local committees could not possibly take rank above the Quarter Sessions; nor could they find much business to do which is not already done, and better done, by that respectable judicial body.  True it is, that this descent is