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 remarked upon it 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-nine 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 wrest 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.

ON A PAIR OF OLD SHOES.

What a vulgar subject?--By no means, my dear Madam! On the contrary, a
most delightful, free and easy, suggestive topic. When the old
philosopher enumerated the best old things to burn, drink, etc., he
should have specially mentioned old shoes to wear,--John, take away
these heavy boots, and bring me my slippers,--my old, loose, easy,
comfortable slippers.--There! They are not handsome, I grant you, Madam.
But beauty is only skin-deep, you know; and when we talk of tanned skin,
I assure you its beauty often conceals unloveliness beneath. They are
broad and large;--yes, this foot of mine, which is no