politicians. The labor question is a vital one in all the large cities of England today, but the issue of some of the latest strikes there shows that unionism is a game at which capitalists can play as well as workmen. burning rick-yards, and smashing the hated and occasionally shows his power in a way machinery. The disturbances were quelled that causes concern both to capitalists and by military force, but the destitution became more widespread and bitter than ever, and threatened to bring about a revolution. The smoldering discontent was fanned almost into flame by the flagrant abuses growing out of Parliamentary corruption, rotten boroughs, and the lack of proper local administration. The danger continued to grow more imminent until it compelled the passage of the reform bill of 1832, which largely extended the franchise and effected a much needed redistribution of Parliamentary seats. One of the results was the Poor Law Amendment act of 1834, which practically established the present system of poor law unions and has worked, upon the whole, very satisfactorily in spite of the opposition which it excited and the fierce criticism to which it has been exposed. But before the completion of this legislation the laboring classes, both in the towns and the country districts, had begun to share, although in a limited degree, in the prosperity of the manufacturers and agriculturists, the demand for labor increasing as the more general use of machinery opened up new channels of trade. The labor market remained, as it still remains, overstocked, but it was not glutted, as had been the case a short time before. New factories sprang up, almost with the rapidity of mushrooms, and new hands were needed to run them. But the supply was always more than equal to the demand, as it has been ever since, and is to-day, a fact that accounts for the enormous social and financial gulf that exists between the English employer and his workman in spite of the abolition of the corn laws and other similar legislation in the latter's behalf. Nevertheless the social condition of the English laborer has been bettered enormously during the last half century. He works fewer hours, is more comfortably housed, enjoys opportunities of free education, and receives seventy-five cents a day instead of twenty-five. Statistics show that he now eats plenty of white bread and meat, neither of which did he taste in the old days. He smokes more tobacco, drinks more beer, and yet has something to spare for his benefit fund or his savings bank. He has learned, moreover, the advantages of cooperation, both in buying and in working, As to the upper and middle classes of English society there can be no doubt that democratic habits, if not democratic principles, are making much progress among them. The railroad and the telegraph are great levelers. There are ancient Tories yet living who hold that the best society and the best manners vanished with the stagecoach. It is certain that fifty years ago there were different standards of breeding, polite conduct and polite speech in different parts of the kingdom, whereas to-day there is but one code of dress and manners, and a new fashion in a coat or a bonnet, a new phrase, or a new style of raising a hat or shaking hands is known at once from John O'Groat's to the Land's End. There are exclusive circles yet, but their diameter is ever narrowing, and the accident of birth, although still taken into account, is no longer a matter of paramount consideration. General culture and special ability are passports everywhere, and literature, science, and art are platforms upon which all ranks, from royalty to the humblest commoner, meet upon equal terms. The nearest approach to the old exclusive aristocratic life is to be found in those secluded country seats which have remained in the possession of one family for many generations or even centuries. The owners of some of these are commoners who would consider any modern title a degradation to their name. In the houses of the great nobles the guests generally include men and women of all ranks and many varieties of occupation. Poets, historians, novelists, men of science, artists, a popular actor or two, clergymen, and diplomatists mingle with the representatives of hereditary rank or fortune and certainly do not feel themselves to be the least worthy members of the company. The sons of all sorts and conditions of men from all parts of the kingdom meet at the public schools and universities, and the friendships thus formed, together with intermarriages and a natural community of mental, social, political, and, possibly, business interests, all tend to destroy the distinctions. which formerly separated what was known as the upper middle class-well to-do merchants, manufacturers, and professional men-from the titled class and to weld them into one great body. This is not meant to imply that the aristocracy as a class is likely soon to become extinct. The House of Lords is still an actuality, but the nobility are no longer considered as another and peculiar order of beings. It is acknowledged that they hold a degree of rank in the social army to which they belong, which entitles them to a certain respect, but only when they accept and fulfill the responsibilities which that rank imposes upon them. promote public and private morality and decency, and the official example of the Court, which has been, openly at least, in the interests of cleanliness and decorum, has set a high standard for society in general, and has not been without its effect even upon the lower and more ignorant orders. Coarseness and profligacy are no longer regarded with admiration and the clergy may again enjoy the respect due to religion and the professed union of church and state. There can be no doubt that there are forces at work in England, as in Europe generally, that threaten the foundations of society as now constituted, but the consolidation of the educated and prosperous classes and the growth of what may be termed a conservative liberalism, afford a promise of security, and although it is difficult to foretell the result of the fermentation of discontent in the proletariat, it is always permissible to hope and believe that a danger which is recognized, may be avoided. (The end.) It would be difficult to exaggerate the reformation wrought in the general tone of English society by Queen Victoria in the fifty years of her reign. The fierce light that beats about a throne has never been able to reveal a flaw in the purity of her personal character. All her life she has striven to T THE IRISHMAN AT HOME. 'HE description of a recent journey through the island, the characteristics of the people as well as of the scenery will be presented currente calamo. * We land at Queenstown, a place at which one American stops for his breakfast while thousands of Irishmen leave it forever, and become the germs of millions of "free-born Americans." I remember listening to the address of General Corcoran when in New York he was welcomed home from the war. "Felly-citizens," he exclaimed, "it rejoices me heart to return once more to me native adopted city." And Irishmen do generally increase rather than lose their love of home in the process of becoming Americans. It is not to be denied that Paddy has had some grievances in his own country, but it would be better if, when he emigrates, he would leave his wrongs, real or imaginary, behind him, and consider America as the country that adopts him, instead of the country that he adopts. Several of our fellow passengers were Irish "With running or rapid pen." C-Jun. men with their wives, of a class who frequently return for a visit to their old home. They left the same port, years ago, at which they now land, but not as they come back. Their uniforms then were ragged coats, corduroys, brogans, and remnants of shawls falling over green petticoats descending to bare ankles. They return as "gentlemen and ladies," elaborately dressed and sparkling with jewelry. They are rich, and the richest are the New York Irishmen who have fattened upon the spoils of the city government. Their aim is not to visit galleries, paintings, and other wonders of the Old World ; it is literally to "astonish the natives"-to drive in state to the inn of their native village where twenty years ago they were glad to earn a penny by holding a traveler's horse. During the entire passage, and especially as we drew near the land, this desire was clearly expressed in their countenances. As Mr. Maloney "got himself up" on the last morning, I did wish that I might see him on his arrival home. Stepping upon the wharf we were greeted by a crowd of lace and bog-jewelry venders, urging their wares upon us in most persuasive, and honeyed accents. "You are a swate gintleman, you are. There's light in yer eyes and a purty spaking lip under yer moustache !" You buy some lace, and such innumerable blessings are called down upon you from heaven that if granted there would be none left for the rest of the world. If you persistently refuse, you walk away followed by curses in equal abundance. Keeping step to their discordant music we moved away toward the "Queen's Hotel" for our breakfast, followed by the usual crowd of beggars. And so we are in Ireland-in the home of the genuine native. We shall expect to see him swigging his whisky, dancing his hornpipe, walloping his Biddy, swinging his shillalah indiscriminately, overrun by his "childers" and his pigs, living, like them, on buttermilk and potatoes, roosting on his rickety gate, meditating schemes of "liberty for ould Ireland" to be accomplished by Home Rule and by shooting landlords in the dark. We are not given to complaining of what we generally find in the British Isles, especially of the conveniences of travel, yet it is quite natural to compare them with our own. Therefore, while doing the British railway system full justice in acknowledging its greater security and adaptation to personal comfort, we have no little fault to find with the careless treatment of luggage. A lady always travels with doubt and fear, for her mind embraces her clothing in her individuality. She realizes that a large constituent part of herself is stowed away in her trunks. On few, if on any, of the English railways or boats, has the traveler any guarantee that he shall receive his effects at the termination of his journey. There is nothing approaching to the convenient American system of checks. It is true that one generally gets his luggage, but occasionally, as has happened to us and to others, he does not, and then there is endless trouble in the way of proof and often of law, before it is recovered, if it be recovered at all. The passenger never can give his check to a servant or a cabman, and then dispose of his own time. No, he or she and for a lady the annoyance is excessive must, with a hundred other people, any one of whom, if dishonest, may claim what does not belong to him, crowd around a pile of trunks and point out to a porter his own, if he can find them. On board the steamer in which we afterward crossed over to Scotland, there was placarded this printed notice: "Passengers are requested to take charge of their own baggage, as the ship will not be responsible in any way for its safety." So our trunks remained on deck, requiring periodical supervision by day or night at every landing place to prevent their going ashore by mistake. Although for a short journey there is unusual comfort in an English first-class carriage, there is not that luxury and requisite contentment which is to be found on long American routes. By "the visita Once seated in the car bound from New York to San Francisco you need not occupy your mind any more about yourself or your baggage. The ticket and checks are in your pocket. Persons and trunks are alike safe for a week, "the danger of the land only excepted," to vary slightly the phraseology of an ordinary bill of lading. tion of Providence," which generally means the carelessness of a switch-tender, or the irregularity of a conductor's watch, your life may come to an end, or you may crawl from a pile of smoking rubbish to witness the promiscuous distribution of your effects. But, however this may be at the end of your journey, at the outset you are comfortable and confident. Alas, you are not so here! There is scarcely a direct line of railroad in Europe. They seem to run around in short curves, stopping almost as soon as they begin. Every engine and train has a local affinity to its little circuit, and would rebel if switched off upon strange rails. Rather than force this practice upon them it is considered vastly more easy to dump the passengers every few minutes, when they rush pell-mell in crowds "to look after the boxes." It was thus that on this first trip I rescued from the top of an omnibus one of my packages, just in time to prevent its loss. It may be therefore readily understood that for a gentleman traveling in the United Kingdom in company with ladies, the responsibility and anxiety attached to the office of baggage-master make a partial balance to the pleasure of their society. "How far is it to the cars?" "How far is it, yer honor? Jist fornent the shed." Really that is quite handy and an economy withal, I thought, as I told a porter to take our luggage outside. Following his lead we discovered no railway station nor the semblance of one, but in lieu a long line of "jaunting-cars," either one of which was ready to transport us to the station. No better idea can be given of one of these vehicles than to say it is a cart upon which can be piled a great amount of trunks and humanity to the sorrow of a wretched horse. This two-wheeled cart contains a seat for the driver in front, seats for five passengers if required, two upon each side, back to back, and one behind, with a box underneath for the sundries for which there is not room upon the seats or the foot-boards. On this machine, getting glimpses of the beautiful bay of Queenstown, we were driven rapidly to the station. In an hour we arrived at Cork, the road being along the banks of the Lee. Here we had two hours to spare. Having stacked our baggage on the platform and established a youngster as sentry over them, we accepted the invitation of Terrence Balhagan to take seats on his jaunting car. On this we had ample room to hang our feet over the wheels, and thus we progressed through the streets of Cork, our way enlivened by the cheerful encouragement of our driver, who cautioned us to "hould on " as he whirled around the corners. In all our conversation with him or with his countrymen I do not recollect a single instance of receiving the reply of "yes or "no." The affirmative or negative is always expressed by a full sentence, not unfrequently in the form of a return interrogatory, for which our own people are somewhat noted. "Take us to the market." "To the market is it? I will, sir." Off he went, with a name applicable to every large building on his line of march. For the churches he had the calendar of saints at his tongue's end. To the first public edifice attracting attention he gave the name of a court-house. The next was also a courthouse. And so on until he had supposed he had exhausted our credulity on the subject of court-houses, and then his mind ran upon banks for the remainder of the trip. We drove along the boulevard that borders the public gardens, and through some of the front streets where are the most fashionable residences, then we went spattering through the slums among a dirty, hissing crowd of drunken poor, then crossing a bridge on the Lee we came once more into the pure air and ascended the hill whereon is built the fine university of Cork. "Where will ye find the likes of it ?" asked Mr. Balhagan. "Ivery stone in it spakes like a book, and whin a gintleman has walked his term here, divil a bit more in the wurruld is there fur him to larn!" "Protestant or Catholic ?" "Both, yer honor. They goes in one and comes out the other, jist which way ye plazes, and they talk Greek and Latin like a Frinchman, they does. Och, it's the sate of larnin' sure!" Of the interior we saw nothing, for it was the time of vacation, but if any judgment might be formed from the outside, Teddy's panegyric was merited. The architecture is costly and elaborate, the grounds tastefully laid out, and the view of the surrounding country, and especially of the river and bay, is superb. This was about all we saw of Cork, for the conscientious Mr. Balhagan, who had been engaged to return to the station in time for the train, arrived there a half hour in advance, for which promptness he demanded an extra shilling. Besides this, he wanted "something for a dhrop o' whisky, yer know," and then "for a dhrop o' buttermilk for the childer." After compromising with him on these demands he suggested that we should contribute something for the "babby who come anint the death of his mammy"; but maintaining a callous indifference to his last plea of "divil a pinny have I for me rint," we took leave of Mr. Terrence Balhagan, his last words being, "Sure, yer honor'll take me car whin ye come back, for isn't it purloit I've been to ye?" From Cork to Killarney we have the day before us, this long, lovely day in early June. So we take Blarney by the way-Blarney, that noun proper, now much used as one so very common that comparatively few people know the origin of the word. Blarney is a quiet little village, distant on the left a mile from the station at which we alight half an hour after leaving Cork. Overlooking it from a slight eminence is a ruined castle built by McCarthy, "Prince of Desmond," in the early part of the fifteenth century. It must be remembered that princes were plenty as blackberries in the days when Ireland was cut up into little kingdoms, and small tyrants owned all the land, horses, estates, and people, body and soul. These were the days when Ireland was "independent," and for the return of which Home Rule sighs to-day. Prince McCarthy was a proud man, for as our guide informed us, "He was descended from Noah and came out of the arrack wid him." On approaching the ivy-clad tower it was pronounced "lovely" by our young artist, who could not be induced to proceed farther until it was creditably reproduced on paper, the drawing including the figure of the old guide, whom it was difficult to keep quiet by such coaxing as this: by following the general example. Like the toe of that statue of Jupiter which stands for St. Peter in the Cathedral of Rome, worn to the quick-if images have feeling-by lip service, so the Blarney stone is being gradually kissed away. Then, some thousands of years hence, more or less, when the last atom disappears on the last pair of lips, the millennium will come, for as flattery brought sin into the world, so when flattery leaves it, sin may be no more. Whenever we visit the ruins of old castles imagination tries to reproduce their former inhabitants-those armed warriors prancing "Now do sit still, you darling old lady, or about on fiery steeds, nobles and fair ladies I can't make you as pretty as you are." "Arrah now," she replied, occasion to kiss the stone!" The old woman was pleased with this flattery, being the keeper of the stone supposed to breed it. feasting in the halls, harpers, retainers, and all 'but ye've no the ancient crowd that history, softened into poetry, tells us of. But if we believe in progress, as we pretend, we must reflect that the men of that time were a set of rough men astride of ill-bred, badly harnessed nags, robbers of the poor and of each other. And the "fair ladies!" Think of women in homespun dresses made by themselves, busy in their kitchens, or stitching away without sewing-machines, going to no lectures, never arguing about high and low church, never reading novels or magazines, never going shopping or discussing woman's rights! No one seems to know the exact origin of the Blarney stone, or how it derived its miraculous power. It may have been in the ark-ballast bequeathed to the prince by his great ancestor. In some way it found itself on the very pinnacle of the castle tower, with the date 1703 carved upon it. To kiss it has been the ambition of many generations, who have laboriously climbed up to its dangerous eminence. There have been many accidents from falling. The fashion is to kiss it on bended knees, expressing a wish at the same time, the theory being that a persuasiveness is communicated to the lips that shall be effectual, especially where love is the object. Absurd as is the practice, the ceremony is almost invariably performed by all visitors. Sir Walter Scott did not find himself degraded It all amounts to this: Since those days, to begin with the horses, they are better bred; the men may have lost something in physique, but they steal in a more refined manner; relatives are murdered in battle for the benefit of political demagogues instead of for such men as the Prince of Desmond; and the ladies are better dressed, more refined, more intellectual, more extravagant, more beautiful, and in every way more charming. F HUNGARY'S PROGRESS AND POSITION. OR five hundred years Hungary has occupied the pivotal position in the politics of Southeastern Europe; and it promises to be in the future a factor no less potent than at any time in the past. Race questions are at the root of the unsolved complications that vex those regions. If the Hungarians were Slavic or Germanic or Latinic, they might have been found a reducible quantity. But they have no affinity with any of the races that surround them. The Magyars, as the Hungarians call themselves, are of the same race as the Finns and Lapps of Northeastern Europe, and came from the highlands of the Altai Region into Southeastern Europe many centuries ago. With the aid of the Germans they replaced South Slavic tribes in the territory they have since occupied. They have been a race of marvelous vigor, energy, and high spirit, although |