of a north-west passage, and nobly solved the great geographical problem which has occupied the attention and excited the interest of the world for ages past. I fear I am now trespassing on forbidden ground, but I trust you will kindly excuse me as an Irishman in this incidentally alluding to the presence of my illustrious countryman. Your country, gentlemen, is the Queen of the Ocean. Britannia rules the waves, and when she is represented as proudly seated in her marine chariot, she holds in her hand the trident sceptre of the sea god. Long may she continue to grasp it! But let us hope to look upon it in future as a glorious emblem of a triple strength of the three nations – the “tria juncta in uno.” Long may that union continue! Long may your own Union Jack float triumphant on the sea! Long may it brave “the battle and the breeze”, and soon may it flutter in exultation over that hard bird of evil omen with gory talons, dripping beak and gorged crop which so truly represents the rapacity of a sanguinary despot who has bought upon the world all this misery, carnage and woe! If you have had your Nelson, we have had our Wellington; and Capt. McClure and myself have the melancholy satisfaction that out of a list of 1400 killed and wounded at the battle of the Alma, 750 were Irishman. It is not permitted to me to assume the personal protection of our Sovereign. We have no Fusilier Guards, nor is our harmless military pride gratified by permission to fight for you in a national uniform like our more favoured neighbours. We have no Irish “Highland Brigade” but I know my countrymen so well that I am convinced that if poor Paddy cannot make his way into the battle-field with a shilelah in his hand and a shamrock in his hat, he will try to do it with a rose on his buttons, a thistle in his bonnet or a leek in his cap. He will even take service under the mournful banner of our dismal friend “Davy Jones”. I am credibly assured that the Royal Welsh Fusiliers are Irish to a man [Cheers] and I find even in looking at the nominal returns of wounded of that most Scotch of all the Scotch regiments – the 42nd Highlanders, a wounded soldier of the name of Lynch. Now, there is only one other country besides my own whence that man could come - a country in which a certain summary proceeding goes by the name of Lynch-law. He may be a Yankee, but even our respected Member Mr. Robertson, cannot claim him as a Highlander. I have served upwards of a quarter of a century in the army – in the Infantry, on the Staff, in the Dragoon Guards, and for several years in Prince Albert’s Own Hussars, under one of the of the best and best abused Colonels in the service, the Earl of Cardigan. From this long and varied experience I ought to know something of the army, something specially of the medical department with which I have been intimately connected. On this account I cannot but look with anxiety upon the novel method of equipping a brigade of females to be employed on active military duty for the first time in the History of -
