TOPICS OF THE DAY.
IRELAND UPON POLAND. THE Irish Brigade, whose eloquence is never more severely felt than in July, when the weather is warm and the House is not half through the most important part of its work, this week has been uttering a wild Irish lament over Poland. Mr. Pope Hennessey led the van in the sad funeral procession, and Mr. Vincent Scully followed weeping, among the jaunting-ears at a little distance. They have buried Ire- land so often, and followed the liberties of the Celtic race to their imaginary tomb so repeatedly, that a little change was almost necessary for the health of Mr. Pope Hennessey and his friends. Being fond of wakes and funeral orations, they determined to speed their holiday in raising the wild Ochone of their country over Poland. It is a noble sight to see this devoted band of Irish patriots lending themselves out for oratorical purposes to the distressed Poles, as disbanded mis- sionaries bestow themselves upon the cause of the Kaffirs or the Maori for a night. The Poles will be more grateful to them, perhaps, than Parliament, whose Saxon propensities are dis- played in its dislike of Irish speeches during the hot summer months. Next to listening to a Pole himself in very hot weather, listening to an eloquent and rich-tongued Irishman is the most sultry occupation which at this time of the year could fall to the lot of a quiet member of Parliament. When a Pole selling razors, or an Irish patriot with a brogue, shall come forth into the public gaze and prepare to lift up his voice on the subject of despotism and nationalities, then it is time, all oracles declare, for the wise to flee into shady places. It was a terrible and fevering sight, accordingly, when the great advocate of Ireland's cause took up his parable. Poland and Freedom bad shrieked when Kosciusko fell, but their best lovers felt that it was only making matters worse when Mr. Pope Hennessey rose. • The reason was not that a British House of Commons cannot, or does not, sympathize with Poland's cause, so far as Poland is oppressed, but discussion at the present mo- ment of such a question leads to no practical end, and wastes useful time. Nor are the Irish members, as a body, the most fitting advocates of the cause of foreign nationalities. If the Russian Emperor were a Roman Catholic cardinal or bishop, instead of being, as he is, the head of an heretical Church, we should hear little of the wrongs of Poland, and much of the rights of religion and authority. In such a case we should have been required to observe that each bearded Pole who was to be seen in the purlieus of Leicester-square was at heart a sacrilegious filibuster. Lord John Russell would have been denounced as an intriguing interferer as often as be breathed a wish that Russia might govern decently. Dr. MacHale and Dr. Cullen would have begun to raise a holy roar, and to lash their episcopal tails in the distance. Months ago a deputation would have started, headed by fire or six fat parish priests, to condole with Prince G-ortschakoff, and to present the freedom of Limerick to the commander of the garrison at Warsaw, in a snuff-box of bog- oak. Bare-legged ragamuffins from the villages in the south would be marching to the assistance of the astonished Russian Government, with nothing in their pockets except his reverence's blessing and a lock of their sweethearts' hair. Collections would be making in all the chapels. Petitions and denunciations would flock into her Majesty. There would be monster meetings among the young Irishmen, and pikes would be sharpened by night in the wilds of Tip- perary. Last, if not least, Ireland's great champion, The O'Donoghue, would appear upon the stage, and declare that he and his party would never support any Cabinet which was not in favour of Divine right, the dismemberment of Poland, and the fulfilment of the pious hopes of the united Celtic race.
Such advocates as the men who shrieked at the flag of a united Italy as it rose upon the air, are not likely to do ser- vice or credit to the Polish cause. With the gallant Polish nation lie the sympathies of all who love justice and liberty. But the answer of Lamartine to the representatives of that oppressed people in 1848 must for years to come be the only answer any statesman of sane mind could give to such an appeal. France of the present day, whose viission ci- vilisatrice leads her to beard the Pope, the Sultan, and the Austrian monarch, pauses herself in her missionary career as she approaches the frontiers of Northern tyranny. Eng- land is too practical to wrap the Continent in war for the sake of an historical memory or a poetical sentiment. Even the Republican Don Quixotes of the day grow colder, and are disenchanted by the sight of the multitudinous battalions of the largest and most determined empire in the world. The truth is, that it will not do to apply abstract and ideal theories to international politics. In a country like England, no foreign policy is possible which is not the expression of the nation's will. Right or wrong, England is not prepared to make war upon Russia for the problematical end of giving a constitution to a third of a dismembered kingdom, and, as Lord Palmerston rightly said, Polish independence would not be a good cry to go with to the country. As we are not prepared to strike, it would be puerile to threaten, though Irishmen naturally prefer agitation even to action. A great nation, however, ought seldom to fire any but shotted guns. For the present Poland must wait. Mr. Vincent Scully is of opinion that Ireland is a second Poland in respect to the chains in which she is bound. If his complaint were true, and England were another Russia, Mr. Scully might this moment be giving music lessons in St. Petersburg, It must be confessed that the parallel between the Saxon and the Cossack is not a close one. Where are the long-haired Irish counts, who, if Ireland were Poland, should be overrunning the Con- tinent? If the British Government is a despotism, it is a despotism that makes no exiles. There is John Mitchell, no doubt, at Paris, a very distinguished Irish patriot, whose morality and history belong perhaps to the "Polish count" order. There is an equally famous fugitive patriot, we believe, in America. There are Irish captains, if not Irish counts, to be seen at Baden Baden. But the causes which banish these illustrious exiles from their country are such as would perhaps in any case remove them from the society of their countrymen and countrywomen. A certain portion, however, of the foreign press is pleased to show its ignorance of England by drawing parallels such as these, which the imaginative members of the Pope's Brigade draw for themselves and their constituents. The idea is extremely comical. The one single grievance of England's Poland is, that she is not allowed to undo the work of centralization which she herself accomplished, and to which she owes whatever amelioration there has been in her condition for the last sixty years. She is as free as air in all other respects, and her sons enjoy every single privilege which it is possible for England to grant, except that privilege of mutual extermination which they so ardently desire. Irish patriots, however, live in so unreal a world, that they cannot see this, and cannot see that all well-informed foreigners laugh when they are told that Ireland is England's Poland. The O'Donoghue will never be a second Kosciusko, nor will Irish independence ever be more than an insane cry by which ambitious and wicked men endeavour to rouse the passions of a priest-ridden and intolerant peasantry.
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