UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES GIFT OF iielen Cal dwell m THE G A RL AND; BEING A SELECTION OF INTERESTING STORIES. BY THE AUTHOR OF PETER PARLEY NEW YORK : PUBLISHED BY NAF1S & CORNISH, 278 PEARL STREET. PS CONTENTS. *l THE GARLAND. ^ Page. ^ The Stranger's Nephew, - 9 V. The Swiss Boy's Farewell, - - . - 47 Stanzas F. G. Jewett, - 49 An Omitted Pickwick Paper, 51 The Madona A Translated Sketch, 58 The Dreamer, - G3 The Miser, ;' ' - - 64 y Ireland and the Irish, first part, - 65 ^J Ireland and the Irish, second part, 112 *SL To Marion, ...... ISO V Blue Stockings, ...... 191 Ambition, ....... 200 The Love of Nature, .... 233 I've Nailed My Colors to the Mast. THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW; OR, THE \ HUMORS OF GRUNWIESEL.* * BY THE TRANSLATOR OF " 05DINE." I. IN the southern part of Germany lies the town of Griinwiesel. This is a small market town, as are most of the towns in that region. In the centre of it you see a square with a fountain, on the north side of which stands a little old court- * These Humors of Grtlnwiesel are a translation of W. Hauff's amusing extravaganza, " Der Affe als Mensch." Though occasioually touching upon the borders of improbabili ty, they are a good-humored satire, cutting and comic, the palpable hits of Hamlet; andj welcome as they may be to lovers of laughter and glee, they are but too applicable, we fear, to many a large as well as small town, beside the German Grunwicscl. Trans. 1 THE STUANGEU'S NEPHEW. lioii.-e : and around it rise the dwellings of the j u lice of the peace and the more respectable shopkeepers, while the rest of the inhabitants live in a few narrow streets. Nothing under herivcu here remains unknown ; the most private its are viewed as public property. So v docs every one know what is every where going forward, that, when the principal clergyman, the burgomaster, or the physician, has a rare dish on hi- table, ihe whole town never fail to get scent of the news at dinner. When, in the afternoon, the females meet to pay visits, as they are called, and while drinking strong coffee and eating sweet cake, they share with one another the important gossip they have been able to pick up or make; and the conclusion of the whole matt- 1 is, that no doubt the chief niini-tc r lias 1 roost unchristianly dabbling in the lottery, and drawing one of the highest prizes ; or that the buMpm aster has been shrewd enough to butter id on both sides; or that the doctor has 'cet< '! IIKIM) a piece of gold from the apothe cary, as a bribe for his letting him make his pre scriptions dear. You may easily imagine, kind reader, how vexatious it must be for such a \\< !!- ordered town as Orunwiesel, to have a man come there of whom no one knows whence he THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 11 comes, what his business is, and how he is to live. Now, as fate and mischief would have it, just such a man one day arrived there. The burgo master, it is true, had examined his pass, and remarked at one of the doctor's coffee-parties, that it was all perfectly correct, so far as di rected from Berlin to Griinwiesel, but that not a word was said of his journey before, or of his for mer place of abode circumstances that looked not a little mysterious. As the burgomaster was a man of the greatest consideration in town, there was nothing wonderful in the stranger's being regarded as a suspicious person from the very day of his arrival. Besides, his conduct afterward was far from removing this early pre judice. With a few pieces of gold, the stranger hired him . a whole house, which had for some time stood unoccupied ; ordered quite a wagon- load of strange furniture, such as stoves, shov els, tongs, pots, kettles, and other utensils for kitchen use, to be brought; and from that hour lived all alone, and for himself alone. Yes, he even cooked his own food; and not a soul en tered his house but an old man of Griinwiesel, whom he employed to buy bread, meat, and vege tables; still more, this man was permitted to 1 - THE STRANGER'S XEPHEW. come no farther than the ground floor, \vhcre the stran^rr received his purchases himself. The commotion thus raised in this small town was excessive. The man never amused himself, like others, in playing nine-pins in the afternoon ; never went to the tavern in the even ing to smoke his pipe and talk over the news. In vain did the burgomaster, the justice of the peace, the doctor, and the principal minister, one after another, invite him to dine or take coffee ; he invariably excused himself. In con sequence of this unsocial spirit, some considered him as mad, others suspected him to be a Jew, while a third party stoutly maintained that he was a conjurer or wizard. Thus passed eight or ten years, and still the town called him " THE STRANGER GENTLEMAN." II. One afternoon, about this time, some people hap|Hned to 0.1,1. m;.> t >\MI \MI!I a inOH <-f ..in- foreign parts. It was one of those strolling caravans, which have a camel that 1. n> '. . a bear that dance* , with dogs and mon keys that look' so comical in boys' clothes, and play all sorts of diverting tn< ks These wan derers commonly march through a town, stop in THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 13 the cross streets and squares, make a miserable discord of music with a small drum and fife, set their troop to dancing and leaping, and then collect what money they can at the doors of the houses. Now, the most attractive animal which these strollers had to exhibit on their present visit, was a remarkable ourang-outang, almost as large as a man, that walked on two legs, and knew how to perform a great variety of ingeni ous tricks. These grotesque comedians, of the dog and monkey school, came also before the house of the stranger ; and at first, when the drum and fife struck up their din, he appeared, through his dim, unwashed windows, to be exceedingly annoyed; but soon after, to the surprise of every body, he looked out of a win dow quite amused, and laughed heartily at the feats of the ourang-outang ; nay, he threw out so large a bit of silver for the entertainment he had had, that it became the talk of the whole town. Next morning, the menagerie moved forward to another town ; the camel had to carry a num ber of baskets, in which the dogs and monkeys were stowed away very commodiously, while the beast-trainer and the baboon followed the camel. But not many hours had passed, after their leav- 14 THE STRANGER'.- M;IIU;\V. ing tl*e town, ulu-u the .-tnm^iT .-cut to the post- house, and, to the extreme astonishment of the post-master, requested him to order a carriage and extra post-horses to be got ready for him ; and with these he set off in the same direction in which the animals had gone. The town's people were all in a pheese of vexation, because they couldn't learn where he was journeying. It was already night, when the stranger re turned in tiic carriage, and drove up to the town gate ; but another person was sitting by his side, who had pressed his hat hard down upon his forehead, and bound a silk handkerchief over his mouth and ears. The recorder, or clerk of tin- gate, considered it his duty to address the new stranger, and ask him for his pass; but he re plied in a gruff and grumbling voice, while he muttered something in a language wholly unin telligible. lie is my nephew," said the stranger to the clerk, in a friendly tone, as he slipped some pieces of silver into his band " he is my nephew, and he understands but few words of German as yet ; be has hardly been able, on account of our stopping him here, to keep himself from cursing us to our teeth." v iy, if iu- is a nephew of yours," replied THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 15 the recorder, " he may be admitted without a pass. He will doubtless live with you." " Certainly," said the stranger ; " and he will probably remain here for a long time." The clerk of the gate making no further objection, the stranger and his nephew were admitted. The burgomaster and the whole town were much dissatisfied with the clerk. He had been so fortunate, however, as to catch two or three words of the nephew's speech ; and from these he could easily ascertain of what country both he and his uncle were natives. Now, the recorder was sure that they were neither French nor Italian, but that they had much of the broad brogue of English ; and if he was not mistaken, the young gentleman had blurted out the words, " G D ! " once or twice. In this manner the clerk got himself out of his difficulty, and helped the young man to a name ; for nothing was now spoken of throughout the town but the young Englishman ; and those two words were considered his name.* * See the amusing note to Pye's Translation of Aristotle's POETIC, where he alludes to this whimsical mode of detecting an Englishman. Trans. 1 G THE STRANGER'S NKI-HEW. III. But the young Englishman was not to be soon at nine-pins, or in the beer-cellar, any more than his uncle, although in another way he gave the people business enough to do. It often hap pened, for instance, that such fearful screams and sounds of alarm proceeded from the stran ger's house, (which was usually M> Mill,) that crowds of people stopped before it and looked up. The yo :rli.shman, wearing a red frock and green pantaloons, was seen, with Itn-tling hair and a frightful look, running in credibly swift from room to room, and from window to window; tho old stranger pursuing him in a red night-gown, a hunting-whip in his hand, and not seldom failing with his random strokes to hit him ; but it sometimes seemed to tin- c -rou-1 in the street below, that he must have given the youth a genuine switching ; for t caught the keen cutting of the whip, and the consequent shrieks of suffering. The females of the town took so lively an mtrrv-t in this bar barous treatment of the young foreigner, that they finally moved the burgomaster to e\.im,nc the matter lie wrote the stranger a billet, in which he reproved him in severe terms fur his THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 17 cruel usage of his nephew, and threatened, if there should be a repetition of such scenes, to take the young gentleman under his own especial protection. But who could be more astonished than the burgomaster, when, for the first time in ten years, he saw the stranger enter his room ? The old gentleman made an apology for his conduct by mentioning the strict command of the young man's parents, who had committed him to his care to be educated ; he was quite a discreet and clever lad, he said, except in his extreme slow ness in learning languages ; it was his strong desire, that his nephew should gain some fluency in speaking German, in order that he might take the liberty of introducing him to the society of Griinwiesel ; and so great was his difficulty, his obstinate stupidity rather, in mastering the lan guage, that he judged he could do nothing better for him, than give him now and then the whole some discipline of the whip. The burgomaster was perfectly satisfied with this communication : he advised the old man to be more gentle in his discipline, and told his friends at the alehouse in the evening, that he had seldom met with a man so agreeable and well-informed as the stranger. " It is a thousand 2 1 8 THE STEANGER S NEPHEW. pities," he added, " that he comes among us so rarely ; I suspect, however, that the moment his nephew has made some proficiency in (icrnuu), ho will visit our circle more frequently." IV. By an incident slight as this was, the opinion of the town altogether changed. The stranger was esteemed a judicious man ; all desired to have a more intimate acquaintance with him ; and, when a horrible outcry was occasionally heard in his solitary dwelling, it was viewed only as the natural coarse of things. " He is giving his nephew a lesson ; he is teaching him to speak German ! " observed the* inhabitants of Grun- wiesel, and then, quite satisfied, passed along. ID about three months the lessons in (u-nnan seemed to be finished ; for the old gentleman now went a step farther in giving his pupil accom plishments. There \ras a lame old Frenchman living in the town, who taught young people dancing and the graces. The sti t for this man, and told him it was his wish tint lie should give his nephew some instruction in dancing. He informed him that be was in gen- -nil quite docile, but that, so far as dancing was concerned, he was rather self-willed. He had, THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 19 not long before, he said, taken lessons of another master ; and yet, after all his drilling, he could not well be admitted into company ; but still his nephew looked upon himself as a first-rate dan cer, although his dancing bore no resemblance to waltz or gallop, to the Scotch fling or the French pigeon's-wing. He moreover promised to give him a dollar an hour ; and the dancing- master was glad to undertake the instruction of this wild and wilful pupil. Nothing under heaven could more exceed all power of imagination, as the Frenchman swore with a great oath, than this same hour of dancing. The nephew, rather a tall and slender youth, though he had legs remarkably short, appeared beautifully dressed in a red frock, wide green pantaloons, and glazed gloves. He spoke little, and with a foreign accent, showing himself, at first, quite well behaved and clever ; but on a sudden, he often made the most whimsical springs, danced round and round the room with the wildness of frenzy, and then went through with such furious cross-capers, as well nigh de prived the dancing-master both of hearing and sight. When he tried to put the madcap right, he snatched off his elegant dancing-pumps, threw them at the Frenchman's head, and scampered 20 T"E STRANGER'S NEPHEW. round the room on all fours. Roused by this tumult, the old gentleman rushed from his room, in a wide scarlet night-gown, a gold- paper cap on his head, and with his hunting- whip switched and switched the back of \\:< nephew. His nephew then set up a terrible outcry, sprang upon a table and high chest of drawers, and even leapt upon the large cross- piece of the window-frame, where he clung in terror, showing his white teeth, and wildly sput tering his strange, foreign gibberish. But the old man, in his scarlet night-gown, so far from lieing disconcerted at all this, seized him by the leg, pulled him down, and lashed him severely. He then grasped his neckcloth, and, by means of a buckle, drew it tighter ; on which the hare brained stripling showed more gentleness and propriety of manners, and the hour of dancing went on without interruption. But when the dancing-master had advanced his pupil so far, that he was able to add music to tin business of the hour, the nephew seemed to experience a favorable change. A town nm-i- i was hired, who was directed to sit on a table in the hall of the lonely house. The dan cing-master then stood up as a lady, while the old gentleman put on him a woman's silk gown and THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 21 an East India shawl. The nephew bowed to his partner, and now began to dance and waltz with him ; but so furious and indefatigable a dancer was he, that he never permitted the master to escape from his long arms. Groan and cry out, " Man Dicu ! Mon Dim I " as manfully as he might, still, in spite of all his groaning, and Mon Dieuing, he was forced to continue dancing, until he sunk down overpowered with fatigue, or the arm of the musician became stiff with fiddling. These hours of teaching brought the dancing-master almost to his last figure and riga- doon ; but the dollar, which was every time punc tually paid him, and the good wine, which the old gentleman was liberal in providing, made him return unfailing as the hour, although the day before he had firmly resolved never to enter the house again. The people of Griinwiesel, however, viewed this affair in a quite different light from what the Frenchman did. They were persuaded that the young man had many fine qualities to recom mend him in society ; and the ladies of the town, in the great dearth of gentlemen, rejoiced in the hope of having so expert a dancer at the balls of the coming winter. THE STRAN : PHEW. V. One morning, when the servant-maids came homo fruin the market, they told their mistresses a wonderful piece of news. They had seen a magnificent carriage, with lamps and glass win dows, standing before the solitary house : it had beautiful horses harnessed to it, and a driver in a rich livery was holding the reins, and cracking his whip. The door of the lone house was then opened, and two gentlemen, in splendid apparel, walked out, of whom one was the old stranger, and the other was probably the young gentleman who found it so hard to learn German, and who danced so wildly. They both stepped into the carriage; an attendant sprang up behind ; and the carriage, as it appeared, drove directly up to the house of the burgomaster. When the women received this account from their domestics, they instantly tore off their kitch en aprons and soiled caps, and pat themselves in elegant trim. " There is nothing more cer tain," said they to their families, while all wtre scampering up and down to prepare a heir parlors, which were not seldom used for many other purposes, " nothing can be more certain, than that the stranger now means to THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 23 mtroduce his nephew into the world. The old dotard has not been civil enough these ten years to set foot within our doors ; but we forgive him QOW for the sake of his nephew, who will be a charming man." Thus they spoke, and told their sons and daughters to be very polite, when the strangers came, to keep themselves erect, and pay more than common attention to their pronunciation. The shrewd females of the town had not been mistaken in their conjecture ; for the old gentle man went round with his nephew to call upon the families in course, and to recommend both himself and him to their favor. The townspeople were every where much taken with the two strangers, and regretted that they had not made their delightful acquaintance more early. The old gentleman discovered himself to be a worthy and intelligent man, who slightly smiled indeed at whatever was said, so that you could not be certain whether he were serious or sarcastic ; but he spoke of the weather, the country, the pleasures of summer at the beer-cellar by the mountain, with such judicious thoughtfulness, that every one was en chanted with him. But the nephew ! How was it with him ? He ii-l THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. charmed every body, gained golden opinions from the whole town ; in a word, he won all heart:- to himself. Whatever, indeed, you might say of his person, you could not call his face beautiful ; the lower part, especially the jaws, was too prominent, and his complexion was rather too brown ; besides, he made all sorts of odd grimaces, shut his eyes, and kept showing ins teeth ; but still all found the cut of his fea tures remarkably interesting. Nothing could be more flexible or full of motion than his figure. It is true, the garments he wore seemed to have been thrown upon him ; but however unfashion able might be their hang, they were all admira bly becoming in him. He jumped round the room with incredible activity, threw himself upon a Mf;i here and upon an arm-chair there, stretching his tags out at full length ; but what in another young man would have been viewed as in the highest degree vulgar and indecorous, passed with the nephew for the noble daring of genius. " He is an Englishman," was the common voice, " and it is all natural in them : an Englishman may fling himself upon a sofa, and fall asleep, while ten la dies arc obliged to stand up round him without a scat; so you must take nothing amiss in an Englishman." To the old gentleman, his uncle, THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 25 he was very submissive ; for when he began skip ping about the apartment, or, as he was fond of doing, drew his feet up into his chair, one stern glance from his uncle's eye was enough to bring him to order. And how could one take his wild humors ill, when the uncle never failed saying to the lady of the house, " My nephew, dear madam, is as yet rather rude and unpolished; but I promise myself much advantage from a society that will form and fashion him to pro priety ; and therefore I earnestly commend him to your kindness ! " VL \ In this manner was the nephew introduced into the world; and all Griinwiesel spoke of nothing on this and the following days but of an event so arresting. The old gentleman gave up his recluse habits ; he seemed to have en tirely changed his modes of thinking and living. In the afternoon, he went out with his nephew to the rock-cellar by the mountain, where the more respectable gentlemen of Griinwiesel loved to drink beer and play nine-pins. The nephew showed himself a perfect master of the game, for he never knocked down less than five or six : now and then, indeed, a wild spirit would come 26 THE STRANGERS NEPHEW. over him; throwing the bowl, he would rush after it, and raise a mad shout of triumph among the falling pins; or sometimes, when he had knocked them all down, he would in a moment be standing on his beautifully frizzled head, and kicking his legs up in the air ; or, if a coach were passing by, he would spring upon the top of it, ere any one was aware of his intention, make grimaces to those below, ride on a few rods, and thru Imp down and join the players again. Whenever such scenes took place, the old gentleman used to beg the burgomaster and tin other men to excuse the ill-bred vagaries of his nephew; but they only laughed, and ascribed them all to his youth, observing that, at his time of life, they were themselves just as lightfooted as he, and that they loved the frolicsome young whirligig, as they called him, all the better. There were times, however, when they were equally offended themselves; and still they never ventured to open their lips, because the young Englishman was universally allowed to be the glass of fashion, and the perfection of taste ami good sense. The old gentleman was wont to take his nephew in the evening to a public house in the town, called the Golden Stag. Now, al though the nephew was aa yet quite a youth, he THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 27 was fond of aping the manners and customs of the aged : he would gravely seat himself with a glass of wine before him, mount a monstrous pair of spectacles, draw forth a huge pipe, light it, and puff away with the bravest of them. When conversation arose concerning the news, whether of war or peace, the doctor would broach this opinion, and the burgomaster that, while the rest of the gentlemen would be greatly astonished at the depth of their political knowl edge ; but the whim would suddenly enter the nephew's brain to advance an opinion altogether different. He would raise his hand, from which he never took off his glove, strike the table with violence, and, fastening his eyes upon the bur gomaster and doctor, make them clearly under stand, that they knew nothing at all of the matter ; that he had received quite another version of the affair, and possessed a more profound insight. He then, in shockingly broken German, tried to make some exposition of his views, which all, to the extreme vexation of the burgomaster, ap plauded as truly admirable; for, as an English man, he must naturally be much better informed. The burgomaster and doctor, not daring to give vent to their wrath, sat down to a game of chess, when the nephew immediately sidled up 28 THE STRANGER'S NEPIFEW to them, looked over the burgomaster's shoulder with his huge spectacles, found fault with this move or that, and, pointing, told the doctor In- must put his piece here or there, so that in their hearts they were both of them almost maddened with rage. The burgomaster was so excited, that, with a ricw to giving him his match, he challenged him to play with him, for he es- <-d himself a second Philidor; but the old 'man buckled his nephew's neckcloth tight er, on which he became more mannerly, and sat down to play with the burgomaster. It had been customary to play cards at Griin- wiesel almost every evening, and for a half penny a game ; but the nephew now deemed this a miserable pittance, putting down cr<>\\ n-pi.-o- and ducats, and boasting that no one played so well as he, though he usually appear <1 the of fended gentlemen by losing large sums to them. They made this no matter of conscience, not in the least scrupling to take his money from him ; " for he is an Englishman, and as rich as Crov 9us," said they, as they pocketed his ducats. VII. Thus the nephew of the stranger gentleman became in a short time a person of no small THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 29 estimation, both in the town and its vicinity. There were none who were able to recollect having heard of such a youth in Griinwiesel within the memory of man ; and all said he was the most remarkable personage they had ever seen themselves. You could not say that he had ever learnt the least thing in the world, except, perhaps, dancing. Latin and Greek, as the familiar phrase runs, were nothing but Greek to him. A party once met at the burgomaster's house, and played the social game in which every one is required to write something, when it was discovered that he couldn't so much as write his name. In geography he made the most shameful blunders ; for it was no uncom mon thing with him to put a German city in France, or a Danish one in Poland. He had read nothing, studied nothing, and the chief clergyman often shook his head thoughtfully at the young man's gross ignorance ; but at the same time you found whatever he did or said was exquisite ; for he was so impudent, that he always claimed to be in the right, and the upshot of the matter seemed to be, " I understand all that much better than you ! " 30 THE STRANGER S NEPHEW VIII. Amid these pastimes and pleasures came the season of winter ; and now the nephew appeared in still greater glory. Every party seemed to drag on wearily, where he was not present : whenever a man of sense made any remark, there was a general yawi^but when the nephew nth-red even the most stupid stuff in a wretched jargon of German, the company were all car. It was now discovered, that this admirable y<> man was also a poet ; for no evening could well pan away, in which he did not draw forth n manuscript from his pocket, and, in a mumbling voice, read the company a number of sonnets. There were some persons, indeed, who described many of these poems as senseless trash, and that they were BO unfortunate as to have read the rest of them somewhere else; but the nephew suf fered nothing to disconcert him ; he kept mum bling and mumbling, ami then, in the same tone, seemed to be descanting on the beauties of his verse ; and every time he did so, followed a thunder of applause. But the balls of Grunwiescl, these were his grand triumph. No one could dance more nim bly or more indcfatigably than be ; none made THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 31 such bold and elegant leaps as he. Besides, his uncle always dressed him in the most splendid apparel, cut in the newest and most fashionable style ; and although his garments, do what you would, never set very gracefully, still all acknowl edged that they were infinitely becoming to him. The gentlemen, indeed, were somewhat dis pleased with his dancing, on account of his novel mode of procedure. Heretofore, the burgo master had invariably opened the ball in person, while the more respectable of the young men had the privilege of arranging the rest of the dances; but, since the appearance of the foreign young gentleman, this courtesy had been abolished as obsolete. Without so much as saying, " If you please," he took the nearest lady by the hand, stationed himself with her at the head of the set, and acted in every respect as if he were fl master of the ceremonies and king of the ball. But, in consequence of the ladies highly ap proving this new etiquette, the gentlemen durst make no objection to it ; and the nephew contin ued to enjoy his self-assumed dignity. These balls appeared to give the old gentle man the greatest delight ; he never turned his eyes from his nephew ; kept smiling to himself; and, when all the world came crowding up to 32 THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. congratulate him in relation to so graceful and well-bred a youth, he was unable to contain the fulness of his joy, breaking out in merry peals of laughter, and discovering almost the dotage of a fool , but the people of Grimwiesd ascribed '.In so uiniAial demonstrations of joy to his great love for his nephew, and viewed them as all per fectly natural At the same time, he was com pelled now and then to treat his nephew \vnii the authority of a father; for the young man would take.it into his head, in die midst of his most elegant dancing, to make a bold spring upon the scaffold where the musicians were sit ting, snatch his bass accompaniment from the hand of the organist, and scratch and rattle it fully ; or he would all at once cast himself down and dance upon his hands, while he stuck his feet up into the air. On such occasions, his undo used to take him aside, give him a severe reproof, draw his neckcloth more close, and thus restore him to propriety of manners. IX. v Such was the nephew's behavior in company and at balls. Now, with respect to manners, those which are bad arc always more easily imi tated than the good ; and a new fashion that Li THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 33 striking, even when it is in the highest degree ridiculous, has something in it very attractive for young people, who have not yet reflected upon themselves or the world. This was the case at Griinwiesel in regard to the nephew and his pe culiar manners. When youngsters from fifteen to seventeen saw how welcome he was with his awkward gait, his rude laugh, his senseless chat ter, his coarse answers to his elders ; that such conduct, instead of being censured, was prized as indicative of a daring, independent, or finely- touched spirit this was the conclusion to which they came : " There will be no great difficulty in becoming a spirited clown like him." In past years, they had prided themselves in being studi ous and clever scholars; but now their cry was, " What's the use of learning, when ignorance is so much more successful ? " So they threw away their books, visited places of general re sort, and drove their horses up and down the streets full speed. Heretofore they had been gentlemanly in their deportment, and courteous to every one ; they had waited till their opinion was asked, and then made answer with grace and modesty ; but now they looked upon them selves as having attained the rank of men, stood chatting with them as with equals, advanced 3 34 THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. their opinions with confident assurance, and, win -n the burgomaster made a remark, laughed in his face, telling him, with effrontery, that they understood all that much better. Formerly, the youth of Griinwiesel had shrunk with horror from all rude and vulgar behavior. Now, they sung all sorts of indecent songs, made we of monstrous pipes in smoking, and got into tavern brawls and embarrassments; they bought them huge spectacles, when they could ice per fectly well without them, set them astride their nose, and now fancied themselves to be made men; for they were accoutred just like the fa mous nephew. Both at home and when they were visiting abroad, they stretched t!n.-mselvc* on the sofa in their boots and spurs, rocked their i good company, or, resting their elbows on the ta!)lo, supported their heads with both bands a sight most charming to see. It was of no avail that OK ir mothers and friends repre sented to tin in the folly and impropriety of all this; tin v Appealed to the illustrious example of the ncpli, vv. It was .f n<> BH t" ' H '': t] : a certain national rudeness was excusable in the tew, as a young Englishman ; the youngster* of Grunwicsel maintained that they had just as good a right to be ill mannered, in a spirited THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 35 way, as the best Englishman in England; in short, it was a calamity that the good manners and old-school usages of Griinwiesel were, by the nephew's bad example, completely under mined. X. But the joy with which the young novices viewed their wild, unrestrained freedom, was of short continuance ; for an event took place, which at once changed the whole scene. The enjoyments of tha winter were to close with a grand concert, which was to be partly per formed by the musicians of the town, and partly by the musical amateurs of Griinwiesel. The burgomaster played the violoncello; the doctor touched the "bassoon with uncommon skill ; the apothecary, although he was not accounted much of a player, blew the flute ; some young ladies of Griinwiesel had learnt airs, songs, and sonatas; and every thing was in the most promising prep aration. The old stranger then observed, that a concert of this kind would certainly be de lightful, but that a duet waa evidently wanting, since a duet was viewed, in every regular con cert, as indispensable. This observation caused no little perplexity : the daughter of the burgo master, it is true, sung like a nightingale ; but 36 THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. where should they get a gentleman who could sing a duet with her? Allusion was at last made to the old organist, who had once sung an excellent bass; but the stranger remarked, that this was not at all necessary, as his nephew was quite remarkable for his musical attainments. All were much astonished at this new discovery in the gifted young man ; they pressed him to give them a specimen of his vocal powers, and with the exception of some peculiarities of manner, which were regarded as English, he sung like an angel. A duet was learnt with ail speed, and the evening at length arrived, on which the ears of the people of Grunwiescl were to be ravished by the concert. The old stranger, we regret to say, was una ble to witness the triumph of his nephew, owing to indisposition; but he gave the burgomaster, who called to see him an hour before, some din-'-tiotis limv to manage his nephew. " He is a fine fellow, that nephew of mine," said he; ' l.iit now and then he falls into a whirl of the will!- < vairarirn, and then his mad scampering commences I am therefore sorry that I cannot be present nt the concert; for before me he takes good heed to himself, and he well know*' for what reason. This, too, 1 most say to his THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 37 credit, that his freaks do not spring from a wayward viciousness of mind, but purely from an exuberance of animal spirits, that is inherent in his nature. Would you be so kind, Mr. Burgo master, should he chance to fall into his wild hu mors, jumping upon the music-desk, attempt ing to manage the bass, or the like, would you just loosen his high neckcloth, or, if that should not bring him to order, take it wholly off, you will see how gentle and well behaved he will be." The burgomaster thanked the sick man for the confidence he had reposed in him, and promised, in case of necessity, to do as he had advised him. The concert hall was excessively crowded, for all Griinwiesel and its vicinity were there. All the huntsmen, ministers^, officers*; landlords, and the like, wttnin the circuit of three leagues, came pressing in with their numerous families, to share this rare enjoyment with the inhabitants of Griinwiesel. The town musicfans perfonm d excellently well ; next to them ranked the bur gomaster, who played the violoncello, accom panied by the apothecary, who blew the flute ; after these, the organist gave a solemn chant with universal applause ; and even the doctor t 38 THE STRANOEtl's NEPHEW. got a good share of clapping, when he startled the ear with the deep tones of his bassoon. The first part of the concert was now finished, and all were eagerly expecting the second, in which the young stranger was to give a duet \\ ith the daughter of the burgomaster. The nephew appeared in a dress of great magnificence, and had been long attracting the attention of all present H !n"iing man, he took the uncle's hint of entirely freeing him from his neckcloth. But hardly had he done tin-, win n In- Mood petrified with horror; iltttcad of t human skin and complexion, the youngster"! neck had a dark-brown hide ; and the momrnt he leaped higher and more wildly, he ick his gloved hand- into his hair, tore it furi ously from his head, and O wonderful change! those beautiful locks were nothing but a wig, THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 41 which he threw in the burgomaster's face; and his head now appeared covered with the same brown hide ! He jumped over tables and benches, overset the music-desk, crushed and trampled upon fid dles and clarionets, and seemed to be perfectly frantic. " Seize him ! seize him ! " cried the burgomaster, quite beside himself; " he is out of his senses; seize him!" This was no easy matter ; for he had pulled off his gloves, and now showed his fingers armed with nails, with which he gave the people's faces a woful scratch- inr ; for the stranger was to be instantly hurried before a magistrate for examination. .rroundcd by an immense crowd of people, they soon reached the solitary house ; for every one was anxious to see how the matter would end. They knocked at the door; they pulled the bell ; but all in vain : no one appeared. The burgomaster was inflamed with fury, and, order* ing his men to burst open the door, rushed up to the stranger's room. But nothing was to be een there, except various articles of old house hold furniture ; the stranger was nowhere to be found. Dut a large scaled letter lay on his table, addressed to the burgomaster, who in trembling excitement opened it. The letter ran thus: MY EXCELLENT FRIENDS OP Glt|JNWIE*EL ! " When you read this line, I shall be no longer our little town, and you will have already ' discovered the quality and country of my be- THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. 45 loved nephew. Please to receive the joke which I have enjoyed at your expense, as a good-natured warning not to urge a stranger to mix with your society, when he prefers to live retired. I really felt myself too good to have any thing to do with your everlasting gossip, your wretched customs, and your ridiculous modes of life. I therefore educated a young ourang-outang, to whom, as my representative, you have given so heartwarm a welcome. Fare well, and make the best use in your power of the lesson I have given you." It is not necessary to say that the Griinwie- selites were excessively ashamed, and that they became the laughing-stock of the whole country. Still their comfort was, that they had been made the victims of an unnatural imposture. But the young men of Griinwiesel were most ashamed, in consequence of having viewed the baboon's animal habits and wild antics as worthy of im itation. From that day forward they avoided leaning upon their elbows ; they left off rocking and tilting back their chairs; they were no longer so intrusive as to advance their opinion till it was asked ; they laid aside their pipes and spectacles, and became as well behaved and gen- 46 THE STRANGER'S NEPHEW. tlemanly as they had been before; and win-never any one happened to be guilty of such bad hab its and awkward manners, the Grunwicselites would exclaim, " That has a smack of the stranger's nephew ! " or, " Has our noble ac quaintance, the young master of the ceremonies, come to town again ? " To conclude our story : The ape that had so long played the part of a young gentleman, was delivered to the learned naturalist He feeds him, allows him to course round his court at will, and shows him to strangers as a curiosity; and there he continues to this day, at home to all who come to make him a call. THE SWISS BOY'S FAREWELL. SWEET River Rhone ! sweet River Rhone ! Thou playmate of my earliest day ! , I've wandered many a weary mile, And yet along thy banks I stray. Mount Furca* now is far behind, That cradle which we both have known; And this, they say, is France; but still I'm with a friend, sweet River Rhone ! I'm with a friend whose every wave Leaps gayly by my father's door , And many a pleasing thought I've had To see thee there fret, foam, and roar. I've wondered, in my childish dreams, If in thy tide some sky was thrown, To make thy waters all so blue, So like to heaven, sweet River Rhone ! The glaciers at old Furca's top Did seem thy cold, blue, nursing mother, And thou an infant chill and lone, Toddling from one rough stone to t'other. * The source of the Rhone is at the foot of one of the Alps, called Mount Furca. 48 THE swiss BOY'S FAREWELL. But soon thou learned 'at to leap and run, And then at last thou went'at alone; Tet brighter ever didst thou Sow, When I was there, sweet River Rhone! And now we're come together here, By many a turn, through many a dell, O'er rock, and crag, and beetling wall, To part at hut to Bay farewell. We put, for thou must seek the tea, And go thy way to roe unknown ; And I must on to Paris hie, As lost to thee, sweet River Rhone ! Farewell ! nor deem them idle tears, That down my cheek unbidden flow ; For now thou scem'st my dearest friend, Thou'rt linked with home and parents so. Farewell! but rest and ease shall be To these young limbs unsought, unknown, Till, blest with wealth, the Swiss return To hone and thee, sweet River Rhooe! STANZAS BY F. 8. JEWETT. THE sweet voices of evening are lost in the gale, And the spirit of tempest exults o'er the tale ; But the darkness of midnight in vain shall depart, For the voice of the storm is the voice of the heart. And the promise of youth, and its gladness, are o'er ; And the smile of existence shall charm me no more : On my brow is revealed the pale signet of grief Of the cankerous blight that asks no relief. i Like the oak of the forest when dauntless in pride, I stood with the sunlight of love by my side ; Like the oak when the red wing of lightning had passed, I was bowed, for that love was struck down by the blast. I have dreamed 'twas of bliss; but my dream woke in tears, And the gloom was yet deepened by gathering fears; For hope fled away, and, wearied with care, I sunk to repose on the couch of despair. 4 5 STANZAS. The curtains of midnight no figures reveal ; Through the temple of silence no whispers can steal ; As dark as that curtain, as still as that care, As ray lens and silent, my heart is a grave. AN OMITTED PICKWICK PAPER, RESTORED BY POZ. CHAPTER CCXIV. jf Showing Mr. Welter's Vieics relating to Matrimony, with a slight Touch at Widowhood. As soon as the church services were over, Mr. Pickwick, according to the arrangement previ ously hinted at, mounted the Stanhope, in com pany with Mr. Weller, senior, who, after comfort ably settling his coat-flaps, adjusting his cravat, and collecting the reins in due style, flourished the whip, and the horses rattled off at a smart pace. The united weights of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Weller served to trim the vehicle admirably ; and the smooth, rolling motion seemed to inspire an equally smooth current of thought, while it was favorable to the delivery of such ideas as presented themselves. " A very good sermon," said Mr. Pickwick ; ~>-2 AN OMITTED PK KWICK PAPER. " very impressive in the manner of delivery, and full of proper rules and suggestions for persons entering upon the married state." " Why yes your honor," slowly conceded Mr. Weller. " It was all werry vel, cordin* to the notions of folks in gineral ; werry much artcr the style of ' The Young Usbantfs Oirn Book,' and that sort o* thing. But still, folks as had hexperence sometimes thinks ,that tln-ir own thoughts is more waluable to themselves than any book stuff. Cos vy ? It sounds mighty veil ; but 'taint never practical. Sammy alvays says, 'Give me practice, and not precept, as th starving doctor said to a friend as was adwisin' him.'" "I should really like to have some of your \ie\vson tlio subject. " said Mr. Pickwick. " ! have no doubt that they would prove hi.'hl\ instructive, and I am sorry that Samuel is not here to profit by them." Mr. Weller gave a ily glance at his friend The idea that Mr. Pickwick was beginning seri ously to think of committing matrimony himself, flashed for a moment acroM his mind ; but in the calm expression of Mr. Pickwick's countenance, he saw at once that he had no other desire than that of gleaning knowledge, \\herever it could AN OMITTED PICKWICK PAPER. 53 be found; and, feeling much flattered at the compliment, promptly replied, " My views," says he, " is short and compre hensive, and amounts to pretty much wot I told Sammy, the last thing afore he went to church. ' Sammy,' says I, ' as you are now henterin' on a new road, one as proves smooth to some, and rough enough to the mejority ; it vouldn't be right for a old un, and like your father, not to give you some hints how to steer. I sees, by your snickerin', that you don't think I've any great claims to dexterity in drivin" on that road myself, and shouldn't set up for a teacher of the art. But recollect, Sammy, that a man as has been vunce taken in, orlers remembers it, and avvoids bein' taken in the same vay : consekens is, he knows how to teach others to awoid it. Now, Sammy, vot I have to say is you bein' mar ried, all you have to do is, to make the best on it.' " "A plain and valuable truth, and clearly ex pressed," interrupted Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Weller resumed, " ' It's true of vimmen as dsses, that they needs a tight rein. My diffi culty has bin, that I'm by natur too complyin'. Awoid that weakness, Sammy, for it's nat'rally in your blood, and try to be hobstinate. In that 54 AN OMITTED PICKWICK PAPKU. vay, you'll make yourself respected and looked up to by your vife. Alvays contredict her in little things, Sammy : it lets her see that you think more of yourself than her ; and venever she be- gins to cry, Sammy, to make you give in, for all vim men is up to that gammon, sooner or later, then, on the werry fust symptoms, have ready a good, strong, leather strap, and lay it about her till she veeps in airnest. This is a werry good cure to fits of that kind, and I only vishcs I had tried it myself, early. But the chief part of your duty, Sammy, is not toward yourself or your vife, but to the world in ginral. It is, to take care of your health, so as to live a good long life, and not die fust " ' A man, Sammy, as dies before his vife, is of consekens guilty of a haynous offence to society and to her. Ho leaves a voman as night have bin a ornament to 'siety. in a character. She becomes a vidder, Sammy, and there's no tell in' how much mischief she von't do, as long as there's breath in her body. I'm so persvaded of the importance of this 'ere view, thai venever I sees a man as loves his vife a lamcntin* an' sorrowin' over her Tallin' away, it seems to me unaccountable that he will shut to eyes to the consolin' fact, that she's as good AN OMITTED PICKWICK PAPER. 55 as insured against splitting on the rocks of vidderhood. " ' Vidders, Sammy, has, from time 'memorial, had their names up for mischief, and an aggra- watin' propensity to set up their own Ebenezers. They say that there's not a line in the Bible that don't teach some mortal truth. Now, jist take the story about the vidder and the unjust judge. Afore I was married to your mother-in-law, Sam my, I never thought much about that story. I thought, as I dessay many does, that it was written 'ginst lawyers and judges. P'raps it was, in part; but the 'sential pint is, to warn you against the insinivations of vidders. The last time I read it, it made such a impression on me, that I can say it all off by heart ; and it goes this vay : Now, listen unto vot said the unjust judge. " Thof I fear not God, nor care a damn for any man, yet owin' to the aggra- watin 1 cryin' and hauntin' of this vidder by day and by night, I'm determined to let her have her own vay." " ' In Ingy, Sammivel, (vere they has had the lights of hexperience for ages, bein' as it is vun of the oldest settled places,) in Ingy, they con trives it so as never to have any vidders. Tliry burns 'em alive, Sammy, rcglar as their usbands 56 AN OMITTED PICKWICK PAPER. dies. I've no doubt that, in that country, men is healthier and better natur'd than here; it must Toiler as a nat'ral consekens.' " When Mr. Weller had at length finished, Mr. Pickwick, after a thoughtful pause, observed Some of your deductions arc so bold, and contrary to most of our habits of thought, (pre judices they may be,) that I am hardly prepared to pronounce an opinion on them at present. One thing, however, I must say; and that is, that rarely, if ever, have I received such a accession of entirely new ideas, and better ex pressed ; that is," added he, with some qualifica tion, " more plainly spoken." The reader will observe that we have been at some pains to give in full the peculiar views and MBttment* which were entertained by the strong- minded though uneducated Mr. Weller. One further illustration remains to be given, and this chapter will be finished. In Mr. Pickwick's library, a small, hoUpressed, quarto edition of a certain book, entitled " Hints to Married People," had remained quietly in it* morocco binding and gilt edges for sever..! jean. On the morning after the above com- r- Mtion, Mr. Pickwick banded it to Mr. \\ ' Her, r, with the request that he would have it AN OMITTED PICKWICK PAPER. 57 read aloud, and favor him by making marginal notes of such thoughts as occurred to him. In the course of a month, it was returned, and Mr. Pickwick had the pleasure of finding every chapter marked at the end in a strong, bold hand. One or two were thought by Mr. Weller to be worthy of the epithet " GOOD ; " but nine out of ten were set down as "GAMMON." " THE MADONNA. A TRANSLATED SKETCH. BY NATHASIEL OftEKRX. THE day had been sultry. Resolved to avail mynelf of the approach of evening to catch a breath of fresh air upon the sea-shore, I pro vided myself with a guide, and sallied from the gates of Syracuse. Before wandering far, I suddenly caught a view of the most interesting group my eyes had ever beheld. Upon a high, square pedestal, in a niche which on one side had suffered from time and the elements, a marble image of the Madonna stood before me. Countless creeping plants twined around the shrine ; a gentle breeze played among the dark- green leaves which intercepted the last rays of the setting sun, and threw their tremulous shadows upon the pale marble face of the im age. The dark clouds that were rolling up from Etna, were tinged with a golden purple ; and before me lay the sea, quiet and unruffled as the blue heavens it reflected. THE MADONNA. 59 Mount Etna, the sun, the sea what were they, compared with the maiden who knelt be fore the image of the Virgin, with her family, in prayer? The fires of Etna flashed in her deep blue eye, and, as I afterwards learned, the commotion of the volcano was but too true an exponent of her troubled heart. Her mouth was slightly parted; she prayed. But, alas! the voluptuousness of earthly passion glowed upon her swelling lip. Convulsively she clasped her delicate and almost transparent hands, while irrepressible emotion was legible in her trembling frame. I saw at once that she was no common worshipper. Her humid eyes con stantly wandered from the marble image, scan ning the distance with such earnestness and power, that, had I stood upon the summit of Etna, or lain in the depths of the sea, that look would have drawn me irresistibly thence. It was but too evident that those eyes had lost some object which no Madonna could restore to their longing sight. Her fair mother, upon whose placid features sat the blessed light of inward peace, knelt by her side. The mother was teaching a little girl of about six years to pray, and pointing to a cross sculptured upon the square stone pedestal. In a cradle near GO THE MADONNA. them lay a sweetly-smiling infant, with its inno cent eyes directed toward the cross and the Madonna above it. There were also others, women and maidens, kneeling before the image ; but I heeded them not absorbed as I was in contemplation of the strangely-expressive face of that praying girl. A'Ae, also, prays in vain .' " Shrinking with sudden terror, I gazed around. Had my guide spoken? "Did you say some thing, Geronimo?" " Yes, my lord I meant that prayer would never help the fair Marcella more." I was silent " Old Etna has been a long time quiet. Pietro will soon rise again from the sea, and drag her \\ ith him under the waves." These words, to me, were perfectly enigmati cal. -Etna Pietro I could not seize the con nection. Geronimo perceived it. " So you know not the story T " , "What story T" "Of Pietro and Hermosa. Fifty years are now past and gone." " What was it, Geronimo? " Pietro was the handsomest youth in Syra cuse ; Hermosa, the fairest of Marcella's family. THE MADONNA. 61 Pietro was poor ; Hermosa, rich. Pietro loved Hermosa. So far it is a common story. They could not be united; how natural! Hermosa must marry another. " During a terrible eruption of Mount Etna, poor Pietro, here, from this place, I know not exactly how, threw himself into the sea. But he had no rest there : at times he comes again upon earth, in a form so fair and seductive, that the maiden who unfortunately beholds, must love him, and is irrevocably lost. On the even ing before the wedding-day, Pietro sinks again beneath the waves, leaving his betrothed in de spair. Hermosa was his first victim ; the sea closed over her beauteous form. Eight days ago, Marcella's betrothed lover disappeared. I am satisfied he was no other than Pietro, and that he will surely compel her to follow him. He usually does this during an eruption of Etna. She is the fourth maiden of whom Pietro has robbed her family. How sad it is to know her impending fate, and be unable to afford her succor ! " ******* Six months afterwards, I found myself again in Syracuse. My first visit was to the Madon na's shrine. The same family were kneeling 62 THE MADONNA. before it. Marcella's mother and sister were clad in deep mourning. Marcella was not there. The benignant face of the Madonna was now completely hid by the luxuriant vines. She hears and sees no more. The large cross was partially covered by the foliage, and seemed to have increased in size. Old Geronimo wept while he related to me how the delicate form of Marcella became a prey to the fury of the waves. I am not superstitious; but I could not look upon the little child in the cradle, upon the sea beneath, and Mount Etna above me, without a shudder. TO THE DREAMER SLEEP on ! I would not break thy dream, Fair lady, for its tale is sweet : Sleep on ! for soon its magic beam Will fade, and tell the cheat. Sleep on ! for angel wingj are o'er thee, Strewing thy paths of thought with flowers ; And love, a moment, doth restore thee To Eden's loveliest bowers. Sleep on ! for 'tis alone in this O'er walls of Paradise we steal, And seem to know the unmingled bliss That innocence may feel. Sleep on ! for when, alas ! we wake, Expelled, we tread a world of care, Where, if the rose of joy we take, The thorn the thorn is there. THE MISER. LIFE is a journey death a darksome coast, Where we must enter, a soul-freighted bark, And, all despoiled, resign each earthly boast, Part from the shore, and cleave the ocean dark. The Miser, torn reluttant from his gold, A shivering pauper, o'er that sea is hurled. He strove on earth, till hcnp on heap was told, Yet went a bankrupt to the other world. Not one heaven-current penny in his purse, A bosom only stared with guilty care, To grumbling heirs his wealth is left a cone, lost in life and death, the millioniuurt. IRELAND AND THE IRISH.* PART I. EARLY HISTORY OF THE IRISH NATION. THE earliest pages of history relating to the northern portion of Europe, seem but the rev elations of a half-remembered dream. A dim and distant pageant of barbarous nations pour ing through savage forests, is presented to the view. In pausing to contemplate this living current, we are able to trace a progress from east to west, and amidst infinite variety, to mark the signs of a common origin. We can perceive that these tribes gather like bees along the fer tile valleys of the Danube, the Rhine, and the Rhone ; yet that, ever moving, and ever extend ing themselves to the north and west, they finally overspread the largest portion of Europe. * This article was originally prepared at the request of the committee of the '' Franklin Lectures," in Boston, and delivered before that association at the " Temple." It was subsequently enlarged, and delivered on several occasions, as two lectures. It is now given to the readers of the Token without material alteration. 1* 6 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. So much is portrayed, in rude and shadowy outline, by the opening pages of history, but no * more. If, urged by impatient curiosity, we pen etrate deeper into the mystery of the past, every trace of light vanishes from the scene, and we grope about in total obscurity. Like the dreamer who strives to seize upon the startled and Sitting ghosts of his vision, we only meet with disappointment, and are left to that vain and vexatious regret which attends the loss of the substance, in the effort to grasp the shadow. Turning back from this unavailing pursuit, and treading the denned paths of history, we are able to assure ourselves that, about two thousand years before the Christian era, various tribes of Asiatics, under the general name of Celts, had already begun to people Europe. By a process similar to that in which our own u coun try is now settling, the march of emigration continued till the middle and northern portions of the continent were peopled. While these events were in progress, the mar itime or southern portion of Europe that which lies along the Mediterranean was be coming settled by emigrants from the commer cial cities and states of Asia and Africa. Thus Europe was filling up by two great streams of IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 7 emigration, the one occupying Greece, Italy, and Spain ; the other spreading over Germany, France, Britain, and the more northern portions of Europe. Along the line of separation, be tween these rival streams, the settlers often met, and, wrestling for a time, either parted or were at last mingled in one common mass. The founders of Greece and Rome brought with them the germs of civilization. Their descendants settled down in cities, cultivated letters, and kept written records. From these enough has been transmitted to give us a gen eral idea of their early history. But it was not so with the more northern settlers of Europe. The Celts were a roving race, half warrior and half husbandman. They all brought with them some of. the Tartar characteristics. They built few towns, but like our Daniel Boone, of Ken tucky, seemed always to fly from the approach of civilization into the yet untrodden forest. Among such a people, there were no historians. Nations came and vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Numerous as the very leaves of the forest, and almost as transient, like these they sank to their unwritten graves. Beneath this shroud the first settlers of Europe sleep ; nor can human magic evoke them from their dread re- 8 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. . And yet, with little pretence to sorcery, I propose to introduce to you a nation of Celts living and breathing men, speaking at this very hour the language of those remote and shadowy tribes which flourished four thousand years ago. There is nothing more remarkable in the his tory of the human family, thrui the pertinacity with which certain races of men preserve their .tity from age to age, seeming to set at defiance all those circumstances which s\\ others into oblivion, or subject tin-in to the trampling hoof of innovation and change. We find a familiar instance of this in the Jews. Their history presents the most remarkable series of vicissitudes that has ever attended the fate of a nation ; yet to this day they maintain tin- came ]ih\ -i.-al tr.nis, the same moral charao >tics, as in the remotest period to which the >rds of the past can carry us. Though t are now swept otit of their native land, and scattered like autumn leaves over the world, yet, \\li--iiit-r in one hemisphere or another, we tin'! ii ' i always possessing the same strong lineaments, and bearing the im;>r< nf the same soli tun rriiir:n!.ran<-,--. And li:;- ifl -.ml !' a people living apart in a thousand fragments, and, while mingling in daily intercourse with <>tl IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 9 % still maintaining themselves as a distinct and peculiar people. Like the Gulf-stream a river in the midst of the ocean bending from the tropics to the frozen zone, and after sweeping the borders of two continents, circling back to the point where it began, so the Jews, in the midst of other nations, hold on their way a current that time cannot check, that vicissi tudes cannot change. We may draw another illustration of our posi tion from the Gypsies. These are evidently the fragments of a great nation, wrecked so far up the stream of time that we cannot distinctly trace its story. But wherever you find them, whether in Spain, Hungary, Bohemia, Britain, or even in Persia, they are essentially the same vagrant " hard-faring race," always appearing to bear in their minds the same dark and mysti cal superstitions. And these, too, in the midst of other nations, still hold themselves apart. Like oil in immediate contact with water, re fusing all admixture and still preserving its identity, the Gypsies continue from age to age to defy alike the common elements of destruc tion and mutation. If we turn to Europe, where shall we find the example of a nation thus perpetuating itself in 1 IRELAND AND THE IRISH ^pite of all resistance; thus marching down in solid column from the remote and mistv pre cincts of antiquity to our own day, and bring ing with them the thoughts, feelings, and < toins of their shadowy forefathers? If we look to Greece, we may perhaps find the semblance of the fickle Athenian ; but where shall we dis cover the representative of the stern, self-sacrifi cing Spartan? If we go to Italy, shall we find in the soft devotee of dalliance and song the lineal descendant of those haughty worshippers of the god of war, that once shook the earth with their martial deeds, and at last embraced the civilized world in their gigantic grasp? Where is the race of Britons that boldly confronted, and al most baffled, the Roman victor of a hundred fields ? Where are those ancient Gauls, that re sisted for nine campaigns the greatest warrior of antiquity, with the Roman legions at his back? Where, in all the north, in Denmark, Sweden, Norway, are to be found the r. sentatives of those wild and warlike rovers of the main, that claimed the title of sea-king;*, and achieved deeds worthy of their name f Over all these nations the enchanter's wand has passed, and a change has come o'er the spirit of their dream. Their languages have passed away, or IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 11 are only found as ingredients mingling in the compound of other tongues. Most of the origi nal tribes have been winnowed out like chaff, and others inherit their dominions. Yet there is one nation in Europe that retains, nearly in its purity, the language of its original inhabitants; that consists of the lineal descend ants of the first settlers of its soil, and retains to this very hour traces of the thoughts, feelings, manners, and customs, that are known to have existed in the country three thousand years ago. And where is this nation to be found? Look upon the map, and you will see that the portion of Europe which lies nearest to our own coun try, consists of a small island, scarcely equal in extent to the state of Maine, yet possessing a population of eight millions of inhabitants. This is Ireland ; and here history discloses to us a re markable instance of that self-perpetuation to which I have alluded. The neighboring island of Britain, which has held Ireland in bondage for many centuries, has not only lost its original lan guage, but almost every trace of its original in habitants has long been swept away. Ireland, on the contrary, has sturdily maintained its an cient Celtic tongue ; and, though it has been, at different times, overrun by other nations, the 12 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. Celtic stock has ever hold the ascendency, and wrought off from age to age all foreign inter mixtures, thus returning to its original purity. There is something in this circumstance \\rll calculated to excite curiosity, and invite invr>ti- gation. The study of Ireland therefore might seem to be a subject of intrinsic interest. But to us, Americans, there are many reasons \vhy this theme should engage our attention. From whatever causes it may proceed, the fact is in disputable that Ireland is an unhappy country. Not one person in a hundred there is the pro prietor of the land from which his sustenance is drawn, or of the roof beneath which he finds a .'hclter. In that little island, thousands of peo ple lie down every night, not knowing how they may obtain the bread of to-morrow. Our hap pier country is the asylum to which multitudes of those are flying, who can find the means of leaving their home of poverty and distress. They are wafted to our shore* by every breeze that sweeps the Atlantic. They are found by thousands in our larger cities. They penetrate the interior, and spreading themselves over the whole extent of our vast territory, are mingling largely in our population. They are deserving of notice, therefore, not only on account of their IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 13 numbers, but from the consideration that in a country abounding in all the means of suste nance, they become the progenitors of a vastly increasing population. Their weight, therefore, in the scale of society, immediately and pro- spectively, is not inconsiderable ; and, whether we look to their own happiness, or their influence upon our institutions, they may fairly claim the careful attention of every intelligent American citizen. I propose, therefore, to present to your consideration a few hints, which I could wish might lead to thorough investigation of Ireland and the Irish people. Before we proceed further, it may be well to fix distinctly in our minds a picture of the coun try which we propose to discuss, as it now exists. I have already said, that the extent of Ireland is hardly equal to that of Maine, while its popu lation amounts to eight millions. Its length is three hundred miles ; its average width one hun dred. It abounds in small rivers and lakes, and is indented by numerous bays and harbors. The climate is exceedingly mild and equable for its latitude, and the soil is more fertile by nature than the adjacent island of Britain. Its turfy bogs are a remarkable feature of the country, occupying a very considerable portion of its 2 14 ilLAND AND THE IRISH. surface. Dublin, the metropolis, has about tuo hundred thousand inhabitants. It is a city presenting the extremes of opulence and poverty. Some of its streets seem like ranges of palaces, while its suburbs exhibit hundreds of hovels swarming with men, women, and children, in a state of want, raggedncss, and degradation, of which nothing but the spectacle itself can fur nish an adequate idea. Nearly the whole soil of Ireland belongs to a comparatively few proprietors, most of whom live out of the country, and every six months, in taking away their rents, sweep the land of its wealth. To aid in this system of impoverish ment and depletion, hundreds of the clergy be longing to the established English church, re- ceive large salaries wrung from the people in the shape of tithes. A very large portion of the people of Ireland are laborers, living day by day upon the imme diate produce of their toil. Millions are re duced to a perpetual experiment to discover the least possible quantity of food, shelter, and clo thing, consistent with a preservation of the spark of life. In attempting to solve this nice and crit ical problem, thousands die annually, for the want of the necessaries of existence. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 15 . Such is the state of Ireland at the present day; and such, in the main, has it been for a century. Let us now glance at its early history. We must begin by remarking that few subjects have given rise to more bitter controversy than this. While, on the one hand, absurd pretences to an tiquity and ancient civilization have been set up, on the other, indisputable facts and legitimate inferences have been denied, till the field of his tory is narrowed down to a barren point. Re jecting extremes, that, on the one hand, reveal to us long races of kings and princes reaching back to the flood, and, on the other, even deny that such a person as St. Patrick ever existed, we choose the middle course. We may at least start with a proposition universally admitted, which is, that the first inhabitants of Ireland were derived from the same stock that supplied Spain, Britain, and Gaul, with their original population. Their language, and the numerous monuments that yet remain of that superstition which the first tribes that poured from Asia into Europe carried with them wherever they went, sufficiently attest the Celtic origin of the Irish people. It appears that the Phoenicians, who were the Yankees of the early ages, had carried their 1C IKELAND AND T>: IKISH. commerce beyond the Pillars of Hercules, or the its of Gibraltar, as early as the time of Solo moii. It was a part of their policy to keep the sources of their wealth secret; but, even in the time of lloincr, a glimmering notion of the At lantic, and the islands that studded the borders of the continent, had been imparted to the Greeks. The poet caught up and embellished the tales of the Phoenician voyagers, and placed in these islands the abodes of the pious and the Elysian fields of the blest. Hence all those popular traditions, among the Greeks, of the Fortunate Islands, the Hesperides, and the Isle of Calypso " creations called up in these unpathed waters," and adopted into the poetry of the Greeks, before any clear notion of the reality had reached them. In the Argonautics, t poem written five hundred years before the Christian era, Ireland is mentioned without any rcnce to Britain. About two centuries after, iwo islands are mentioned by a Greek wri ter, under their old Celtic names of Albion and ne. It was not till about this period, that Greeks made voyages to the British islands, though the Phoenicians had traded to them for many centuries, and carried thence large quanti ties of tin ; from which circumstance they wero IUELAND AND THE IRISH. 17 called the Tin Isles. That they had a factory there, for the working of tin at a very early date, is generally conceded. It appears from the poems of Avienus, who, in the fourth century, had access to some Punic records in one of the temples of Carthage, that a Carthaginian, named Milcho, made an expedition to Ireland about three hundred and fifty years Before Christ, and on his return gave a particu lar account of the country. In this he speaks of the commerce carried on by the Carthaginian colonists at Gades, now Cadiz, with the Tin Isles, and remarks that the husbandmen of Car thage, as well as "her common people, were ac customed to visit them. It is to be remarked that he speaks more particularly of Ireland than of Britain. ' He describes the hide-covered boats, or cnrracks, in which the inhabitants of the islands navigated their seas ; of the populousness of the isle of the Hyberni, and the turfy nature of its soil. By collecting such scattered testimonials as these, from ancient writers, though we can by no means adopt the fanciful theories of cer tain Irish historians, we may conclude, that, while the first population consisted of Celts, the Phoenicians had established colonies in the island, or at least had commercial intercourse 2* IRELAND AND THE WISH. with the people, several centuries before the Chri.-ti.m era, and that the Phccnician priests had introduced their religious rites and ceremonies- into the countrj. This view of an early con nection with Eastern countries, and the early infusion of Eastern manners and customs among the people, appears to be sanctioned by the tradi tions of Ireland herself, by numerous monu ments, the names of her promontories, and her old usages and rites, all bearing indelibly the same Oriental stamp. While some of the religious rites of the an cient Irish seem to have been of Celtic origin, and while some are traceable to the Phoenician*, there are others still, which ore referable to the Persians, with whom the Phrcnic.ians are known to have had frequent intercourse. All these several superstitions appear to have been mixed up in the ancient In-li worship. Thus the sun, moon, fire, and water, were objects of adora tion. The veneration of particular groves and trees was common, as well as the worship of Atones and fountains. They had sacred hills, or tumuli, for sacrifice. The round towers, of which there are now about fifty, and which form a remarkable and peculiar feature of Irish antiqui ties, are supposed to have been connected with IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 19 fire worship, and may perhaps have been used for preserving the sacred fire. The cromlechs, of which there are still many vestiges, appear to have been places of sepulture. All these re mains, scattered over Ireland, bear testimony to the high antiquity of the Irish people, and their intimacy with Eastern nations at a very early period. Of the Druidism of Ireland, it may be re marked that it differed considerably from that of Britain and Gaul; and it has been conjec tured that Ireland may have been the country whence this ancient superstition was transmitted to the neighboring countries of Europe. It has been deemed probable that it was, in fact, com pounded from the several heathen rites that were brought together in that island. However this may be, there are still to be found in different parts of Ireland, among the manners, customs, and opinions of the people, the traces of all the various ancient superstitions to which we have alluded. These seem to cling to the people with unyielding pertinacity, and even engraft them selves, down to the present day, upon the rites and ceremonies of the Christian religion. Thus far we have drawn our proofs of the antiquity of the Irish nation from the scattered 20 IRELAND AND THE records of ancient Greek and Roman writers, and from the indisputable testimony of monu ments, language, and manners. These afford, indeed, but glimpses of the nation in remote ages : while they assure us of a few leading facts, they still leave us in ignorance or doubt as to details, save such as can be supplied by le gitimate inference. The next sources of Irish history are to be found in the legends of the bards and the rec ords of the annalists. The first of these por tray to us, in shadowy but poetic outline, the brilliant deeds and barbaric glory of kings and heroes even more ancient than Romulus or Remus. However rich as sources of p inspiration to the Irish harper these rtiay have been in former times, and however they may still linger as fond realities in the fancy of the modern I lilxTiiian, still their extravagance and obscnrity must exclude them from cautious and ober history. The Irish annals are worthy of higher con sideration, and, after much controversy, have been pflBptd to take their rank among au thentic historical documents. The annals of Tigemach are reputed to be most worthy of credit This annalist admits that the records IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 21 of Ireland are fabulous or uncertain, previous to the reign of Kimboath, two centuries before the Christian era. From that time, a regular succes sion of princes, down to a comparatively modern date, is furnished. Other events are also re corded, throwing some light upon the state of the country, and showing, at a very early period, a progress in civilization beyond most of the Celtic or Teutonic nations, which, like Ireland, borrowed no light from Roman civilization. In respect to the confidence to be reposed in the Irish annals, it may be proper to make a few observations. It appears to have been among the most solemn of the customs observed in Ireland, even in the earliest times, to keep in each of the provinces, as well as the seat of the monarchical government, a public Psalter or register, in which all passing transactions of interest were noted down. This, like all the other ancient observances, continued to be re tained after the introduction of Christianity. To the great monasteries all over the country fell the task of watching over and continuing these records. It is from the materials thus * transmitted, that the Irish annals, to which I have referred, were made out, about the period of the twelfth century. 22 ERELAXP AXD THE IRISH. The precision with which the annalists hare recorded events, and the general truth of these records when they speak of definite facts, is susceptible of strong confirmation. They state, for instance, that about the tenth hour of th< third of May, 6o4, an eclipse of the sun oc curred. Now, it is obvious that nothing hut an observation of the fact could hare enabled the annalist to moke this record ; for, even down to a late date, the knowledge of astronomy was so imperfect, that the precise hour <>f an so long passed could not have been determined. Tin; Venerable Bode attempted to calculate tin- period of the panic eclipse, and, led astray by his ignorance of a yet undetected error of tin Dionysian cycle, by which the equations of sun and moon were affected, declared that the annalist was .mistaken. This circumstance, for a time, threw great t upon these records ; but, at length, a more perfect knowledgaff his science has enabled the astronomer to calculate past eclipses with certainty ; and it is now found, by such calculations, that, during the year, the day, and the hour stated hy the annalist, an edipse of the sun actually occurred. la addition to this evidence, I need hut <(iiote one authority, which will be sufficient to satisfy IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 23 every mind, in relation to these annals. " The chronicles of Ireland," says Sir James Mackin tosh, " written in the Irish language, from the second century to the landing of Henry Plan- tagenet, have been recently published, with the fullest evidences of their genuineness and exactness. The Irish nation, though they are robbed of many of their legends by this au thentic publication, are yet by it enabled to boast that they possess genuine history several centuries more ancient than any other European nation possesses in its present spoken language. They have exchanged their legendary anti quity for historical fame. Indeed, no other nation possesses any monument of literature, in its present spoken language, which goes back within several centuries of the beginning of these chronicles." It is my purpose, hereafter, to give an outline of the early authentic history of Ireland. I have yet been speaking only of that portion of it which precedes even the beginning of what has been regarded as the regular commencement of Irish history. But I wish now to present distinctly to the notice of the reader the an tiquity of the Irish nation, in connection with another fact, that the Irish people are, at the 24 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. nt day, a nation of Celts, and use as their mother tongue the language of those most an cient of all European settlers. I present to your consideration the circumstance, that here in this little island, and here alone, is a sample of that mighty outpouring of nations, which first broke across the Uralian Mountains nearly four thousand years ago, and continued for ages, like successive eruptions of volcanic lava, to overspread the north of Europe. I present to your consideration the fact, that, at the present day, you see in the Irish, as it were, a colony of those ancient Celts, transferred from an tiquity into our iinmnli ate presence, with the same blood beating in their veins, with the same physical characteristics, and speaking essentially the same language, as those who existed even before the time of Solomon. I know not how it may strike others, but to me this subject is full of int< -rest How is it to be accounted for, that, of all the numberless millions that must have passed from Asia into Europe, under the general name of Celts, every where but in Ireland they should have been supplanted by other tri!>< -. their national ex istence obliterated, and their language forever blotted out ? Can this problem be solved by the IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 25 geographical position of Ireland, by the course of political events, or by any or all of those circumstances which are commonly supposed to control the destiny of nations? These, doubt less, have had their influence; but I believe it would be impossible to solve the query I have suggested, but upon the supposition of a native vigor of character in the Irish, as well physical as moral, which perpetuates itself from age to age, resisting and overcoming the crumbling in fluences of time and change. And if this be true, does it not imply something of greatness in the native Irish stock; something distinct, peculiar, and worthy of our respect, in the Irish people ? It may be chimerical, but I confess that, for myself, I cannot look upon even the rudest specimen of these people that we see among us, but as associated with these views. Ignorant and unlettered they certainly are; superstitious and degraded they may be; but I can never bring myself to look upon them either with indifference or contempt. I must ever regard them as allied to the memory of ancient days; as bringing antiquity, living and breathing, into our presence; and, above all, however shadowed by the degradation which is entailed by slavery, as 3 \ 26 mELAND AND THE IRISH. possessing, in common with their nation, the inherent elements of greatness. The vanity of nations, as well as of individ uals, leads them to set up pretences to high antiquity of origin. Thus the Chaldeans traced back their history for a space of four hundred and seventy thousand years ; and the Egyptians were scarcely less moderate in their claims. It is a good evidence of the credulity which this species of pride inspires, that the faith of the latter people in their fabulous chronology was not disturbed by a chasm of eleven thousand three hundred and forty years, which occurs be tween two of their kings, Mcnes and Scthon. If the bardic historians of Ireland have been a little less extravagant in their pretences, it is because their stories were fabricated at a later date, and after the Bible had been intro duced among them. They therefore commence thrir story but a few weeks before the flood, when, agreeably to their legends, Cesar a, a niece of Noah, arrived with a colony of antediluvians upon the Irish coast These were, at different , followed by other bands; and, in the th century after the flood, Ireland was in vaded and taken possession of by Partholen, t descendant of Japlx t. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 27 After holding the country for three hundred years, the race of Partholen was swept away by a plague; and, in the time of Jacob, another colony, led by Nemedius, took possession of the country. The wars that these settlers waged with the Fomorians, an African tribe of sea- rovers, form one of the favorite themes of the ancient Irish muse. The next, and, in number, the third of these colonies, were Belgians, and known under the name of Fir-Bolgs ; these subjected the country to the yoke of regal authority, and divided it into five kingdoms a form of government which existed till the twelfth century of the Christian era. The dynasty of the Fir-Bolgs was, how ever, soon disturbed by the Tuatha de Danaan a people famed for necromancy which they had learned in Greece. Aided by the Stone of Des tiny, the Sorcerer's Spear, and the Magic Cal dron, which they obtained in Denmark and Norway, and led by Nuad of the Silver Hand, the Danaans landed upon the island under cover of a mist, and penetrated into the coun try before they were discovered. The alarmed inhabitants retreated before them into Con- naught, when at Moytura, on the borders of Lake Masg, that bloody conflict took place, 28 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. which is called the Battle of the Field of the Tower, and which was long a favorite theme of Irish song. Having driven their opposefs to the Isle of Man, North Aran, and the Heb rides, the victorious Danaans became sole mas ters of the country. But they in turn \vrr<- dispossessed of their sway by the Scotic or Mi lesian colony, which through so long a scries of ages furnished Ireland with her kings. This celebrated colony, though coming direct ly from Spain, was originally, we arc told, of the Scythic race; and its various migrations and adventures before reaching its " Isle of Des tiny" in the west, are detailed by the bard?, with all that fond and lingering minutcix >s in which fancy, playing with its own creations, so much delights to indulge. Grading upon thi* Scythic colony the traditional traces and stories of their country respecting the Phoenicians, they have contrived to collect together, without much regard to either chronology, history, or geogra phy, every circumstance that could tend to dig nify and add lustre to such an event an event upon which not only the rank of their country itself, in the heraldry of nations, depended, but in which every individual, entitled by his Mile sian blood to lay claim to a share in so glorious IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 29 a pedigree, was imagined to be interested. In order more completely to identify the ancestors of these Scythic colonists with the Phoenicians, the bards relate that by ono of them, named Fenius, to whom the invention of the Ogham character is attributed, an academy for lan guages was instituted upon the Plain of Shi- nriar, in which that purest dialect of the Irish, called the Bearla Fcini, was cultivated. From thence, tracing this chosen race in their migrations to different countries, and connecting them, by marriage or friendship, dur ing their long sojourn in Egypt, with most of the heroes of Scripture history, the bards con duct them at length, by a route not very intelli gible, to Spain. There, by their valor and en terprise, they succeed in liberating the country from its Gothic invaders, and, in a short time, make themselves masters of the whole king dom. Still haunted, however, in the midst of their glory, by the remembrance of a proph ecy which had declared that " an island in the Western Sea was to be their ultimate place of rest," the two sons of their great leader, Milesius, at length fitted out a grand martin! ^edition, and set sail, in thirty ships, from the coast of Gallicia, for Ireland. According to 3* 30 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. the bardic chronology, thirteen hundred years before the birth of Christ, but according to Nennius Aengus and others, near five centu ries later, this " lettered and martial colony arrived, under the command of the sons of Milesius, on the Irish coasts; and, having ef fected a landing at Inbher Sccine, the present Bantry Bay on Thursday, the first of May, A. M ~'.i >1, achieved that great and memorable victory over the Tuatha de Danaan, which se cured to themselves and their princely descend ants, for more than two thousand years, the supreme dominion over all Ireland." Such is a very brief outline of the early his- tory of Ireland, as furnished by the bards. It would, perhaps, be equally unwise wholly to adopt <>r rrjrrt their story. It is as probable tk.it there is some foundation, in reality, for most of these events, as it is that the Grecian talc- of Urn-ill.-.* anil Tli.-M-ns li.nl ihnr ..n-in B truth, r.ui it is impossible to separate the fab ulous from the historical; and we are therefore compelled to leave the subject in one of those happy mists, in which antiquarians may con tinue to fight their bloodless battles. Although the Milesian colony is embraced in the bardic fables, it seems properly to come IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 31 within the scope of veritable history. We do not, indeed, adopt even the chronology of the sanguine Irish historians of modern date. Dr. O'Connor, who has bestowed vast learning upon the subject, considers Kimboath the fifty-sixth king of the Milesian line, and carries his reign back to a period at least two centuries before Christ. Leaving the date as a matter of entire un certainty, we may proceed to some details respecting the Scotic or Milesian dynasty. It seems that the tribe came to Ireland under the two sons of Milesius, Heber and Heremon. They divided the country between them, con stituting their brother Amergin, arch bard, or presiding' minister, over the departments of law, poetry, and religion. The two kings Heber and Heremon soon quarrelled for the possession of a beautiful valley, and Heber was slain, his brother now becoming sole sovereign of the island. Pass ing over the immediate successors of He remon, we may notice Tighernmas, who was miraculously destroyed, with a vast multitude around him, for offering sacrifice to the idol Crom Cruach. Achy, his successor, passed an edict, regulating the exact colors of the gar- 32 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. ments the different classes of people should wear. Ollam Foodhla, the royal sage, as he is called, instituted the triennial convention at Tarn, in which there seemed an approach to representative government, the leading persons of the three orders, the king, the Druids or priests, and the plebeians, being convened for the making such laws as the public good re- <]uimi. In the presence of these assemblies, the events to be entered on the public Psnlu-r or record, kept at Tara, were examined and prepared. The space between Ollam Foodhla and IIu- gony the Great, the royal builder of the famous palace of Emania, is filled up by the bards \\nli thirty-two kings, oil of whom died by violence except three. In the reign of Conary the Great, which coincides with the beginning of the Chris tian era, the young hero Cuchullin was slain in full Hush of his glorious career. With tin- fame of this Irish warrior most readers have been made acquainted, by the poems of Mnrpherson, attrilmtcd to Ossian. Titathal the Acceptable, after having been compelled to fly his kingdom, was restored alxiut the year 130, and intro duced various improvements in the laws institutions of the country. Fcidlim the Legis- IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 33 lator, and Con of the Hundred Battles, inter vened between Tuathal and Cormac Ulfadha, who is said to have founded three academies at Tara, to have revised the Psalter from the time of Ollam Foodhla, and, having lost an eye in repelling an attack upon his palace, resigned his crown, in obedience to a law which ex cluded any one marked with a personal blem ish from the throne. Having retired to a thatched cabin, at Kells, this king devoted him self to the writing of books, one of which, " The Advice to a King," was said to be extant in the seventeenth century. A long space now occurs, in which there is little of interest. Succeeding to the usurper Colla, Nial of the Nine Hostages made a formi dable invasion of Britain, in the fourth century, and afterwards extended his enterprises to the coast of Gaul, where he was assassinated by one of his followers, with a poisoned arrow. It was in the course of this expedition that the soldiers of Nial carried off a youth destined to work a great revolution in Ireland. Such, from the period of Kimboath, is the semi-authentic history of Ireland, based upon the annalists, catching, however, an occasional ray of light from the bardic legends. If it 34 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. cannot be set down as entirely worthy of our confidence, we may at least rest in the belief that, in its general outline, and doubtless in its prominent characters, it affords a general repre sentation of truth. Succeeding to Nial of the Nine Hostages, Dnthy, the last of the pagnn kings of Ireland, like his predecessor, ravaged the coast of Gaul, and, making his way to the foot of the Alps, was there slain by a flash of lightning. Leogairc, who reigned at the time of St. Patrick's mission, was. killed by the sun and wind, for violating an oath. The authentic history of Ireland properly begins with St. Patrick, in the fifth century. The name of this Christian apostle has been so often connected \vith incredible tales and culous legends, that it is apt to excite ridi cule in the minds of many persons. But ira examination of his true history will lead every fair-minded incimdiril to a very different e- tiinate of his character. St Patrick appears to have been a native of Boulogne, in France, and to have been born about the year 387 A. D. In his sixteenth year, be was made captive, as before intimated, in a marauding expedition, conducted by Nial of the Nine IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 35 Hostages. Being carried to Ireland, he was sold as a slave to a man named Milcho, living in what is now called the county of Antrim. The occupation assigned him was the tending of sheep. His lonely rambles over the moun- ' tain and the "forest are described by himself as having been devoted to constant prayer, to thought, and to the nursing of those deep devo tional feelings, which, even at that time, he felt strongly stirring within him. At length, after six years of servitude, the desire of escaping from bondage arose in his heart. " A voice iu his dreams," he says, " told him that he was * soon to go to his own country, and that a ship was ready to convey him thither." Accordingly, in the seventh year of his slavery, he betook himself to flight, and, making his way to the south-western coast of Ireland, was there re ceived on board a merchant vessel, which after a voyage of three days landed him on the coast of Gaul. He now returned to his parents, and, after spending some time with them, devoted himself to study in the celebrated monastery of St. Martin at Tours. During this period, it would appear that his mind still dwelt with fond recollection upon Ireland ; for he had a remark able dream, which, in those superstitious ages, 30 IRELAND AND THE IUISH, was regarded by him as a vision from Heaven. In this he seemed to receive innumerable lei from Ireland, in one of which was written, "The voice of the Irish." In these natural workings of a warm and pious imagination, so unlike the prodigies and miracles with which most of the legends of his life abound, we see what a hold the remembrance of Ireland had taken of his youthful fancy, and how fondly he already contemplated some holy work in her service. Having left the seminary at Tours, he spent several years in travelling, study, and medita tion ; but at length, being constituted a bishop, and having, at his own request, been appointed by the see of Rome to that service, he pro- ceeded on his long-contemplated mission to Ireland. Let us pause a moment to consider the state of Ireland at this period, that we may duly es timate the task which lay before this apostle, and which we shall find he gloriously accomplished. The neighboring island of Britain, it will be remembered, was still under the Roman yoke; but, as before remarked, no Roman soldier had ventured to cross the narrow channel be tween Britain and Ireland and set his foot upon IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 37 Irish soil. To Ireland, then, Rome had im parted none of her civilization. The country was in fact in a state of barbarism ; the govern ment was the same as that which had been handed down for centuries, and which continued for ages after. The country was divided into fire principal kingdoms, whose chiefs acknowl edged a nominal allegiance to one chief sove reign who was monarch of the realm. But there were still a great number of petty chiefs, also claiming the title of kings, and often setting up for independence, or disputing the authority of their accustomed masters. The wrangles be tween these rival powers were savage and in cessant; and the people were therefore em broiled in almost constant war. Among the rapid succession of princes, history tells us of but few that did not die by violence. In some of the dynasties, whole centuries pass, affording but a ghastly record of murdering and murdered chiefs. In such a state of things, it is obvious that there could be little progress in the arts of peace, or in that culture which proceeds from the diffusion of intellectual light. A knowledge of letters, indeed, is said to have existed in the country, and there was, no doubt, much mystical lore among the Druidical priesthood, who, at this 4 39 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. dark period of society, appear to have led both prince and people, as their cheated and deluded captives, whithersoever they pleased. The do minion, indeed, of these artful priests over the mind of the nation seems to have been absolute, and they exerted it with unsparing rigor. The whole people were subjected to an oppressive rom- tinc of rites and ceremonies, among which the sacrifice of human victims men, women, and children was common. Tlio details of these shocking superstitions are indeed too frightful to be repeated here. It is sufficient to say that the mission of St. Patrick contemplated the conver sion of a nation, wedded to these unholy rites, to the pure and peaceful doctrines of the go- He came alone, armed with no earthly po\\< r, arrayed in no visible pomp, to overturn the cherished dynasty of ages; to beat down a for midable priesthood; to slay the many-headed monster, prejudice; to draw aside the thick cloud which overspread a nation, and permit the ight of Heaven to shine upon it. There was something in the very concep tion of thin noble enterprise which marks St. Patrick as endowed with the true spirit of an apostle. We cannot follow him through the details of his mission. It is sufficient to say IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 39 that, exercising no power but persuasion, and using no weapon but truth, he proceeded from place to place, reasoning with the people, com bating the Druid, and preaching to the prince. It was on one of these occasions that he is said to have illustrated the doctrine of the Trinity, by stooping to the ground, and pluck ing a branch of trefoil, or three-leaved clover maintaining that the three leaves upon one stem, displayed, in nature, a trinity combined with unity, which might fitly represent the Tri une Deity, whom he preached. Thus, by his zeal and address, in the brief space of thirty years, St. Patrick introduced Christianity into every province in the land, and that without one drop of bloodshed. Every where the frowning altars of the Druids fell before him ; the superstitious prince did homage to the cross, and the proud priest of the sun bent his knee to the true God. Christianity was thus introduced and spread over Ireland with out violence, and by the agency of a single individual. Such appear to be the true character and history of St. Patrick, divested of the marvels and miracles with which superstition has em bellished them. Such at least is the view 40 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. taken by the Irish historian ; * and such is the image pictured in the faith or fancy of tin- Irish people. And where is there a brighter page in history than this.' Where is there a life more ennobled by lofty purposes, more illustrious from its glorious results, th:m thi> of St. Patrick? Surely, such an imli\idu;il \~ no projM-r theme for ridicule or contempt. If we Americans do homage to the memory of Washington, who aided in delivering our coun try from tyranny, the Irishman may as ju-tl\ hold dear the cherished recollections of him who redeemed his country from paganism. Aside from the immediate benefits which St. Patrick secured to In-hind, he has left to all mankind the heritage of a glorious truth which is, that in contending with hut..-.n power, human passions and human d.prmty, the min ister of Jesus Christ needs no other weapon than truth, enforced by holy example 1I< left us an imperishable lesson of wisdom that moral suasion can overturn the dominion of ignorance and prejudice which might forever hold (he sword at bay." Tbii it uUtanUnllv the account (riven of St. Patrick by Tbotnu HOOK, in hi* History of Inland. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 41 We now resume the thread of Irish history, which, instead of the meagre list of kings, with the records of their barbarous deeds, from the time of St. Patrick presents a series of very different events. The scene is indeed changed, and illustrious saints of both sexes pass in re view before our eyes; the cowl and the veil now eclipse the glory of the regal crown ; and, instead of the festive halls of Tara and Emania, the lonely cell of the fasting penitent becomes the scene of fame. But, while monasteries were building, and missionaries were sent forth to Christianize various countries, few events of political importance took place for a long series of years. At the beginning of the sixth cen tury, Christianity had become almost universal throughout Ireland ; and before its close her church could boast of a considerable number of persons, whose fame for sanctity and learning has since been cherished throughout a large part of the Christian world. As I shall have occasion, in discussing the literature of Ireland, to notice the events of this period, I pass over a large space, barren of po litical interest, and come to the period when the country was first invaded by those hosts of sea robbers, who passed under the general name of 4* 42 IRELAND AND THE HUSH. Danes. But, in order to understand the causes of their success, it may be proper to glance at the state of the country. The division of Ire land into five kingdoms had existed from the earliest ages. Meath, constituting one of them, was at the same time the seat of the chief mon arch. The power of the latter was gradually extended by encroachments upon the other sovereignties. The mode of succession was generally hereditary, though in some cases it had been elective. There were, however, no settled boundaries to authority, or even to territory ; for they fluctuated according to the power or ambi tion of the various kings. In the struggles which took place, the kingdom of Minister gradually became the most powerful of the pen- tarchy, and even set up a rival authority against the chief monarch of the realm. It was at this period, 705, when the country was distracted by the division between contend ing dynasties, that the Danes began their in vasions of Ireland. The name of the monarch who filled the Irish throne at this period, was Aedus or Aedan, during whose long reign the piratical incursions of the Northmen increased in frequency. The Irish nation being unable to present a firm front of opposition to their inva- IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 43 ders, the Danes soon obtained possession of some parts of the island, and here they main tained themselves for two hundred years. I cannot go into the details of these events. Though they abound in bold and bloody deeds, there is little to interest, to instruct, or amuse. We pass over the story of the romantic hero Lodbrog; the cruelties and oppressions of the Norwegian ruler Turgesius, presenting one dark picture of plunder, massacre, and devasta tion ; the successive invasions of the country ; the establishment of the Danes in several por tions of the island, and the unnumbered miseries inflicted upon the people. At length Brien Borohm came to the throne of Munster, which, as before intimated, had risen to a pitch of power rivalling that of the supreme throne. By gradual encroachments, Brien en larged his authority, and at last usurped the sceptre of Ireland. With the whole power of the country thus concentrated, he gave battle to the Danes, 1014, on the field of Clontarf. Being eighty years of age, he was unable to join in the fight, and, remaining in his tent, was killed by the infuriated Danes during the en gagement ; but his army was completely sue- 44 ' IRELAND AND THE IRISH cessful, and the defeated Northmen were soon after finally expelled from the country. Ir< -land was, however, an exhausted and deso lated land, and only exchanged one oppressor for another. Dermod Macmurrough, the factious and turbulent king of Leinstcr, having ex. the anger of Roderick O'Conner, the monarch of Ireland, was driven from his kingdom and the country. He fled to England, and besought the aid of Henry II. This monarch, being en gaged in foreign wars, declined personal in terference, but gave authority for any of his subjects to aid Dermod. Richard Strongbow, carl of Pembroke, availed himself of this per mission, and made a descent upon Ireland, with twelve hundred men, in 1170. His success led ry II. to invade the country in 1172, with five hundred knights and four thousand soldiers. He met with little opposition, and the In*li timely submitted, even Roderick thinking it best to acknowledge Henry's authority. After remaining in the country about five months, try returned to England, having gained little but the empty title of king of Ireland. From the period at which we have now arrived, the history of Ireland is familiar to most readers. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 45 Reserving, therefore, a few historical sketches, as illustrations of the Irish character, I shall not now inflict upon you even an outline of modern Irish history. It is a painful record of power selfishly exercised over a suffering people for centuries, with hardly the redeeming process of civilization. After all that Ireland has suffered, England has left few traces of her dominion, except the settled jealousy of the people and the heaped-up memory of unnumbered wrongs. It is my purpose, hereafter, to discuss the Irish character a subject of great fertility, and one that will afford more amusement than these dry details of history. But it seems that the ground over which we have passed is not wholly destitute of instruction, even as a means of un derstanding the Irish people. They are cer tainly marked with more decided peculiarities than any other nation in Europe. In compar ison with them, how bald is the character of the Scotch, French, Spanish, or Dutch ! Each of these may be the personification of a single national trait ; but the idea of an Irishman at once suggests courage, humanity, cheerfulness, hospitality, wit, and, perhaps, that species of blunder called a bull; and all these traits of character are often seen struggling through the 46 IRELAND AXD THE IRISH lows of unlettered rusticity, poverty, am! destitution. It is doubtless true, as has been frequently affirmed, that national character is formed by circumstances ; and among those which exert a controlling influence are climate and govern ment. But there appear to be original, constitu tional traits, which long resist even the force of these. It is easy to discern, in the inhabitant* of the different counties of England, differ ences, not of language only, but of complexion, thought, feeling, and character, which are evi dently traceable to original differences in the tribes from which they are descended. To the original Celtic constitution of the Irish we may therefore attribute much of their distinctive character. That they have been cut off by their insular condition from easy and frequent intercourse with other nations; they escaped the overwhelming dominion of Rome ; that, while they have been the subjects of foreign dominion, they hare still cherished a lively feeling of nationality, are facts which both prove and explain the descent of their lead ing national characteristics from high antiquity. It might seem that language would be one of the frailest of monuments ; but it is more endu- IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 47 ring than castles, temples, pyramids, or obelisks. These moulder, and their inscriptions mingle with the dust ; while words spoken from genera tion to generation, are handed down, thus de scending through long ages, and, in this instance, from the Celtic barbarian to the living sons of Erin. Nor do words descend as mere barren sounds, for they carry thoughts, feelings, and customs, with them. The provision which we see in nature fot the perpetuation and distribu tion of plants, finds a parallel in the process by which ideas are preserved and disseminated. We see that, from the humble grasses to the monarch oak of the forest, each plant has some shell, or pod, or folded leaf, by which the seed is sheltered from the blast, and where it is brought to maturity ; and we find that 'the winds and birds distribute these over distant fields, till the whole region is sown. There may be here and there a sullen desert which rejects the gift ; but these are few and far between. The proffered boon is generally received and cherished by the soil, till, in the words of the rhymer, " No spot on earth The furrowing ploughman finds, but there The rank and ready weeds have birth, Sown by the winds to mock his care." 48 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 1 1 is so with human thoughts and feelings. Language is the great instrument by which these are perpetuated and disseminated. Words, phrases, fables, allegories, proVerbs, are equiva lent to the shells, and pods, and capsules, of the vegetable kingdom; and these transmit ideas from generation to generation, from dynasty to dynasty, from age to age. Poetry becomes the depository of great events, and, like the winds which bear the winged seeds from field to field, from season to season, wafts down the memory of heroic deeds, and the creations of genius, to after times. Nor is it indispensable to this process that a written lit erature should exist, or be diffused among Un people ; for tradition has a conservative power, which resists decay, and bruslies away the gath ering dust of oblivion. The Irish nation has been peculiarly influ enced by this process of moral and intellectual semination. Roman conquest, which ploughed *p all the rest of Europe, sowing it with Roman civilization, left Ireland to the wild luxuriance of her original condition. Nor did Christianity effectually change the soil, or its products, but rather grafted new ideas upon the old stock, thus producing a new and peculiar fruit IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 49 The isolated position of Ireland, with the pugnacity of the people, not only secured the country from Roman invasion, but, after the in troduction of Christianity, for a time protected it from the hordes of barbarians which overran other countries. In its sheltered position, it be came the retreat of monastic learning arid piety, in that dark age, when the sun of heaven seemed withdrawn from the rest of Europe. During this, and at a still later period, the na tional bardic literature was cultivated and spread amongst the people. The annals of the nation were also collected and transcribed, thus being fitted for transmission to after times. There are two other circumstances which are to be duly considered, in tracing the Irish na tional character to its sources. Though Ireland has been nominally conquered by the English, it has never been thorouglily subdued. The Irish mind is still independent, and, deeply indignant at the oppressions of British dominion, erects itself in sturdy defiance to British laws, customs, and opinions. Two thirds of the Irish nation, to this very day, reject the religion, civilization, and government of England, in their hearts, and cling with undying pride to their national in- 5 50 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. f dividual ity. They cannot endure the idea of being quenched and forgotten in the supremacy of another people. Every where the traveller in Ireland finds a spirit of self-sustentation, which is often not a little amusing, when we compare the boastful assumption with the truth. A single proverb illustrates the whole matter. " An Eng lish hen cannot lay a fresh egg," saith the Hiber nian adage. If, then, we consider the Irish people as a na tion, who, according to her accredited annals, links her name with antiquity ; whose line of descent has not been crossed for* ages ; whose popular legends, carrying with them the popular faith, connect the generations of to-day with h - roes of the olden time ; whose minds have been the recipients of ideas, opinions, customs, and superstitions, transmitted from ages reaching back to the very cradle of the human family: whose hearts arc full of the treasured memory of national wrongs ; and whose Christianity, strongly woven into the popular faith, is still blent with something of Oriental paganism we shall see sufficient cause* for a peculiar national charac ter. If education be the formation of character, and if circumstances ore the instruments of cdu- IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 51 < cation, we can see in the history of the Irish nation, at least in part, the sources of the tenacious pride, the poetic temperament, the rich, mosaic imagination, the quick feeling, the intense nationality of the Irish people. IRELAND AND THE HUSH. PART II. TRAITS b F IRISH CHARACTER. WE have taken a brief survey of Inland, from the earliest times to the present day. We have seen that her story reaches back to that dim and distant period, when the world seemed waking from the night of chaos, and history is but it-^ troubled dream. We have wandered through the bardic legends, where substantial realities are hardly to be distinguished from the thin and shadowy creations of fancy ; we have traced the Irish ^istory down to a later date, and heard the bloody story of her pagan kings; we have seen the nation converted, as by magic, from Druidiral Mijer-tition Io the Christian faith: and we hare seen Ireland, so long ihe battle ground of wrestling kings and chiefs, become the >cn nlxKle of piety and scholarship. At the v time that darkness brooded o\er the rest of Europe and the nightmare of ignorance sat long and heavy upon the bosom of humanity, we IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 53 . have seen her shine with prismatic light and lustre. We have seen this glory fade and a long eclipse cast its shadows over the land; we have seen unnumbered miseries inflicted by the ma rauding Danes; and we have seen Irish inde pendence set beneath the dark horizon of Brit ain's dominion. Thus tracing the outline of the history of Ireland for two thousand years 1 , we have seen her share in the common lot of human vicissi tude ; we have seen her also the victim of op pression the sport of kings and ministers, who cared as little for her sufferings, as does the hawk for the struggles and palpitations of its prey. Yet, through all these changes, we have seen that the Irish people have never been thoroughly conquered ; that they trace back their unbroken line of descent to" the first set tlers of Europe ; and that the generation of to day are the lineal descendants of the ancient Celtic fathers, retaining the language and many of the thoughts, customs, and feelings, of their^ antique ancestry. From a history so peculiar, so distinct from that of any other European na tion, we have attempted to deduce the sources of some of. those national traits which mark the Irish people. It is the discussion and il> 5* 54 IRELAND AND THE IRI ration of these that now claim our a; tion. Among the conspicuous traits of Irish charac- we may remark their in: Inn- if to nillurc to old << .' There is more or less reverence for the past in all countries. It is the tendency of human nature, wherever it may he found, to fall into tin* beaten path, and follow it out. " Custom," says Lord Dacon, " is the principal magistrate of man's life." But there is some thing in the tenacity with which the Irish hold on to the thoughts, opinions, and usages, of past ages, which appears to surpass any thing of th> kind to be found among other European nation} This is strikingly illustrated by nil adhercjice to ^^L their political system for more than a thousand years, although experience had demonstr that system to be destructive of the peace, hap piness, and prosperity of the nation. This national trait is also displayed in the nun: relics of ancient vuperMitions which are still preserved by the people, although tin- ins upon which they are founded have hern wept away for almost fifteen hundred years. I have already remarked that many of the preva lent customs of Ireland, at the present day, many of the thoughts, feelings, and observances. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 55 of the people, are evidently the cherished frag ments of paganism, saved from the wreck of Persian fire-worship, Carthaginian idolatry, or Druidical superstition. It would exceed our present limits to go into a detailed examination of these ; it is perhaps only necessary to remark, that the perpetuation of the ancient Celtic tongue among the Irish is not more plain and palpable, than the preservation of ideas and sen timents as ancient as that language itself. It is easy to perceive the conservative -ten dency of this national characteristic in the Irish ; and we may readily believe that it has had its share of influence in saving the people from that waste and disintegration which the shock of ages brings upon mankind. The direct operation of this adherence to old customs is to unite the people by a strong bond of common sympathy. Such a community will rally as one man to drive out a foreign people who may come with new customs to overturn the old ones. A slight examination of Irish history will show that facts have abundantly proved the trutli of this theory. No foreign people have ever flour ished in Ireland. The Carthaginian colonists were successively melted down and mingled in the mass of the^nation. The Danes, though 56 IRELAND AM) THE IRISH. they occupied certain portions of the country for more than two hundred years, being of too stub born a stock to become assimilated with those amoni; whom they dwelt, and over whom they exercised at least partial dominion, were the tin- ceasing objects of hostility, and at last v. expelled from a country which they could not subdue. England bowed to the iron sway of the Danes, and was only delivered from it by call ing in foreign aid; but Ireland never yielded to their dominion, and by her own arm at last freed herself from these rutlUess oppressors. It is now almost seven hundred years since Ireland was conquered by an English king; but, for at least five centuries after that conquest, the dominion of England over Ireland was little more than nominal. From the time of Strong- bow's invasion to the period of Elizabeth, though Ireland was regarded as an appendage to the British crown, two thirds of the Irish people hold themselves, both in theory and practice, almost wholly independent of foreign control. And i down to the present day, there is a per petual struggle on the part of the nation to heave off the giant that has thrown her down. After seven hundred years of either nominal pr real dominion, England has been unable to Anglicize IttELAND AND THE IRISH. 57 Ireland. Not only is the government still re sisted by the Irish people, but, as before re marked, the religion, the customs, the opinions, and feelings of England, are obstinately kept at bay by a large part of the nation. Among numerous illustrations of this, the fol lowing is furnished by Miss Edgeworth. She tells us of a wealthy young nobleman, who built a neat cottage, with all the modern comforts o * and conveniences, for an old Irish woman. On going to the place a few weeks after she had taken possession, he found that she had con verted it, as far as possible, into an Irish hovel. Even the fireplace was disregarded, and a fire was built in the middle of the brick floor, the smoke, of course, circulating through the room. The old woman explained this by insisting that she was so accustomed to smoke, she could not live without it. It may be said, and with much justice, that this sturdy adherence to old customs partakes of obstinacy and prejudice, and that it may be among the causes of that tardy march of im provement, which may be remarked in Ireland. It will also serve to explain, in some degree, the fact, notorious to most of us, that an Irishman seldom knows bow to do more than one 58 IRELAND AND THK fKISH. well, and that ho is wholly deficient in that reran* tility which enables the Yankee to turn his hand successfully to whatever may chance to offer. But if a portion of the Irish people miss the true end of existence by adhering to old cus toms, permit me to suggest the caution that we do not rashly run into the opposite extn In a country like ours, having no antiquity and opening boundless fields of enterprise to all, we are apt to think only of the future, and, in our eagerness to lead in the race, to forget those more than golden treasures which consist of memories and sentiments and nsages. The truth is, man is not made wholly for action, but partly for contemplation. He is placed between two glorious mirrors anticipation and retro spection the one beckoning him forward, the other reflecting light upon the path he should follow, and casting a cool and wholesome shade over his passions. It is departure from the just balance of his nature, to dash either of tin 111 piece*. Whoever limits his existence to " that fleeting strip of sunlight, which we call nmr" reduces himself, like the ticking dock, to a mere measure of passing seconds. id who lives only in the future, never pausing to look back and take counsel of the past. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 59 never bending his gaze over the world of retro spection, softened with the mist and moonlight of memory, lives the life of the restless set tler of the far West, who never stops to secure or enjoy what has been won from the wilderness, but still pushes on and on, for scenes of new excitement and new adventure. A wise man, and a wise people, will use the past as the prophet of the future, and make both of these subservient to the interests of each passing moment. The children of Israel would not stay in Egypt, but, in going to the land of prom ise, they took the bones of the patriarch Joseph with them. In pressing forward in the march of improvement, let us, in like manner, bear along with us the experience, the wisdom, the virtue, and the religion, of our fathers. But, while we admit that the Irish carry their observance of old customs to the length of ob stinacy, it is proper to notice one remarkable exception afforded by their history. I mean the introduction and establishment of Christianity in Ireland by St. Patrick. The history of this event I have already detailed ; and you have seen that even the pertinacity of superstition yielded in Ireland to the voice of truth, assu ming the mild and gentle accents of persuasion 60 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. a fact that suggests the proper course of action' to all who attempt to exert an influence over the Irish people. Among the characteristics usually assigned to the Irish, is that of pugnacity. It has been said, that while the Englishman fights for the suprem acy of the sea, the Frenchman for glory, the German for his prince, and the Swiss for pay and rations, the son of Erin fights for fun. Even the Irish song seems to lend countenance to this popular notion; for it speaks of knocking down a friend from mere affection. It is not a little curious that the names of places in Ireland coincide with this attribute of the people. Ireland * the land of ire is the designation of the country ; and Killgobbin, Killkcnny, Killinacthomas, Inni^killin^, Kill- many, Killmorc, and a thousand others of like import, arc the names of towns. Knockmelc- down. Kiiockinalloch, Knockmorc, is the es tablished nomenclature for hills. Every hill, indeed, is a knock, and every church a hill. The rhyme says, " Who killed Killdare ? Who d.rrd Killdarc to kill ? " "I killed Killdare, and due kill whom I will." The frequent recurrence of names of places IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 61 beginning with kill might indeed seem alarming to a stranger in Ireland, especially if he be under the influence of those prejudices which have been excited against that country. The following mistake occurred when some of the English militia regiments were in Ireland dur ing the rebellion of 1798. A soldier, a native of Devonshire, who was stationed at an outpost, stopped a countryman, and demanded who he was, whence he came, and whither he was going. The fellow replied, " And my name, my dear honey, is Tullyhog ; and, d'ye see, I am just been to Killmany and am going to Kill- more." Upon this, the feentinel immediately seized him, expecting to receive a high reward for having apprehended a most sanguinary rebel, just come from murder, and going to a fresh banquet of blood. But there is graver authority for this view of Hibernian character. The first glimpses of Irish history present us with the spectacle of a nation almost constantly engaged in civil war. The division of the country into a number of petty kingdoms would tend to breed dissension, even among a people disposed to peace ; but in a nation prompt to act and slow to reflect, it was sure to result in constant scenes of battle 6 62 IRELAND AND THE IRISH and bloodshed. The appetite of the people, therefore, for strife, became strengthened by the successive practice of ages, until, at last, a state of internal war seemed to be the natural con dition of the Irish people. This characteristic of the nation seems to have descended even to our more pacific times, though it is greatly mitigated. But, in thus stating and illustrating the pug nacity of the Irish, we must remark that it is of a very peculiar kind. It seems to have no malice or ferocity in iy for the broke'n head of to-day leaves no soreness at the heart to morrow. It is, in truth, but a species of chiv alry resulting from high animal spirits, and an excessive appreciation of courage, excited and perpetuated, perhaps, by the deeds of their he- roes as set forth by the bards. A few instances will illustrate this character. An Irishman, having had a large fortune suddenly devolved upon him, determined to make the grand tour of Europe. 'After passing through France and It.ily, and part of Spain, with scarcely any mo tions of delight, he entered a village in the latter country, where he saw a mob fighting desperate ly ; upon which, in a moment, he sprung out of his carriage, and, without inquiring into the IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 63 cause of the battle, or ascertaining which side he ought in justice to espouse, he laid about him with his shilala, and after having had sev eral of his teeth knocked out, he returned to his carriage, and exclaimed, " By St. Patrick, it is the only bit of fun I have had since I left Ireland ! " We have among us a story of an Irishman, who was employed by a farmer of New Hamp shire. He was, on one occasion, about going to a fair, then annually held at the town of Derry, when the farmer attempted to dissuade him. " You always come back from the fair, Pat," said the farmer, " with a broken head ; now stay at home, and I will give you five dollars." " And do you think, sir," said Patrick, " I'd take five dollars for the bating I'd get ? " There is no nation on whom the gift of natural courage is more largely bestowed than on the Irish. In the common people, it too often displays itself in noisy brawls ; but in the disciplined soldier, it rises to the loftiest pitch of intrepid gallantry. In battle, on shore and at sea, the Irish soldier and sailor have been remarkable for their valor, steadiness, and subordination. As far back as Spenser's time, the bravery *of the 64 IRELAND AND THE IRISH Irish soldier was honorably mentioned. That happy genius says, " I have heard some great warriors say, that in all the services 1 which they had seen abroad in foreign countries, they never saw a more comely man than an Irishman, nor that cometh on more bravely to his charge." The instances of Irish intrepidity are numer ous and striking. There is an affecting story of this sort, connected with the famous battle of Clontarf. In this engagement, many of the Irish princes joined their forces to those of Brian Borohm. This hoary monarch being eighty years of age, and unable personally to engage in the conflict, remained in his tent during the battle. Toward the close of the engagement, a few of the infuriated Danes broke in upon the unprotected chief, and regardless of his gray hairs and helpless condition, took his life. But the Irish were completely victorious and the death of Brian was deeply avenged. The battle being over, the Irish chieftains set out for their several dominions. One of these, the leader of a gallant band, who had shared largely in the perils, as well as the triumphs of the fight, was marching on, bearing the sick and wounded carefully toward their homes. They came, at length, to the territory of another chief which IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 65 they desired to cross. There they were met by an army who refused permission to enter their district, but upon the payment of tribute. Tbis was stoutly refused ; and although the soldiers from the field of Clontarf were worn out with fatigue, crippled with losses, and encum bered by their sick and wounded, they still determined upon battle, rather than submission to a demand which they considered at any time unjust, and on the present occasion, in the highest degree dastardly. Even the sick and wounded, under these circumstances, seemed to be inspired with the spirit of battle, and insisted upon taking their share in the conflict which was about to ensue. Accordingly, at their re quest, stakes were driven in the ground, along the front of the line where the onset was ex pected, and to each of these, one of the sick or wounded soldiers was firmly tied, in an erect posture, his sword and battle-axe being placed in his hands. Thus prepared, the little army awaited the battle, which now seemed at hand. The inhospitable prince led on his troops, and was about to give orders for the attack, when seeing in the little army that opposed him the sick and wounded tied to their posts, he was so smitten with admiration at this display of self- 6* 66 HIELAND AND THE IRISH. 4 devotion, that he withdrew his forces, and al lowed the army to proceed unmolested on its march. As connected with the courage of the Irish, it is proper to notice that improvident restlessness, which is a conspicuous characteristic of the peo ple, particularly under the restraint of foreign dominion. Even during those periods in which they were only subject to their legitimate princes, and whose authority they seemed to approve, the Irish still were in a state of almost perpetual agitation. In more modern times, and since the cords of the English dominion have O been drawn more tightly, this nervous excita bility of the nation has even increased. Since the reign of Henry VIII., Ireland has presented an almost constant series of convulsions, insur rections, or rebellions. For these, indeed, there may have been ample provocation in the wick ed injustice of their oppressors. The whole course of British policy toward Ireland, for three / hundred years, appears to have been calculated to alienate the feelings of the people from their rulers, and rouse all their prejudices and pas sions against England and the English. The first of these impolitic acts was adopted in 1536. A parliament was then assembled, which formally IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 67 proceeded to annul the papal power, and to de clare Henry VIII. of England the supreme head on earth of the church in Ireland. Every per son who refused to take the oath *of supremacy was declared guilty of high treason. But to re sist these usurpations, confederacies were formed all over the kingdom ; and it was not till the year 1551, that the English liturgy was performed in the Irish churches. But in spite of all the co ercive measures of the English government, the bulk of the nation steadily adhered to their ancient faith, and the cause of religion became the cause of the nation. The attempts to force the people to renounce a faith which they had received from St. Patrick, and to adopt a new system of religion with an English ritual, nat urally became blended with the national preju dices against English oppression, and cooperated to produce the famous insurrection of Tyrone. The conduct of James I. estranged the affec tion of the Irish ; and during the reign of Charles I. another rebellion broke out, which deluged the country with blood. Cromwell undertook to crush out the restive spirit of the nation by the trampling heel of military power. His cruelties toward the people are almost incredi ble. During his sway, twenty thousand Irish- 68 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. men were sold as slaves, and forty thousand entered into foreign service to escape from tyr anny at home. The distracted state of this unhappy kingdom in 1633 can hardly be described. It was then the theatre of one of the fiercest civil wars that ever raged in any country. The Catholics de clared for "James, and the Protestants for Wil liam, prince of Orange. The battle of the Boyne, on the first of July, 1690, decided the fate of James, who fled to France. William acceded to the British throne ; and heavy indeed were the punishments inflicted on the Catholics, who had taken part with the now defeated and exiled Stuart. The number of Irish subjects outlawed on this occasion amounted to nearly four hundred thousand, and their lands confis cated were more than a million and a half of acres. In 1798, the injured Irish, deprived of the enjoyment of their dearest rights, and con demned to political disabilities on account of professing the Catholic religion, once more re belled. This event was within the memory of many who are still living ; and we have seen in our own time one distinguished leader of that rebellion, having escaped from the pur- IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 69 / t suit of tyranny, seeking a home, and at last a resting-place, on our American shores. I speak of the late Thomas Addis Emmet, of New York. After the failure of their schemes, he and his associates were taken, tried, and con demned. Some were executed, and some trans ported ; but he was himself permitted to escape from prison, by the jailer, and it is supposed by the connivance of the British government. Af ter many vicissitudes, he came to this country, and engaged in the profession of the law. His great learning, his powerful intellect, and his masterly eloquence, soon raised him to the high est honors of his profession. His mind was indeed haunted with recollections of his country and his home, and sometimes these bitter memo ries would find utterance. But in general, he displayed a character of great gentleness and generosity ; and becoming an American citizen, he adopted the customs and feelings of our country. He died in 1827. Robert Emmet, the brother of this distin guished individual, was concerned in the rebel lion of 1803, but his fate was more melancholy. He was a lawyer ; young, ardent, and full of talent. Greatly beloved for his virtues, and intensely admired for his genius, he became 7 IRELAND AND THE IRISH a leader among the conspirators. With the rest he was detected, seized, and brought to trial. Before his judge he defended himself, with ad mirable dignity, eloquence, and power. Know ing that his fate was sealed, he sought not to save his life, but only to shelter his name and fame from after infamy. " Though you, my lord," said he, " sit there a judge, and I stand here a culprit, yet you are but a man, and I am another. I haye a right, therefore, to vindicate my character and motives from the aspersions of calumny ; and as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in rescuing my name and my memory from the afflicting imputation of having been a traitor to my native land." He then proceeded with a stirring appeal to his countrymen, and finally closed his defence in the following words : " My lamp of life is nearly extinguished ; my race is finished. The fresh grave will be soon ready to receive me, and 1 shall sink into its bosom. All I request at part ing from the world is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for as no man, who knows my motives, dare defend them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 71 my tomb remain undescribed, till other times and other men can do justice to my character." Such was the lofty and intrepid bearing of Robert Emrnet, then but twenty-four years old, in the hopeless hour of condemnation. But this could not save him ; and he perished on the scaffold. The circumstances which attended his fate, however, entered into every generous bosom, and even his enemies 'amented the stern policy which dictated his execution. " But there was one heart whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days, and fairer fortunes, Emmet had won the affec tions of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of the celebrated Curran. She loved him with the fervor of a woman's first and only love. When every worldly maxim arrayed it self against him ; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. Exiled from home by a father's stern decree, and haunted by the memory of her lover's dishonored grave ; with nothing to soothe the pang of separation, nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent like dews to revive the parched bosom in the hour of anguish, she gradually wasted away, and died the victim of a . 72 IRELAND AND THE IRISH broken heart." Her melancholy story has found a chronicler in Irving, and Emmet himself is beautifully mourned by the poet Moore, who thus alludes to his last request "the charity of the world's silence." " O, breathe not his name ; let it sleep in the shade, Where, cold and unhonored, his relics are laid ; Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the night dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. " But the night dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls." Such is the pathetic story of RoBert Emmet ; and thus the generous beatings of a noble heart for his country's freedom were silenced forever. Alas for poor Ireland that patriotism hr her children should be a crime for which the gal lows only can atone ! I have thus noticed some of the rebellions of Ireland ; and though they may hav.e been justi fied by the oppression of her despotic masters, yet in most of these cases, and particularly in the last, there was an improvidence, which, as it insured failure, almost cancelled the patriotism displayed by those who were ready to put life IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 73 and property at risk for the sake of liberty. But beside rebellions, there have been many lesser dis turbances : agitation is, indeed, but the common condition of Ireland. A large part of the people are miserable, and it is not strange that whoever will come to them with promises of improvement, should obtain ready listeners and obedient fol lowers. How easy to stir up a wretched peo ple, by reviving the memory of by-gone wrongs, and appealing to present sufferings ! How strong the argument of revenge to the injured, and of relief to the oppressed ! It is not wonderful that such a man as O'Connell even though selfish and unprincipled, as some contend he is should be able to lead the suffering Irish at his will. He is at least a man of extraordinary talent, and so long as his interest and that of Ireland may coincide, so long at least he will be her cham pion. He may, indeed, be the occasion of last ing good to his country. He is, as I have said, a man of extraordinary talent. We have seen him, in the British commons, successfully breasting attacks which would . have overborne any other than a man of dauntless intrepidity and gigantic power. Such a man, with Ireland at his back, is no mean champion. He puts his shoulder to the edifice of Irish affairs, as did 7 74 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. . Samson to the pillars of the Philistine temple, and, shaking the tottering mass, says to the Brit ish ministry, " Grant me what I ask, or I will bring down the whole fabric upon your heads ! " Something has been already granted to Ireland, in O'Connell's day. The Catholic disabilities J are removed, and the church tithes will erelong be mitigated or surrendered. Whether absen teeism, the greatest curse of Ireland, will cease, is a more doubtful question. Beside the attachment of the Irish to old cus toms, their acknowledged pugnacity, and that improvident restlessness, which helps them rather to get into troubles than out of them, common fame assigns to them another peculiar and striking characteristic ; I mean a laugha ble confusion of ideas, which is expressed by the word bull, a term derived from the Dutch, and signifying a blunder. Whether the Irish are more addicted than others to this species of mental faux pas, there cannot be a doubt that much of what is attributed to them is imaginary, and, so far as it. might seem to imply any intel lectual imperfection, the mere invention of ill- natured prejudice. A person in using another language than his own frequently makes mis takes. A Frenchman, once, speaking to Dr. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 75 Johnson, and intending to pay him a compliment by alluding to the Rambler, which at that time was the theme of universal admiration, addressed him as Monsieur Vagabond, the word vagabond, in French, being synonymous with rambler. An Italian gentleman, in speaking to an Ameri can lady, and intending to say that she had grown somewhat fleshy, since he had seen her, said, " Madam, you have gained very much beef since I saw you !" Such mistakes as these are often made by foreigners ; but good taste dictates that they should be passed over without remark, or in that polite manner in which a French man is said to have noticed a blunder of Dr. Moore's. " I am afraid," said the doctor, " that the word I have used is not French." " No," said the Frenchman, " it is not; but it deserves to be." Such is the tolerance we extend to the blun ders of foreigners speaking a language with which they are imperfectly acquainted, unless, forsooth, they chance to be Hibernians. In that case, the rule is reversed, of course. A poor Irishman, once being called upon to testify in an English court, was suddenly asked by the judge, " Who and what are you 1 " Pat was fresh from Ballymony, and his knowledge of 7 6 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. English was limited; but he did the best he could. " Plase your honor," said he, " I am a poor widow ! " meaning widower. Now this mistake was no worse than we hear from others in similar circumstances; but considering that the blunder was from an Irishman, who would esteem himself restrained from laughter, by any polite regard to the man's feelings, or fail to discover in this instance an unquestionable specimen of the genuine Irish bull ? If a large portion of imputed Irish bulls are thus mere common-place blunders, such as all foreigners are liable to make in speaking any other than their native tongue, there is a still larger portion that are attributed to the Irish, which may claim a different paternity. Many of our common proverbs, to which we have given a local habitation and a name, are in fact borrowed from other countries. " You carry coals to Newcastle," might seem to claim John 7 Q Bull for its father ; but the sentiment had existed for ages before John Bull himself was born. " You carry oil to a city of olives," is a Hebrew proverb that has been in use for three thousand years ; and " You carry pepper to Hindostan," is an Eastern adage of perhaps as great antiquity. The fact is nearly the same in regard to many IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 77 f of the pithy sayings, smart jokes, and witty rep artees, which are in common use among us, and are imputed to well-known individuals. A large part of Joe Miller's jokes, pretending to have originated with Englishmen, are told in France, Germany, Russia, Turkey, Persia, and perchance China, and in like manner descend from genera tion to generation, being successively attributed to such characters as they may suit. Some scandalous story being told of Dr. Bellamy, a person asked him if it were true. " No," said the doctor ; " some fellow invented it, and laid it to me; but the rascal knew me." It is this suitableness of an anecdote to an individual, that often gives it much additional point. The dis creet story-teller, therefore, always seeks to find some hero to whom he may impute his tale, in the hope that he may give to it this adventitious zest. An American was once telling some O anecdote of Ethan Allen, of Vermont, to a Ger man, remarking, by the way, that it must be true, for his grandfather was present, and wit nessed the fact. "It is a good story, certainly," said the German, " but I have heard the same told of my great grandfather, Baron Von Hot- tengen, ever since I was a boy." This incident throws a great deal of light upon our subject. Let one acquire a repu- 78 IRELAND AND THE IRISH tation for any particular thing, and every anec dote from the time of Confucius down to the present day, that may seem to be illustrative of the qualities of this individual, is told of him. Thus it is that Ethan Allen is the hero of many wild adventures that he never achieved, and the witty Lord Norbury is credited for many a good joke that he never uttered. There is nothing like starting with a character beforehand, even though it may be the outright invention of ig norant prejudice. It is to this circumstance that the New England Yankee is indebted for the credit, among our Southern brethren, of invent ing wooden nutmegs, oak-leaf segars, horses with false tails, and all other ingenious modes of cheating in trade. It is to this circumstance that the Irish are credited for every ludicrous blunder, to whomsoever it may properly belong. If the Irish were disposed to retaliate, it would be easy to find the means; for it was an English, not an Irish, orator, who said, in the house of commons, that the proposed tax on leather would be an insupportable burden to the barefooted peasantry of Ireland. It was an English poet who says, " A painted vest Prince Vortigern had on, Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won." IRELAND AND THE IRISH. . 79 It was a French philosopher, M. Jourville, who, being prepared to observe an eclipse of the sun, at which the king was to be present, said to M. Cassini, " Shall we not wait for the king before we begin the eclipse 1 5: It was a French gentle man who, hearing a lady exclaim against the in humanity of Buffon in dissecting his own cousin, remarked, " But, my dear madam, the man who was dissected was dead ! " It was also a French man who, being asked by a young man for his only daughter in marriage, exclaimed, " No, sir, if I had fifty only daughters, I would not give you one of them ! " * * We can find bulls in higher company than this. Pope, in his translation of Homer, speaking of an eagle and her young, says, " Eight callow infants filled the mossy nest, Herself the ninth." Dryden sings, " A horrid silence first invades the ear." Thomson also sings, " He saw her charming, but he saw not half The charms her downcast modesty concealed." But the prize bull belongs to Milton, who, in his Paradise Lost, says, " Adam, the goodliest man of men since born His sons j the fairest of her daughters) Eve." 80 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. Such are a few samples of genuine bulls of other than Irish origin; but what story-teller, bringing them to market, and wishing to get for them the highest price, a hearty laugh, would fail of attributing them to the Irish ? There is another class of what are called Irish bulls, which appear to me to be specimens of wit rather than of blunder. There was once an Irish sailor by the name of Larry, who sailed for many years on board a little packet that plied between New Haven and New York. She was com manded by Captain B******, who, I am sorry to say, was very profane. On a certain occasion, Larry was summoned before the Supreme Court of Connecticut as a witness. When he was called upon the stand, a doubt arose whether this Irish Catholic understood the nature of an oath. At length the judge made the inquiry of Larry, who replied as follows : "Is it the nathur of an oath ye'd like to know? If your honor 'd sailed with Captain Ben B****** for six years, on board the Polly packet, as I have done, ye'd not be after asking that question." An Irish woman lately applied for the place of cook, to a lady of Boston. When the terms were agreed upon, the lady asked to whom she could apply for the woman's character ; to which she replied, " O, IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 81 my chracter ? and you wish to have my chracter ? Well, I'm thinking nobody can give it to ye so well as myself." These and a multitude of other instances, which are set down as blunders, ap proaching to bulls, show any thing but confusion of ideas. They spring from a shrewd wit, veiled beneath the mask of simplicity. But while we would thus maintain that a large share of the blunders attributed to the Irish do not belong to them ; that bulls, and good ones too, are often committed by those in whom we can trace no Hibernian blood ; and that many of those which are actually traceable to Irish origin are still only such mistakes as might be expected from an imperfect knowledge of our language, still it must be admitted that a certain confusion of speech, or transposition of ideas, is common to the Irish people. A part of even this, however, arises from the inconsiderate haste with which they speak. An Irishman was once reading a newspaper, during the twenty years' war. He began a paragraph as follows : "The French have taken umbrage ." He did not stop to finish the sentence, but exclaimed, " The rascals ! it's the first British port they have got yet ! J; Pat's loquacity often leads him into mistakes. It is better, in his philosophy, to blunder than be 82 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. silent. Some people were once speaking of the Sphinx. " Who's that? " said an Irishman pres ent. "It's a monster, man," said the person addressed. " A Munster man ? " said the other ; " I thought he must be from Connaught, for I think I have heard of the family there ! " The Irish generally speak as they act, upon the first impulse. They begin to express a thought the moment it strikes them, and often before they fully understand it. " Look ere you leap," is a proverb which they reverse in practice. " Think twice and speak once," they also follow by the rule of contrary. Their mind is a mirror, and the ready tongue freely discloses all the fig ures, either confused or distinct, that may pass before it. To our list of shadows assigned to the portrait of the Irish character, it is our duty to notice one more. The Irish are accused of beincr o faithless to their trusts ; and we, who have fre quent occasion to deal with them, often imagine that we see displays of this national characteris tic. It may, indeed, be true that a long-con tinued state of servitude and oppression has degraded some of the Irish. When, indeed, was the slave high-minded, heroic, or pure ? The weight.of the fetter may, at last, wither away the IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 83 very nerve of virtue. The air of the dungeon may become stamped upon the features. The perpetual presence of tyranny must teach the perpetual subterfuges of deceit. If this process has brought these consequences upon the Irish, the same has happened in Greece. The living descendants of Lycurgus and Leonidas have shown themselves corrupt, profligate, unsteady to their obligations, treacherous in the council and the field. But history furnishes both ex planation and apology. The same may be said in extenuation of this frailty of the lower Irish. Faithlessness is, however, an adventitious attri bute, and is seldom exercised but toward those whom they consider as adversaries. Fidelity to each other is, in fact, a conspicuous trait in the Irish character. In the several rebellions which have taken place, instances have occurred in which individuals have gone to the gibbet rather than betray their associates. Among the mountains of Wicklow, Dwyer, a celebrated rebel chieftain, contrived to elude the pursuits of justice for a period almost unexam pled. The remuneration offered by the govern ment for the discovery of this daring chief, who so long hovered near the capital, after his fol- knvers had been routed and reduced, was very 84 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. great, and presented a temptation to betray, which in another country would scarcely have been resisted ; but wherever he avowed himself, and claimed the protection of hospitality, his person was held sacred; and, in the midst of rags and penury, a bribe which would have secured independence to the betrayer, was re jected with scorn. In Waller's time, the secrecy and fidelity of the Irish, in all their engagements, were remark* able; that poet, when the Sophy appeared, said of the author, that " he broke out like the Irish rebellion, threescore thousand strong, when nobody expected it." In no country in the world is treachery held more in detestation than in Ireland ; because in no region can be found a higher spirit of frankness and generosity. Upon the door of every cabin might be justly in scribed, " Mistake me not so much, To think my poverty is treacherous." > " The lower orders," says a traveller in Ire land, " will occasionally lie, and so will the lower orders of any other country, unless they are instructed better ; and so should we all, had we not been corrected in. our childhood for IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 85 it. It has been asserted that the low o Irish are addicted to pilfering ; I met with no instance of it personally. An intelligent friend of mine, one of the largest linen manufacturers in the north of Ireland, in whose house there is seldom less than twelve or fifteen hundred pounds in cash, surrounded with two or three hundred poor peasants, retires at night to his bed without bolting a door or fastening a window. " During Lady Cathcart's imprisonment in her own house in Ireland, for twenty years, by the orders of her husband, an affair which made a great noise some years since, her ladyship wished to remove some remarkably fine and val uable diamonds, which she had concealed from her husband, out of the house ; but, having no friend or servant whom she could trust, she spoke to a beggar woman who used to come to the house, from the window of the room in which she was confined. The woman promised to take care of the jewels, and Lady Cathcart accordingly threw the parcel containing them to her out of the window. The poor mendicant conveyed them to the person to whom they were addressed ; and when Lady Cathcart recovered her liberty, some years afterwards, her diamonds were safely re stored to her." 8 86 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. But let us now turn from these drawbacks in the Irish character, to the consideration of more grateful traits. Who, for instance, has not been struck with the natural eloquence of these peo ple? We need not go to Grattan, Curran, or Burke, for specimens of this gift of genius. The rudest Irish laborer among us seems to be en dowed with it. If an Irishman really sets about persuading you of a thing, he seldom fails of his object, unless, indeed, it be to prove that black is white. It is curious to see how an Irishman can embellish the most naked idea, and amplify the commonest topic. There is a picture of a beggar, belonging to the Athenaeum of Boston, painted by an artist of New York. It is the portrait of an Irishman, who presented himself one day at the artist's door, and begged for alms. " Walk in," said the painter, " and tell me your name." " My name, sir," said the beggar, " is Patrick McGruger, and it's true what I tell ye," " But," said the artist, " why don't you go to work, instead of begging about the streets in this fashion ? ' " Why don't I go to work, your honor ? and is it that ye'd like to know? When ye're threescore years and ten, like myself, ye'll be more ready to answer such a question, than to ask it." " Well, well, my good fellow/' IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 87 said the artist, " you can at least sit down and let me paint your portrait." " Is it my handsome portrait you're wanting 1 and do you wish me to sit down there and let you paint it ? Faith, that's a thing I can do, though I was not brought up to it. The time has been, your honor, when Patrick McGruger could do better than sit for the por- trait of a beggar. But I must do what I may ; for these old limbs ask to be fed, though they refuse to work." The author of the " Lights and Shadows of Irish Life " furnishes us with a fictitious, but characteristic specimen of this natural eloquence of the common people, in a poor woman who mourns at a wake over the dead body of her patron, Godman Lee. She was seated on the floor, her eyes closed, her hands clasped around her knees, while in a low and mournful tone she spoke as follows : " Kind and gentle were you, and lived through sorrow and tears, frost and snow, with an open house and an open heart. The sun of heaven shone on you, and you reflected its warmth on others. The flower of the valley saw and loved you; and though she is of a strange country, you taught her to love the green and weeping island y to dry the widow's tears, to feed the 8 8 IRELAND AND THE IFJSH. orphan, to clothe the naked. O, why did yoa die, and leave behind you all the good things of life? and above all, the beautiful boy who will be the oak of the forest yet? O, the justice and the mildness were you of the country's side ! and while grass grows, and waters run, we will mourn for Godman Lee. The beggar walked from his door with a full sack ; and he turned wormwood into sweetness with his smile. But now his wife is desolate, and his full and plenti ful home has no master ! ' The wit of the Irish is no less natural and striking than their eloquence. That very trans position of ideas which sometimes produces a bull or blunder, not unfrequently startles us as if with the scintillations of humor. " What are you doing there ? "' said one Irishman to another, who was digging away the dirt before a cellar window. " I'm going to open this window," said Patrick, " to let the dark out of the cellar." A few years ago, as several persons were stand ing on a wharf at Liverpool, one of them slipped into the dock. The first individual to move for the relief of the drowning man, was an Irishman, who plunged into the water, and after a severe struggle rescued the person from the waves. When the man had at length recovered from his IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 89 ducking, he took some change out of his pocket, and selecting a sixpence, handed it to the Irish man who had saved his life. The latter looked an instant at the sixpence in the palm of his hand, and then slowly measured with his eye the individual whom he had rescued ; and observ ing that he was a very thin and small man, he put the money into his pocket, and turned on his heel, saying, significantly, " It's enough ! it's enough ! ' But the recollection of my readers will readily furnish them with abundant specimens of Irish wit, far less questionable than these. Wit is, in fact, the whole stock in trade of one half the Irish nation ; and though it often leaves them destitute of a dinner, it seldom fails to make even destitution and want the occasion of its merry sallies. It is perhaps this playfulness of fancy, that is partly the source of that cheerfulness which forms a remarkable characteristic of the Irish people. " Sufficient for the day is the evil there of," is an injunction literally construed and implicitly obeyed. Cheerfulness seems indeed to be so natural to the Irish, as hardly to possess the self-denying ingredients of virtue. Not even poverty, want, or oppression, can wholly shut 8* 90 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. out the genial light of cheerfulness from an Irishman's cabin. If it come not in at the door or the window, fancy will strike out the spark r hope cherish it, wit blow it into a blaze. There is something even pathetic in the instances that are related of Irish wit and cheerfulness in the midst of poverty and destitution. A recent trav eller in Ireland tells us, that on one occasion he went to an Irish cabin, where he found a peasant and his numerous family crowded into the only room in the building,, which was scarcely more than twelve feet square. In one corner lay a pig ; it being the custom among these poor people to fatten one of these animals every six months,, for the purpose of paying their rent. The trav eller describes the hut as exhibiting the most naked scene of relentless poverty that could be imagined. The gaunt form of the peasant, the sunken cheek of the wife, the pallid counte nances of the children, all showed that the crav ing wants of nature were but half supplied. But the pig presented a remarkable contrast to this general aspect of want and woe. There it lay, luxuriously imbedded in aristocratic straw, sleek, round, and pampered. As the stranger entered the hut, it did not even condescend to rise, but seemed to imitate, by a delicate and IRELAND AND THE IRISH. affected grunt, the sentiment of the fat lady in the play " Don't be rude, for really my nerves won't bear it ! " The strang-er felt his heart o touched at this scene, for it seemed to show that, day by day, the food that the peasant and his children needed, was doled out. to this pampered animal, to provide for the payment of the rent, and thus insure a shelter for the family. At length he said to the Irishman, " Pray, why do you keep this creature in the house ; would not he do as well out of doors 1 " " Sure," said the peasant, with a smile, " your honor would not turn out the gintleman what pays the rint?' 1 Thus it is that the Irishman's cheerfulness is made to solace his poverty ; thus it is that the diamond can illuminate the darkness; that the playfiil light f a heavenly virtue may be drawn down to earth, even by the iron of which misery forges its fetters. It is natural to turn from Irish cheerfulness to Irish hospitality. This is a virtue which is largely exercised throughout Ireland, by the rich as well as the poor. In England, a stranger almost feels that he is an outcast. The elbows of John Bull are thrust sharply out, seeming a sort of chcvaux de frise, to defend his fat ribs- One who is unaccustomed to sustain himself 92 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. amid this kind of porcupine armor, often finds himself, while travelling in England, shoved hither and thither in no very pleasant fashion. If, unluckily, he happens to have upon him some garment that bespeaks a foreign country, he seems to be singled out as the special object of suspicion and aversion. If, after living this kind of life for a few months, the traveller yearns to be among a people with whom he can have some sympathy, let him cross the Irish Channel, and go to Ireland. He will there meet with ready kindness and open-handed hospitality. The very name of stranger, the sound of which induces an Englishman to double lock his heart and his door, is a ready title to an Irishman's hospitality. Nor is this virtue practised among the rich alone. It is even more strikingly displayed by the poor, according to their means. A poor Irishman will part with his last shilling for a friend, a neigh bor, or even a stranger, in distress. He will divide his last potato, giving the larger half (to use Pat's own expression) to one more needy than himself. " A stranger," says a certain traveller, " will always find it more easy to get in, than to get out of the house of an Irishman. The neighbor or the stranger finds every man's door open ; and to walk in without ceremony at IRELAND AND THE IHISH rneal time, and to partake of his bowl of potatoes, is always sure to give pleasure to every one of the house, and the pig is turned out to make room for the gentleman. If the visitor can re late a lively tale, or play upon any instrument, all the family is in smiles, and the young will begin. a merry dance, whilst the old will smoke, after one another, out of the same pipe, and enter tain each other with stories. A gentleman of an erratic turn was pointed out to me, who, with his flute in his hand, a clean pair of stockings and a shirt in his pocket, wandered through the coun try every summer. Wherever he stopped, the face of a stranger made him welcome, and the O 7 sight of his instrument doubly so ; the best seat, if they had any, the best potatoes and new milk, were allotted for his dinner; and clean straw, and sometimes a pair of sheets, formed his bed ; which, although frequently not a bed of roses. was always rendered welcome by fatigue, and the peculiar bias of his mind." Curran, in one of his celebrated speeches, thus beautifully described the native hospitality of his country : " The hospitality of other coun tries is a matter of necessity or convention ; in savage nations, of the first ; in polished, of the latter; but the hospitality of an Irishman is net 9 4 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. the running account of posted and legered cour tesies, as in other countries; it springs, like all his other qualities, his faults, his virtues, directly from the heart. The heart of an Irishman is by nature bold, and he confides ; it is tender, and he loves ; it is generous, and he gives ; it is so cial, and he is hospitable." " During the march of a regiment, the Honor able Captain P , who had the command of the artillery baggage, observing that one of the peas ants, whose car and horse had been pressed for the regiment, did not drive as fast as he ought, went up to him and struck him. The poor fellow shrugged up his shoulders, and observed there was no occasion for a blow, and immediately quickened the pace of his animal. Some time afterwards, the artillery officer, having been out shooting all the morning, entered a cabin for the purpose of resting himself, where he found the very peasant whom he had struck, at dinner with his wife and family. The man, who was very powerfully made, and whose abode was solitary, might have taken fatal revenge upon the officer ; instead of which, immediately recognizing him, he chose the best potato out of his bowl, and, presenting it to his guest, said, t There, your honor, oblige me by tasting a potato^ and I IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 95 hope it is a good one ; but you should not have struck me ; a blow is hard to bear.' ' Let us turn a moment to the intellectual char acter of the Irish. And first, as to their imagi native qualities. These are remarkably dis played in their legends, their superstitions, and their popular poetry. The art of poetry appears to have been cultivated from early antiquity, and it is a curious fact that rhyme is an Irish invention. As early as the fifth century, the use of rhyme was familiar among the Irish, as well in their vernacular verses, as those which they wrote in Latin. It may be remarked here, that poetry in its infant state is seldom separated from music, and that, in Ireland, many of the early poems appear to have been sung, and accompanied by the harp, or cruit. In some very ancient verses, on the death of Columba, preserved in the " An nals of the Four Masters," we find allusion to this : " Like a song of the cruit, without joy, is the sound that follows our master to the tomb ! " This passage reminds us of Ossian \ and it is curious to remark that the very poems which Macpherson pretends were founded upon fragments of ancient Erse song, gathered from the western borders of Scotland, are, in fact, founded upon Irish poems, well 9 6 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. ascertained to .have been composed in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. It is true, in deed, that many of these songs were current among the Gaelic inhabitants of the Hebrides and the western Highlands ; but the people of these portions of Scotland were but the descend ants of Irish emigrants. These kept up a con stant intercourse with Ireland, and, adopting the popular poetry of the latter country, made these borrowed lyrics familiar as their own. But Ireland claims their paternity; and authentic history has now restored them to their birth place. The popular legends of the Irish eminently display the imaginative character of the people. In these, the fairies largely participate, seeming in Ireland to perform even more extraordinary feats than in merry England. The banshee, a pure Irish invention, is a nondescript being, supposed to be attached to particular families, and to take a lively interest in their welfare. There are few ancient houses in Ireland unpro vided with this domestic spirit. It gives notice of impending calamity, and a death in the family is always foretold by the wailings of this ill- omened attache. As, in England, the old- fashioned witch was more common than the IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 97 % wizard, so the banshee is usually of the witch's gender ; though sometimes, for extraordinary purposes, it appears to be of the other sex. This formidable being seems to fill the fancies of the lower Irish. Even those who come to this country can hardly shake off its imaginary visitations. It is an actor in many of the popu lar legends of Ireland, and a large part of the common incidents of life are more or less attrib uted to its agency. In short, the Irish seem to have a power of imagination which connects every object and incident with the supernatural. Whatever is mysterious is referred to the ban shee; whatever is uncertain belongs to St. Patrick, St. Briged, or some other saint. It is curious to observe that through most of these Irish legends and superstitions, there seems to be a perception of poeticaf justice, which gives success to virtue, and ill fortune to vice. It would take me entirely beyond my proper limits to go at large into the field of Irish litera ture I mean that which is strictly Irish, and of a date anterior to the period in which the learning of Ireland sought expression in the English tongue ; much less can I go into an examination of the numerous and rich contribu tions which Irish genius has made to English 9 9 8 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. literature. A few brief notices must be all that can be bestowed upon these fruitful themes. Various as are the monuments to which Ire land can point, as mute evidences of her anti quity, she boasts a more striking proof in the living language of her people in that most genuine, if not only existing, dialect of the oldest of all European tongues, and which, by whatever name it may be called, was the vehicle of the first knowledge that dawned upon Europe. In the still written and spoken dialect of this primeval language, Ireland also possesses a mon ument of literary antiquity which " no cavil can reach, and no doubts disturb." That the Irish were acquainted with letters before the time of St. Patrick, appears to be evident, though the art of writing was doubtless in a rude state, and confined to the learned or Druidical class. Their materials appear to have been tablets formed of the wood of the beach, upon which they wrote with an iron pencil, or stylus. The position of Ireland in respect to other countries, at this period, should be borne in mind. Neither the arts nor the arms of Rome ever reached this island. From the earliest periods of authentic history down to the inva sion of the Danes, embracing a period of nearly IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 99 a thousand years, Ireland remained in a state of seclusion ; her kings wrestling among them selves, but her green turf bearing the impress of no foreign master. Whatever light, therefore, might exist, was kindled from native fire. Yet it is to be remarked that, from the establishment of the Christian religion by St. Patrick, there was a gradual progress in learning until Ireland became the most illuminated spot on the broad map of Europe. Passing over the names of Columbkill, Killian, and other distinguished Irish scholars of the sixth and seventh centuries, we come to Virgil ius, who nourished about the year 750. He was not only distinguished for his learning, but for his dispute with the Eng lish missionary Boniface, over whom he signally triumphed. Some ignorant priest, having been in the habit of using bad Latin in administering baptism, Boniface commanded Virgilius to per form the ceremony over again. This he re sisted, and Boniface appealed to the pope, who had the good sense to decide in favor of the former. Boniface, thus rebuked, became the enemy of Virgilius, and waited for an opportu nity to seek revenge. At length the latter, having some glimmering notion of the spherical form of the earth, and having intimated a* belief 100 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. in the existence of antipodes, was accused by Boniface of heresy, and again brought before the pope. From this accusation he found means of clearing himself, and was soon after elevated to the see of Salzburg, in Germany. We must pass over the names of Clement, Albinus, and Dungal, all of whom appear to have been eminent men, and to have obtained the favorable notice of Charlemagne, and come to Donatus, bishop of Fiesole. Of the writings of this distinguished individual we give the fol lowing extract, from a translation in O'Halloran's history. It is the more pertinent, as it recog nizes the distinction which Ireland at this time enjoyed, for her advance in learning.* " Far westward lies an isle of ancient fame, By nature blessed, and Scotia is her name Enrolled in books ; exhaustless is her store Of veiny silver and of golden ore ; Her fruitful soil forever teems with wealth, With gems her waters, and her air with health; Her verdant fields with milk and honey flow; Her woolly fleeces vie with virgin snow ; Her waving furrows float with bearded corn, And arts and arms her envied sons adorn." * In explanation of one passage, it may be necessary to say, that Scotia, or Scotland, was the designation of Ireland, for several centuries after the arrival of the Scotic or Milesian colony. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 101 / But by far the most remarkable man sent forth during these ages, was the learned and subtle John Scotus, who flourished about the year 850 Such was the success of his social and intellec tual powers, that Charles the Bald of France made him the companion of his most secluded and familiar hours. His writings are the most remarkable productions of the time, and exerted a powerful influence upon the theology of this and the subsequent age. In addition to his im- \ mense European reputation as a scholar and metaphysician, we may remark that he appears to have been, in his intellectual and social qual ities, a perfect representative of the genuine Irish character, in all its various and versatile com binations. Possessing humor and imagination, with powers of shrewd and deep reasoning, he yet lavished both these gifts imprudently, .exhib iting, on almost all subjects, every power but that of discretion. His life, in its social relations, seems to have been marked by the same char acteristic anomalies ; for, while the simplicity of his mind and manners, and the festive play of his wit, endeared him to his private friends, the dar ing heterodoxy of his written opinions alarmed and alienated the public, and made him at least as much feared as admired. 9* 102 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. are a few of those stars which arose from Ireland, and attracted the 1 attention of Europe during that long period when impend ing darkness vVas brooding over the rest of the o o world. It is remarkable that, when all beside was shadowed with ignorance and gloom, Ire land was the seat of knowledge, and the focal point of science. In the eighth century, its reputation was so well established, that it was considered the mart of learning, to which the o * scholars from every part of Europe were at tracted. It was in those days that, if a sage were missing, it was said of him, " He has gone to Ireland to perfect himself in scholarship." On this subject I need but add, that it was during the eighth century, that what has been called the scholastic philosophy originated, from the emi nent ..divines which the monasteries of Ireland poured forth. In confirmation of the views here taken, we may offer the testimony of Dr. Leland. Where he is speaking of the period in which the early preachers of the gospel visited Ireland, he says, " Christianity, as then taught, although it could not eradicate, at least restrained, the na tional vices. A numerous body of ecclesiastics, secular and regular, quickly swarmed over the IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 103 whole country ; frequently became umpires be tween contending chieftains; and when they could not confine them within the bounds of reason and religion, at least terrified them by denouncing vengeance against their excesses. An ignorant people listened to their tales of pre tended miracles with a religious horror. In the midst of every provincial contest, every domestic strife, they were sacred and inviolate. They soon learned to derive their own emolument from the public veneration. The infant church was every where amply endowed, and the prayers of holy men repaid by large donations. Some of the oldest remains of Irish literature inform us, that the people were taught to dedicate the first born of all cattle to the church, as a matter of indispensable obligation. But if the clergy thus acquired riches, they applied them to the noblest purposes. The monks, says Mr. O'Con nor, fixed their habitations in deserts, which they cultivated with their own hands, and ren dered the most delightful spots in the kingdom. These deserts became cities ; and it is remarka ble enough, that to the monks we owe so useful an institution in Ireland, as bringing great num bers together into one civil community. In these cities the monks set up schools, in which 104 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. they educated the youth, not only of the island, but of the neighboring nations. The testimony of Bede is unquestionable, that about the middle of the seventh century, in the days of the ven erable prelates Finian and Colman, many nobles and" other orders of the Anglo-Saxons retired from their own country into Ireland. These came either for instruction, or for an opportunity of living in monasteries of stricter discipline ; the Scots (as he calls the Irish) maintained them, taught them, and furnished them with books, without fee or reward a most honorable tes timony, says the elegant Lord Lyttleton, not only to the learning, but likewise to the hospitality and bounty, of that nation. "A conflux of foreigners to this retired island, at a time when Europe was in ignorance and confusion, gave peculiar lustre to this seat of learning; nor is it improbable or surprising that seven thousand students studied at Ar magh, agreeably to the accounts of Irish writers, though the seminary of Armagh was but one of those numerous colleges erected in Ireland. But the labors of the Irish clergy were not confined to their own country. Their mission aries were sent to the continent. They con verted heathens ; they confirmed believers ; they IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 105 erected convents ; they established schools of learning; they taught the use of letters to the Saxons and Normans ; they converted the Picts by the preaching of Columbkill, one of their renowned ecclesiastics. Burgundy, Germany, and other countries, received their instructions ; and Europe with gratitude confessed the supe rior knowledge, the piety, the zeal, the purity of the ' Island of Saints. 5 Such are the events on which Irish writers dwell with an enthusiastic delight. The first Christian missionaries seem to have industriously avoided all unnecessary violence to the ancient manners of the Irish. Their poets they favored and protected ; the remains of the Druidical order were not perse cuted ; and although divine vengeance was thundered against the worshippers of the sun, stars, and winds, it is evident that some pagan superstitions were overlooked with too great indulgence, for they subsist at this day in Ire land : fires are lighted up at particular times, and the more ignorant Irish still drive their cattle through those fires as a means of preserv ing them from future accidents." Such is the abstract given by Dr. Lei and in his preliminary discourse on the introduction and establishment of Christianity. 106 IRELAND AND 1 HE IRISH. \ But we approach a period when the sun of Irish literature was destined to a long eclipse. The hordes of northern robbers, passing under the general name of Danes, now began their irruptions; and for more than two centuries they continued to harass and desolate Ireland. They were finally expelled ; but the nation was so wasted and impoverished, that Henry II. made an easy conquest of a portion of the island, and commenced that dominion of the English crown which has ever since been continued. Under this despotism, for nearly five hundred years, Ireland was the victim of unrelenting oppres sion. It was not till after the rebellion of 1688, and the /desolating attainders and confiscations which followed, that a reprieve was given to this unhappy country, by the English govern ment. But at last the course of British policy seemed to be ameliorated, and the country rose superior to the cruel pressure of former political inflictions. It had now the bustle and activity of a parliament; and its educated gentry, residing upon their estates, exerted their influence for the improvement of the people. The rapid advances which were made under these circumstances were little short of miraculous. It was then *that the light of national genius, concentrating its long- IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 107 scattered rays to a point, and shining steadily from its proper focus, threw out those sparks of moral lustre " Which give Liofht to a world, and make a nation live." O ' It was then that the powerful collision of active, ardent, and energetic minds produced that brilliant burst of talent, which for nearly a century flung over the political darkness of Ireland a splendor to which her struggles and her misfortunes served only to give a stronger relief and more brilliant effect. It was then that, after ages of mental depression, the Irish intellect broke out, when none expected, or were prepared for the splendid irruption. It was during this remarkable period, that such names as Steele, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Swift, Curran, Grattan, and Burke, rose from Ireland, and swept like coruscations of light over the sky. Nor were these luminaries followed by a total eclipse. It is true the union came like a cloud to chill the spirit of the nation ; to divest it of even the semblance of independence ; to deprive its metropolis of its wonted attraction ; and to induce the wealthy proprietors to seek a residence in other lands. But, in spite of this 108 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. plunder of her rights and her liberty, Ireland has still continued to add to her list of great names. Canning has passed to his tomb, but he will not be forgotten. Moore still lives, and his fame, as the best of lyric poets, will be im mortal. Wellington, as the victor of Waterloo, will need no other monument than the closing leaf of Napoleon's story. I have now completed a feeble and imperfect sketch of Ireland and the Irish people ; but I could wish that it might not wholly pass with out practical benefits. I have presented this nation as of great antiquity, and as linking itself, by a remarkable power of self-perpetuation, with those nations which pass before us like mighty shadows in the morning dream of history. I have presented them to you as at various periods displaying a power of genius which commanded the admiration of mankind. I have presented them to you as blemished, indeed, with imper fections in their social character, but as pos sessing indisputable claims to sympathy and respect. I would remind you that we have among us thousands of individuals, who may claim kindred with this interesting people ; and, however poor and ignorant some of them may be, IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 109 " Though Knowledge, to their eyes, her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll," still they are of a noble stock, and worthy the care and culture of every friend to the improve ment of the human race. I know, indeed, that there are practical dif ficulties in this matter. We are told that the Irish are Catholics; and this is esteemed by some a fatal obstacle to improvement. Let us suppose, for a moment, what indeed I do not affirm, that the Catholic religion is a false faith what then ? Go you to these people, and tell them that their religion is a falsehood will they believe it ? Will they not tell you it is the faith of their fathers, and alike rendered dear by the memory of the holy man who introduced it into their island, and the bitter sorrows they have suffered for its sake ? Will they not tell you it is the faith that immediately followed the apostles the faith of the early Christians in all lands the only faith that, for centuries after Christ, was known to Christendom? Will they not tell you that to suppose this a false belief, is to suppose a non-intercourse between Christ and his followers for ages, and to throw down and o * prostrate in the dust the only ladder that reached from earth to heaven, and by which, 10 110 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. for more than a thousand years, Christian faith was accustomed to hold communion with God 1 Will they not also tell you that, at this very hour, two thirds of the Christian world are believers in the Catholic church 1 And will these followers of this faith renounce their views upon your simple declaration that it is false? Remember that even truth is unavail ing if it do not take hold of the understanding. The longest lever has no force if it has no fulcrum. Denunciation, therefore, of the Cath olic faith, will never benefit a Catholic. Recollect, too, the position in which we Amer icans stand toward the Irish. We are of Eng lish descent, and share in the events of English history. If we have our tales to tell of Bloody Mary, the Catholics have theirs of Henry VIII. , Elizabeth, and Cromwell, all true Protestants, but as fell religious persecutors as ever disgraced a sceptre. The Irish have been taught by his tory, tradition, experience, to expect in the enemies of their religion, the enemies of their peace and prosperity. Protestant, with them, has too often been found synonymous with oppres sor. Too often Protestantism has come to them in the unattractive guise of tyranny, tithes, and taxation. These emigrants come to our IRELAND AND THE IRISH. Ill country, then, with a lynx-eyed prejudice, founded in their own bitter experience, and that of their fathers, and their fathers' fathers. How will you deal with it ? Allow me very briefly to suggest one or two practical points. Let us dismiss that narrow-minded maxim, which teaches that the Irish are a wrong-headed people, who can only be abused out of their errors. Let us recollect that St. Patrick intro duced Christianity into Ireland in thirty years, and that too in the face of paganism, and by persuasion only ; while the whole coercive power of England since the time of Henry VIII. has been vainly exerted to convert this nation to Protestantism. Remember that St. Patrick, by the mere magic of kind persuasion, did that in thirty years which the defied and baffled throne of Britain has not been able to accomplish by force in three hundred years. Let us by no means join in the popular outcry against foreigners coming to our country, and partaking of its privileges. They will come, whether we will or no ; and is it wise to meet them with inhospitality, and thus turn their hearts against us 1 Let us rather receive them as friends, and give them welcome to our country. Let us rather say, " The harvest before us is in- 112 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. deed great, and the laborers are few : come, go with us, and we will do thee good." Our hills, and valleys, and rivers, stretch from ocean to ocean, belting the entire continent of the New 7 O World; and over this rich and boundless do main, Providence has poured the atmosphere of liberty. Let these poor sufferers come and breathe it freely. Let our country be the asylum of the oppressed of all lands. Let those w.ho come, bent down with the weight of European tithes and taxation, here throw off the load, and stand erect in freedom. Let those who have dwelt in the chill shadows of the Castle of Igno rance, erected by kings, and fortified by priest craft, come here, and be warmed by the free sunlight of knowledge. Let those whose limbs have been cramped by chains, those whose minds have been fettered by hereditary error, come here, and, seeing happiness, be permitted freely to pursue it. Let us, at least, extend the hand of encour agement and sympathy to the Irish. Their story for centuries is but a record of sorrows and op pressions. They have been made to feel, not only how cruel, but how universal, are the mis eries which follow a bad government ; for gov ernment is as pervading in its influence as the IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 113 air we breathe. In civilized society, we must eat and drink, and wear, and have shelter, and hold intercourse with our fellow-men ; and govern ment will come through bolted doors and grated windows, and reach us through these interests. The tyrant will come in and visit us at our homes, dimming the very light of our firesides. Not only do we feel his taxes, and find our industry cursed, but the minds of our children are perhaps injured degraded or contaminated by the vices which injustice and evil example, from high stations, inculcate upon society. And from these miseries there is no escape but death. No condition can shield a man from mischiefs so injurious and so pervading. As well might the air become contagious, and the springs and rivers be tainted, as bad government become established over a nation. Yet poor Ireland has been subject to such a condition for ages ; and even if her children leave their native soil, they are obliged to carry with them the bitter mem ory of their country's wrongs. A people of quick and ardent sympathies, of a poetical and romantic love of country, they are, in exile, ever looking back to the Emerald Isle, with min gled sorrow and sickness of heart. How heavy 10* I ] 4 IRELAND AND THE IKISH. is the burden which such bosoms must bear, x as they wander over distant lands, in the bitter consciousness that their country is the despond ing victim of oppression ! Shall not those who come to our shores afflicted with such sorrows, find in the friends and sharers of freedom, both welcome and release 1 And let us beware of adding to their wrongs. Let us remember that there is other tyranny than that of chains and fet ters the invisible but cruel tyranny of opinion and prejudice. Let us beware how we exercise this towards the Irish ; for it is wicked in itself, and doubly mischievous in its tendency. It injures both its subject and its object, and brings no counterbalancing good. Let us be especially guarded against two sources of prejudice, to which we are peculiarly liable. In the first place, in our personal ex perience, we are familiar with the most ignorant and unfortunate of the Irish nation. We see, in servile employments, those who have been exposed to all the debasing influences that de grade mankind. Is it fair to draw from these a standard by which to judge the whole people ? Let us rather ask ourselves where there is another nation, who have been so long trampled down IRELAND AND THE IRISH, 115 by oppression ; who have been born in poverty and nursed in adversity ; who have inherited little from the past but sorrow, and can be queath nothing to the future but hope ; where is there a people so wronged, that has yet pre served so many virtues ? How gallantly, indeed, do Irish wit, and cheerfulness, and hospitality, and patriotism, ride on the wreck of individual hopes, and sparkle through the very waves of adversity ! Let us beware of prejudice from another source. We read English books, papers, and pamphlets. We read them under the inspiring influence of Britain's great name. Say what we may of that country, the British empire is a mighty power, and her literature is even more potent than her armies and her navies. It is by this she casts a spell over the world, and binds the nations in moral fetters. We see in the English people nearly the same exclusive love of country that burned in the bosom of the ancient Roman. This spirit animates every offspring of the English press. It is this which leads them to vindicate the tyranny of the gov ernment in Ireland, by portraying the Irish as an untamable race, deaf to reason, and only to 116 IRELAND AND THE IRISH. be ruled by the harsh inflictions of power. Let us, Americans, see that our minds are not driven from the moorings of justice, by this sinister current in which they are placed. Influenced by such considerations as these, let us by all fair means bring about a good understanding between the Irish emigrants and society. Let us deal gently with them, even with their errors ; and thus we shall win their confidence ; thus they may be persuaded to take counsel of the good, the wise, and the virtuous, and not throw themselves into the arms of those who flatter their vices and minister to their passions, but to use and abuse them. Let this reasonable and just policy mark our conduct towards the grown-up Irish among us ; and in regard to their children, let us individ-^ ually and collectively use our best endeavors to bestow upon them the benefits of education. But let us remember that even an attempt to educate the Irish will fail, if it be not founded in a recognition of the elements of their national character, quick perception, a keen sense of justice, and ready resentment of wrong. If over these, prejudice, suspicion, and pride, have thrown their shadows, let us adapt the instruction IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 117 we would offer to the light they can bear. In this way, a numerous people may be redeemed from misery to happiness, and rendered a blessing instead of a curse to our country. Let us deal thus with those Irish who have left their native land to find a dwelling among us ; arid in regard to the millions that remain at home, in the "green and weeping island," let us hope for the speedy dawn of a brighter and better day. A youthful queen now sways the sceptre of Britain ; and what may not humanity hope from the gen erosity of youth and the heavenly charity of woman 1 In closing this faint and feeble but sincere appeal in behalf of the Irish people, I cannot feel that I urge a doubtful claim, or seek to en force an ungracious suit. Might I not foot up a long account, and confidently ask its liquidation on the general ground of even-handed justice? Who is there that has not read the pensive tale of the " Deserted Village," and felt his heart both softened and purified by the perusal ? Who is there that has not listened to the entrancing melody of that " Traveller," " Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow," who has painted pictures of life, beauty, and 118 IRELAND AND THE IRIS. truth, on the soul, that will live as long as the heart retains its affections, or the imagination its enamel 1 Who is there that has not again, again, and yet again, forgotten the cares and vexations of life in the story of that simple- hearted " Vicar of Wakefield" and his family, and gathered from it more touching and effective les sons of virtue, than were ever found in the phi losophy of the schools 1 Who is there that will not acknowledge a debt to the author of these . works, and, if the appeal were made, would not heartily repay it to the land that gave him birth ? Who can measure the debt of gratitude that the world owes to such a man as GOLDSMITH 1 for it is the influence of spirits like his, that aids in the redemption of mankind from barbarism, that civilizes society, that ennobles the heart, gives to love its purity, to friendship its truth, to patri otism its fervor, to home its comfort, to human nature its dignity, to life its charm. If the pleasure this single individual has excited, the virtue he has planted and cherished, the good he has done to his fellow-man, were heaped up in one monumental pile, the mighty pyramid would reach to the skies ; and its fitting inscrip tion would be, To THE MEMORY OF AN IRISH MAN, WHOSE GENIUS WAS A PERSONIFICATION IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 119 OF TttE IRISH CHARACTER, AND WHOSE LIFE WAS A FIT EMBLEM OF IRELAND'S FORTUNES. HE LIVED MINISTERING TO THE HAPPINESS OF OTHERS, HIMSELF THE VICTIM OF SORROWS THAT MAY BE FELT, BUT CANNOT BE RE- 1 HEARSED ! TO MARION. WHY, maiden, art thou sad? So young, so fair y What can thy gentle bosom know of sorrow ? For age are meant the furrowing lines of care : Why, then, such moody airs shall maiden borrow? Pray, hast thou caught that magic mirror's gleam, Of fond fifteen, so apt to light the heart, Melting the seal of love's bewildering dream And at its revelations dost thou start? So hath it been, so must it ever be, When first, in seeming solitude, we hear The voice of Echo ; though, in ecstasy, We fluttering follow, like charmed birds, in fear And thou dost find an echo every where, A voice that blends with every tuneful tone, In every melody that melts on air ; And yet that voice pray, is it all unknown? There is an image o'er the earth and sea, Wherever grace or beauty seem to dwell ~ A rainbow or a man. Confess to me, And if it's Sandy, maid, I will not tell. BLUE-STOCKINGS. BY J. A. JONES. THERE is no word in the English language which is faster losing its signification than that of " blue-stockings." Indeed, it has become so thoroughly changed, that the little Queen should send a peremptory mandamus to the fellows of Brazen Nose or Oriel, commanding them to coin a new word to supply its place. Fifteen years ago, it was understood, in common par lance, to mean a woman between thirty and forty years of age, usually nearer the former than the latter, of questionable claims to strength of mind or solidity of judgment, of a freckled or sallow complexion, with coarse hair, bad eyes, bad teeth, bad gait, large feet, a pug nose, an inordinate snuff-taker, a termagant in disposi tion, a radical in petticoats, and, in matters of faith, either a bigot or a skeptic. To suppose for a moment that a " blue" could be sensible, or beautiful, or sprightly ; could dance with grace, or sing with effect, or be possessed of 194 BLUE STOCKINGS. talk you Latin as the famous Colman the younger proposed to sell butter, by the yard, and who was much better read in the Greek authors than many who have favored the world with erudite translations of, and annotations upon, them. He had reached his twenty-seventh year, with out giving a single indication of an intention to follow the example of his fathers in taking a wife to his bosom. He had been long given over as incorrigible ; and even the children of his friends were taught to lisp, in connection with his name, the ominous note, " old bachelor." Women of sense, it was seen, he avoided, and he was supposed to possess too much of that redeeming quality, to marry a fool. So the sen timental wrote him down one who had de termined to tread the " weary path of life " alone. Fond lovers arid the happily married pitied his forlorn state, and deprecated his crazed resolve ; while those who were poor in the treasures of connubial felicity, applauded him to the skies for his wisdom, and pointed him out as a second Daniel come to judgment. We were in London in the latter part of the month of August, which, as all of you that have lived in England know, is a period of great BLUE-STOCKINGS. 195 dulness. Major Roche then came to me, and, complaining of ennui, proposed that we should take a trip to Paris, and see what they were doing in the Boulevard Italien, and saying in the Chaussee d'Autin. It was the very thing I had been conning over in my mind for some three weeks before ; so I gave a ready acquies cence, and we set out the next day for Dover, there .to take shipping for the port once de nominated by British monarchs " our city of Calais." Nothing occurred worthy of note till we had been received on board the boat which yearly conveys so many idle fellows across the Channel, to lose their money at ecarte, in the salons of Paris, or otherwise waste it in dissi pations of which that capital is so prolific. I was walking the deck of the steamer, rumi nating on matters and things, the beauty of the English coast, the smoothness of the sea, when my friend the major came up to me with anxiety depicted on his fine countenance, a slight blush crossing his handsome cheek, and his manner very solemn and thoughtful. Taking me by my arm, and drawing a very deep sigh, he ejaculated, " My time has, come!" Not knowing the motive or feeling which prompted the exclamation, I confess I was much startled 196 STOCKINGS. by it. I am a firm believer in signs, omens, and portents, vulgarly called forerunners; and it struck me that he had received one of those " solemn hints " which announce our speedy disappearance from the theatre of earthly trou bles and vanities. I was at the point of repeat ing Wolsey's pathetic lament on the brevity and uncertainty of human life and honors, when I was relieved from my fears that is, the som bre class of them by his second exclamation, " She is an angel ! J: " Who is an angel 1 " I demanded. " The lovely little creature who is sitting at the door of the ladies' cabin, tete-a-tete with a gentleman old enough to be her father. And thus it is, ' the course of trtve love never did run smooth.' But, Chester, you shall see this beautiful girl, and judge if I have not reason to be thus smitten." On descending to the cabin, the first glimpse I caught of the object of Roche's sudden passion, was certainly such as led me to think highly of his taste. I do not think I ever saw a more beautiful woman. Indeed, were I required to point out the most beautiful face I have ever seen, I should name hers. And then there dwelt such an unspeakable charm in her countenance, BLUE-STOCKINGS. 197 and so much grace in her manner, so much but she was incomparable. Happily for the ma jor, the gentleman who attended her proved to be an old acquaintance of mine, a married man, with daughters nearly as old as his lovely ward. At my request, he introduced " Miss Lemmen." Behold, then, my friend on the summit of human felicity. He was soon able to engross the whole conversation of the lovely girl, his tender interest increasing 1 every moment, while the glance of her soft eye evinced decided approba tion of his conversation and manners. Before they had been half an hour in each other's com pany, I set them down "paired and matched." I never saw two persons become more deeply enamored at a first interview. Happily, the sub jects first introduced were those he had been accustomed to hear discussed in fashionable cir cles dress, dancing, music, drawing, recent marriages and engagements in the beau mondc, parties formed for the watering-places, all top ics of much and engrossing interest in the higher circles. So far all was well ; but as those who begin to feel la belle passion are always more or less poetical and sentimental, and, Ijke the dying Falstaff, " babble of green fields," my enamored friend would needs be asking the 198 BLUE STOCKINGS. young lady if she was fond of retirement and country life. " Above all things ! O, I do so delight in it," she answered, her beautiful eyes glistening with rapture, " that I think I could bear banish ment for life to very many of the quiet and se cluded spots one finds in England. (Here the major began to rub his hands in ecstasy.) I never liked the noise and bustle of town life, but always preferred a walk through a shady grove, or by the banks of a murmuring brook, to all the gayety of the parks and promenades. I could better enjoy such a stroll than a " show- off" at the levee of the Queen ; and for balls and assemblies, and mazurkas and galopades, and all that sort of thing, can they compare with ripe strawberries plucked by one's own hand, and eaten with new cream in one's own summer- house ? No : I should prefer seclusion, and a narrower homage, being of opinion with Ovid, ' Vive sine invidia mollesque inglorios annos, Exige et amicitias tibi junge pares.' ' | I x Gentle reader, be so good as to look at the pic ture in the Athenaeum, painted> for this point of my story. See how faithfully and accurately the artist has depicted the surprise, horror, agony, of BLUE-STOCKINGS. 199 the worthy soldier, at finding his newly-enshrined idol a blue-stocking. One hand is uplifted in astonishment ; the other shades his eyes from the bright spectre of youth and beauty. He is en deavoring to leave the chair to which the soft vision has chained him. In the countenance of the lady, there is some surprise, and not a little chagrin, visible ; and the under lip, the least in the world, pouting, shows pique ; but the pre dominating expression is that of subdued laugh ter at his look and gestures. In spite of the unhappy quotation from Ovid, Major Roche married the charming Harriett Lemmen, immediately on his return from Paris. He has quite forgotten his horror of learned ladies in the acquaintance he has made with one of the greatest sinners of the class. When any thing is said in his presence against blues, or when doubts are expressed of their making pleas ant companions, my friend, bestowing a kiss on the little white hand or smooth forehead of the sweet creature at his side, exclaims, Vide et crede. AMBITION. VIRTUE alone can bless : 'tis Heaven's law God's mighty will man's universal doom: All this we know a trite, familiar saw, Rung in the ear from childhood to the tomb. We know that life is short; we know its end For all around doth whisper of the grave ; The ocean drinks the river ; forests bend, Giving to winter what the summer gave. And still Ambition to some giddy height Leads us away, and tempts us, and we kneel; Yet, ere we grasp these kingdoms of delight, Loud in the ear Death rings his hollow peal. . THE LOVER OF NATURE. THERE are three kin'ds of affectation, to which a large portion of mankind are addicted. Shakspeare said without one particle of truth, however that " he who hath not music in his soul, is fit for treason, stratagem, and spoils ! " The interpretation of this is, that he who has not an ear for music is a scoundrel; to avoid which appellation, every body professes to love music ; though, to my certain knowledge, many very excellent people hate it. Every body pretends to be fond of pictures, every body except my friend Parson Flint. He 'is an honest man, a perfect transparency, and he confesses that he could never raise a picture ; by which he means that to his eye the canvass even of Raphael is but a flat sur face, without distance or perspective, and pos sessing not the slightest resemblance to the world of realities. Such honesty of confession is rare, and perhaps such inaptitude of per ception, also. But how many persons are there, who know nothing and feel nothing of the , 234 THE LOVE OF NATURE. beauty of paintings, who yet talk of them in terras of rapture, bestow upon them all the admiring epithets in our language, and pretend to point out their peculiar beauties with the air of that compound of science and sensibility an amateur ! The third species of prevalent affectation is that of the love of nature a love common upon the lips, though seldom in the heart. Not but that every eye may see and appreciate the difference between a fair sky and a foul one, between a winter landscape and one that is redolent of spring. There are few who do not perceive beauty in flowers, in rushing waters, in waving woods, in far-off mountains wreathed with azure, in meadows decked with blossoms as a gaudy queen with gems. There are few, indeed, who can, resist the appeal of these to the heart ; but if there are any such, they are generally ostentatious pretenders to the love of nature. I know of none whose souls are more truly dead to the voice of God speaking through his works, than those upon whose lips you constantly hear the words " beautiful," " exquisite, " " delight ful," "charming," "superb," "romantic," " delicious," &c. &.c. I THE LOVER OF NATURE. 235 I cannot illustrate what I mean better than by giving a sketch from life. You must know, fair reader, that- I am a country gentleman, and a bachelor; and, living near the metropo lis, I am often visited by my city acquaintances, especially about the time of strawberries and cream. It was but yesterday that I was favored with a call from Miss Eleanor Flower, whom every body in town who is any body, knows to be a lady of the first rank and fashion. She has had all the advantages which wealth can give, such as instruction, travel, society ; to which may be added the experience of thirty years confessed, besides some half dozen more concealed behind curls and lace, and the necro mantic arts of the toilet. Now, Miss Eleanor Flower is a lively lady; and yesterday was a fair, bright day ; and June, you know, is the zenith of our year. So we met joyously ; and we walked forth into the garden, and then nothing would do but a ram ble through the woods. On we went, Miss Flower, my simple niece, Alice Dunn, and myself. Every thing was indeed beautiful ; and, for once, my city visjtor seemed to feel. She had, it is true, the usual sign of affectation and stupidity the constant use of 236 THE LOVE OF NATURE. such words as " fine," " exquisite," " beautiful," " charming," - those unmeaning generalities by which those who are conscious of some hypocritical pretence, endeavor to hide their hypocrisy. But still these terms were uttered with such warmth by my fair friend, that for a time I was deceived. I began to feel that O she had a soul ; and her hazel eyes really looked sentimental a fact which goes far to prove a theory I have long maintained, that there is a power about women at certain times, which resembles, in no small degree, the fatal fascination imputed to the rattlesnake a power which binds its victim in a spell of bewildering delight, yet only to draw him on to destruc tion. Our little party wandered on through the woods for more than an hour ; and all was delightful. Miss Flower fairly exhausted the vocabulary of pleasure; and nothing seemed amiss, except now and then she was a little horrified at a toad or she screamed slightly at a bumble-bee that buzzed saucily in her ear, because he was disturbed in his breakfast of nectar amid the wild honeysuckles or per chance she made the rather ungraceful and impatient sign of the mosquito upon her per- THE LOVER OF NATURE. 237 son a sign which can only be forgiven by those who look upon women as human creatures, and not as angels. At last we were fairly tired, and all three sat down upon the bank of a rivulet to rest. I was seated apart ; and, as the two ladies were arranging some little matters of dress, which had been disturbed by the thorns and brambles of our walk, it was proper for me to appear absorbed in a brown study. I therefore looked into the brook, and was soon considered as out of earshot by my companions. My feelings were, however, so much interested in Miss Flower, that I distinctly heard the following conversation : x Miss F. Really, the country is a horrid bore. It may be well enough to talk about ; but what is it, after all ? Bugs and bumble-bees, and 7 O * toads and mosquitoes! These are the whole of it. Alice. But you seem to forget the flowers you praised so much a short time since. Miss F. Flowers are very well; for they furnish designs for the milliners. But art is superior to nature ; for artificial flowers do not fade and fall to pieces ; besides, they have a pleasing effect upon a bonnet or a flounce ; 238 THE LOVE OF NATURE. while natural flowers, even according to the poet, are often " born to blush unseen, And waste their sweetness on the desert air." No, no; flowers are nothing in themselves; but they are turned to good account by art. Thus a flower suggested that beautiful dress of the time of Henri IV., in which a lady was attired so as to have the form of a blossom the high, pointed ruff representing the calyx; the head, dressed long and smooth, was an image of the pistil. Alice. But what do you think of the woods ? You spoke of them in terms of rapture, a short time ago. Miss F. O, that's a mere matter of fashion. You must talk in that kind of way. But what can be more detestable than to toil along in a rough path, spoiling your dress, growing red in the face and neck, and tormented with mos quitoes? It's enough to ruin the temper of a saint. No, no ; one must go to the country once in a while, and take a walk in the woods, just to speak of it. But that's the whole. It is sometimes necessary to be sentimental ; for there are some persons who are taken with THE LOVER Of NATURE. that sort of thing, and there is no way of introducing sentimentality so easily as to speak of the country. Very young men and very old bachelors are caught with thin webs ; but they must be spread in the country. You must talk of love in a cottage ; of shady walks ; of retired woods ; of winding dells ; of grottoes cooled by waters breathing forth soft music ; of twittering birds, billing, cooing, and building nests; of morning, with its refreshing dews shining like diamonds on every leaf; of evening, made for lovers, and the moon, that favors all, yet reveals nothing. Alice. Really, this is quite a new view of things. Pray, were you not in earnest when you were speaking to my uncle so warmly about the " romantic eloquence of twilight/* as you called it ? Miss F. In earnest? Why, Alice, are you yet a child ? Do you really suppose I could be in earnest? It is very well, no doubt, to talk about evening, and twilight, and the starry canopy of heaven. But while you are walk ing along, discoursing of these things, it is ten to one that a horn-bug smites you full in the face. Alice. A horn-bug? 240 THE LOVE OF NATUKE. Miss F. Yes, a horn-bug saucy thing ! * and I'd rather meet a man in the dark than a horn-bug ! This remark drew an exclamation from Alice; and I could not forbear turning round and look ing the two ladies in the face. This put a sud den stop to the dialogue ; and now, being fully rested, we set out and returned home;. Miss Eleanor Flower soon departed ; and I forgot her in reading the following description of a gen uine child and lover of nature by old Davenant : " To Astragon Heaven for succession gave One onely pledge, and Birtha was her name ; Whose mother slept where flow'rs grew on her grave, And she succeeded her in face and fame. " Her beauty princes durst not hope to use, Unless, like poets, for their morning theam; And her minde's beauty they would rather choose, Which did the light in beautie's lanthorn seem. "She ne'r saw courts, yet courts could have undone. With untaught looks, and an unpractised heart, Her nets, the most prepar'd could never shun, For Nature spread them in the scorn of Art. "She never had in busie cities bin; Ne'r warm'd with hopes, nor ere allay 'd with fears; Not seeing punishment, could guess no sin; And sin not seeing, ne'r had use of tears. THE LOVER OF NATURE, "But here her father's precepts gave her skill, Which with incessant business filled the houres : In Spring she gather'd blossoms for the still ; In Autumn, berries; and in Summer, flowers. "Beneath a mirtle covert she does spend In maid's weak wishes her whole stock of thought Fond maids, who love with mmae s fine stuff would mend, Which nature purposelv of body's wrought." 16 I'VE NAILED MY COLORS TO THE MAST. BY J. A. JONES. I VE nailed my colors to the mast : The anchor of my hopes is cast : Come life or death, come weal or woe, I shall not change my faith below I shall not change. She that I love Is soft and gentle as the dove; The breeze no glossier ringlet stirs, Earth hath no rubier lip, than hers. I cannot change. So oft mine eye Has seen her light foot tripping by, That, by my fears oft urged in vain I cannot rend away my chain. I've nailed my colors to the mast; The anchor of my hope is cast : Come life or death, come weal or woe, I shall not change my faith below. '4k * - * f I I .: i % I ^^Hkff^H - J 3 . ' . 4 * * UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIBRARY UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000087413 1