The Press.
London, England, 1857-09-05 00:00:00

THE PRESS, SEPTEMMR 5,1857.

a dead one, and must be one of those we fired at above."
In saying so he ran down the bank to get it, and as I
was about to follow, my foot caught in the heather, and
I fell down the declivity. In the fall the left barrel of
my gun went off, and, awful to relate, lodged the whole
of its contents in the back of my unfortunate cousin.
He exclaimed, " 0 God, I am shot;" and as soon as I
got up I saw him lying on his back about ten yards
from me. I ran up and asked him was he much hurt?
At first he said not, as he felt no pain ; but when I saw
the nature of the wound I knew there was no hope, and
told him so. It is consoling to state that he was able
to employ his last moments in prayer, and resigned
himself calmly into his Saviour's hands, and then, without
a struggle or a sigh, be passel away in less than twenty
minutes after he was struck.

A GROSS AGRARIAN OUTRAGE occurred at Longford
on Sunday night. An armed party of forty men
attacked the house of a man named Farrill, care-
taker on the Moydon estate, and, forcing their way,
deliberately poured a volley of slugs and small shot
into the poor man and his son. Happily neither
were killed. The police are out, but of course not on
the trace of the ruffians.

With regard to India, the feeling generally through-
out all classes is one of horror at the atrocities com-
mitted, and of enthusiastic admiration at the heroic
courage displayed by so many of whom Ireland as
well as England has cause to be proud. A " daily
paper " this week remarks that "s 0 long as the
leading organ of the Roman Catholic and ultra-
Liberal party in Ireland continues thus faithfully to
represent the true state of feeling as regards the
disasters in India, people can almost afford to laugh
at the rabid outpourings of a few journals which
affect to believe that the days of vitriol bottles and
boiling lead are still hallowed in the memory of the
Dublin rabble ;" and then asks, "Does Mr. John
Mitchell himself, the incarnation of sedition in 1848,
believe that such sentiments as follow find any
resting-place in the breasts of Irishmen not actually
demented?" :
Sweeter than the voice of love, sweeter than the warm
accents of friendship, dearer than the mellowest sunshine
of the heart is the news of English discomfiture-in India
to the breasts of the Irish people. They are delighted,
rejoiced, and gladdened beyond measure when they hear
of the torture and humiliation of their ancient foe. There
is not a vessel of hers which is wrecked, there is not. a
general of hers who is slain, there is not a battalion in her
service which is routed and overthrown, that the people
of Ireland do not gloat over with the greatest satisfac-
tion and delight. Front the deepest recesses of their
hearts they wish her defeat and misfortune in what-
ever enterprise she is engaged. Loyalists, slaves, syco-
phants, and West Britons may seem astounded by all
this, but from our knowledge of the people we can assure
them that what we have stated is a fact. The Irish mil-
lions wish to see England subdued, her insolence chas-
tised, her barbarous and tyrannical power broken to pieces,
her domineering and brutal disposition tamed and sobered
down, and her outrageous desire to annoy, bully, insult
and plunder weaker nations rendered impotent and power-
less for evil for all time to come. They are consequently
delighted by the intelligence received from the East, where
the forces of the Great ➢logul are pounding the armies of
Great Britain. Wherever England draws the sword, or
lights the match, Ireland prays for her defeat, and at no
time has she prayed more fervently in that way than she
does now, when the patriot sepoys of India are endeavour-
ing to strangle the British power and sweep it root and
branch from the fair and fertile fields of Hindostan.