They had been instrumental in establishing a free school for the sons of poor Protestant clergymen, in the town which bordered on their grounds, and they took us to see it. It was market-day, so the main street was full of the lower order of Irish, with their horses and carts, asses and panniers, tables and stands full of eatables and articles of clothing. Sometimes the cart, or car, served as a counter on which to display their goods. The women in gay-colored cotton gowns, and white caps with full double borders, made a very gay appearance. As we all passed through the crowd to the school-house, the enmity of the Papists to Protestant landholders was but too evident.

Though Mrs. Edgeworth had been the Lady Bountiful of the village for many years, there were no bows or smirks for her and her friends, no making way before her, no touching of hats or pleasant looks. A sullen expression and a dogged immovability were on every side of us. Mr. Butler, who had but just arrived in Edgeworthtown, was as much struck with it as we were, and it quite excited him. He spoke of it to us as a want of manners in the people, and called them uncivilized; but there was more in it than that. It spoke to us Americans of the long train of oppressive measures under which the Irish had groaned for years; of the Protestant clergy paid by rates levied on the Roman

Catholics, and of the tyranny exercised by Protestant landholders. Twenty-eight years have passed since I stood in that Irish crowd, and much has been done to improve their condition; all the political disabilities then complained of by the Papists have been removed, oppressive laws have been done away with, emigration has relieved the land of its surplus population, and were it not for the designs of the Romish Church to rescue the island from the dominion of a Protestant power, that country might now be prosperous and happy.

When we visited Miss Edgeworth she had published her last work, "Helen," and was writing another to be called "Taking for Granted," but I never heard of its being published. She told me that she meant to show the mischief of taking things for granted, and acting upon them as if they were known facts, and she begged me to send her any instances of the evil consequences of "taking for granted" which fell under my observation.

CHAPTER XV.

I

ANDRIANE.

HAPPENED to be in Paris in 1837 when Monsieur Andriane returned from his ten years' imprisonment in Austrian dungeons, and I was present in the saloon of Madame Récamier, when he gave a most affecting account of his sufferings. He was in the prime of life, and had been handsome, but he was prematurely aged by all he had endured. His sight was much impaired by writing on the walls of his dungeon with scarcely any light, and he was lamed for life by the heavy irons he had worn so many years. I can see him now as he was seated in the centre of a circle of eager listeners, answering questions, and describing with great pathos the effect on his mind of the solitary imprisonment which he endured for a part of the time. He was a young Frenchman travelling for pleasure, and had had nothing to do with the politics of Europe. On leaving Geneva to go to Milan, a friend asked him to be the bearer of some papers which he wished to send to that city. Entirely ignorant of their being the communications of a

secret society, plotting against the Austrian government, he took charge of them. On his way over the Simplon, his carriage was upset, and many of its contents fell over the precipice at the side of the road, and among them the portfolio containing those dangerous papers. His servant insisted on going down the precipice after his master's effects, and when all but the portfolio were recovered, Monsieur Andriane begged him not to risk his life for that, but the man's zeal to serve him made him bring that up also. The fatal papers arrived at Milan, and before the bearer had time to deliver them, they were in the hands of the police, and he was arrested. His astonishment was unbounded, and in his first examination it was difficult to make him understand what he had done to forfeit his liberty, or of what he was accused, but he had enough presence of mind to refuse to tell who had given him the papers, or to whom they were to be delivered. This reserve made him appear to belong to the secret society then existing in Milan, and he was therefore considered as plotting against the Austrian government, and condemned to the severest imprisonment.

As soon as he was supposed sufficiently broken down to be willing to betray his associates, for the sake of better treatment, he was subjected to another examination; but they had mistaken their

man. His sense of honor never failed him, and during ten years of persecution, he never yielded to persuasion, threats, or bribery, but steadily refused to give any information which could compromise anybody. He suffered accordingly all the cruelties inflicted on suspected persons. He was asked how he employed his mind during his solitary confinement, and told us that for the first year he went over his past life, recalling every minute circumstance, and kept his mind busy; after that he felt that he was becoming stupid, and fearing to be imbecile, he roused himself to fresh exertion, and began to recall all that he had ever learned from books, and wrote it on the wall with the point of a rusty old nail that he found in his cell. It was only during the middle of the day that the faint light which entered his dungeon was sufficient for him to pursue this occupation, but he found it very useful, and a great alleviation. During the many hours of darkness, he would recall and prepare what he would write the next day. He feared that in a long imprisonment his memory might fail him, and then he hoped the writing on the wall would save him from imbecility. He had completely covered all his walls, as high as he could reach, with fine writing, when he was suddenly removed to another dungeon. This was done, he supposed, on purpose to torment him; but it proved a blessing,