941.5081 H752 ~Tr '■:2b i THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY Fro* toe ” f James Collins, Drumcondra, | n Purchased, i yi0. B L87IJ DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. No. CLXXXII. FEBRUARY, 1848. Vol. XXXI. See ax-HcAe. on "BoartoV" Li-tt o r\ p. na CONTENTS. SEDITIOUS LITERATURE IN IRELAND A MERRY CHRISTMAS .... 5 THE APOTHECARY’S WIFE.— A RUSSIAN STORY. By T wo Parts. — Part II. .... OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY. No. XLVIII. — Doctor Litto n. A SCENE IN TARTARUS REEVES’ ECCLESIASTICAL ANTIQUITIES THE CROPPY’S FINGERS THORWALDSEN IIUSH-A-BY BABY— UNREST IN THE GRAVE— LAMENT THE DEATH OF DALLAN. By J. C. MANGAN THE AFRICAN WANDERERS .... THE USURPER. By John Fisher Murray. unt Sallagub. I With an Etching F SEANCHA N FOR Page 159 173 179 192 202 207 228 235 247 252 258 FOREST ECHOES A DEATH PRAYER. By a Dreamer. • 261 THE TRIUMPH OF AURELIAN 263 WILSON’S LANDS OF THE BIBLE . . 266 (2a s *«%• \ &ws». $£' 1.: iHl A K) V CTVoT' / 2 \ \. v-A iU f DUBLIN JAMES M'GLASHAN, 21 D’OLIER-STREET. WM. S. ORE, AND CO. 147 STRAND LONDON. SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/caseofirelandstaOOholm "V3 L?7I JL THE DUBLIN * UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. in ^No. CLXXXII. FEBRUARY, 1848. Vol. XXXI. £ SEDITIOUS LITERATURE IN IRELAND.* An eminent clergyman of this city, who had been engaged to preach a charity-sermon for an institution esta- blished for the cure of diseases of the eye, called one day at the dispensary, where he was to receive some particu- lar instructions. While he waited, a man entered, who was an object of relief ; and the oculist, examining him, exhibited the most visible delight in his countenance, and exclaimed, “What a beautiful specimen? Did you ever see so perfect a cataract ?” liis sentiment as an amateur for a mo- ment prevailing over his feeling of humanity for the poor patient, whom the disease had rendered stone-blind. Such, we confess, was somewhat our own feeling when we opened the book before us. A more incurable specimen of mental blindness we had never seen ; and the author engaged our thoughts more as a psychological curiosity, than as a political or literary delinquent. In the case of the blind man, our im- pression is, that some relief was ulti- mately afforded by the eminent prac- titioner in whose hands he had placed himself. The poor sufferer was con- scious of his want of vision ; and, therefore, submitted to the necessary operation. But this writer has no consciousness of the darkness in which he is involved ; and, even if he had, we do not pretend that by any opera- tion which we could perform, the scales could be made to fall off, which at pre- sent obstruct his mental vision. That must be the work of an higher power, and we do not say that, in his own good time, by that power it will not be accomplished. But, although we can do no good to himself by our cri- tical strictures (and our readers will find that our intentions are most bene- volent), some little good may be done to others by making him an example. “Is this,” our readers will ask, “ the Dr. Madden who wrote ‘ The Lives of the United Irishmen,’ a no- tice of which will be found in former numbers?” Ay, indeed, the very same. Not, by any means, the Mr. Madden ■whose pleasant ‘ ‘ Revelations of Ire- land ” we reviewed in our last num- ber. W ell, then, may they express sur- prise and wonder. Time was, when it passed for an axiom, “ when that the brain was out, the man would die.” But it can be considered so no longer. To writers of a certain class, brain would seem to be an incumbrance, as it might operate against the lower pro- pensities, to which they are determined to give a full sway. “ Dat veniam corvis vexat censura columbis and the criticism which might serve for the correction of more candid and en- lightened minds, will only drive such as these into wilder errors, or confirm them in more melancholy delusions. Our readers are already fully aware of our estimate of Dr. Madden’s claims to distinction. He is a perverter of the uses of history. He fain would revive the crimes and the follies of a by-gone generation, in order that the evil that was in them might be care- fully preserved, while the warnings they breathe to meditative wisdom * The History of the Penal Laws enacted against Roman Catholics, the opera- tion and results of that system of legalized plunder, persecution, and proscription; originating in rapacity and fraudulent design, concealed under false pretences and figments of reform, and a simulated zeal for the interests of their religion. By R. R. Madden, M.R.I.A., &c. &c. London: Thomas Richardson and Son. 1847. VOL. XXXI. NO. CLXXXII. M 403903 160 Seditious Literature in Ireland. should pass unheeded. Whatever the wretched and guilty actors in the sad tragedy of Ninety-eight could, in their calmer moments, have wished undone, he reproduces, for the education of the present age — and burns with the hope, that the time is rapidly approach- ing, when the gibbet will no longer be the only promotion that awaits those lights of their age, and those libera- tors of their species, who would “ bind their kings in chains, and their nobles with bonds of iron,” whilst they cried “ havoc,” to the rage of an unbridled democracy, who would riot at will amid the ruins of constitutional order. Such is the stuff of which his books are composed ; and, in thus epitomiz- ing their contents, we by no means deny that this wretched sedition- monger may not have had good inten- tions. He is, evidently, an enthusiast in his views ; and no enthusiast ever yet was without a certain vein of ho- nesty in his nature. But his under- standing is so narrow, and his preju- dices are so enormous — his political hatred is so fierce, and his judgment so shallow and undiscerning — his pre- sumption so prodigiously overtops his capacity — and his efforts as an histo- rian are so evidently over-mastered by his acrimony as a controversialist, and his headlong rashness as a partisan, that the worst of men, with the worst of intentions, could scarcely produce a more mischievous book than this man — who, we doubt not, is far from deserv- ing such a character — has deemed it a solemn duty to usher into the world. Under this conviction, when “ The Lives of the United Irishmen” made their appearance, we felt called upon to notice them with much severity. The publication was, we thought, an outrage upon good feeling, as well as good sense, which should not be suf- fered to go unpunished ; and, accord- ingly, we were not sparing in the in- fliction of the chastisement which they so well deserved. But that no feel- ing of the partisan mingled with our resentment, and that we were wholly moved by the stolid audacity which would convert warnings against trea- son into incentives to crime, was, we think, abundantly manifested, when we had to speak individually of the sadly-deluded men, whose errors we compassionated, and whose virtues we acknowledged, while a stern justice compelled us to condemn their crimes. [Feb. Does Dr. Madden, or any other in- cendiary, estimate more highly than we have, the genius and the virtues of Robert Emmet, who would have been the pride and the ornament of the country which gave him birth, if he had been trained in the school of loy- alty, instead of having been fostered in the hot-bed of treason ? Nor have we been wanting in liberal acknow- ledgments of the merits, such as they were, of other great state delinquents, whose actings were not of ‘ * malice prepense ,” and whose crimes were the consequences of errors but too natural to men of their sanguine temperament, and during a season of such great poli- tical excitement. And why do we not shew to Dr. Madden, and writers of his class, a similar forbearance ? Be- cause the times do not furnish, for their errors or misdoings, the same excuse ; because they are obstinately blind in the midst of light, and would fain put out the sun of knowledge, that by the glare of their revolutionary flambeaux they may the more effec- tually lead men astray. Such is their perverted instinct, we do not say their deliberate purpose. And as, unfor- tunately, the classes are but too nume- rous upon whom the writings of such charlatans must produce a deteriorat- ing effect, we felt -called upon to use a more than ordinary measure of seve- rity, in bearing our testimony against them. The mouldering remains of the un- happy men, who paid for their treason the forfeit of their lives, we could re- gard with a pious horror, in which sorrow might easily predominate over resentment. But the insects who feed upon them, and rise from the putrify- ing exhalation, only to carry the in- fectious influence through the air, are not to be only regarded with the con- tempt which would naturally be sug- gested by their apparent insignificance. They may be the instruments of great evil, and contribute to the reproduc- tion of the moral or political pesti- lences, to which so many in the by- gone generation have fallen victims. It was to stay the ravages of such a plague of lice or locusts, we put forth our strength ; and if such a public object were not present to our miuds. Dr. Madden might have gone on, to the end of the chapter, playing his “ fantastic tricks,” Avithout attracting our notice more than any other moun- 1848.] Seditious Literature in Ireland. 161 tebank, who capers, or throws somer- saults, for the public amusement. But we live in distempered times. There is an appetite for crudities and mon- strosities in politics, which is one of the most unequivocal symptoms of a depraved passion for democratic change. And as the most contemptible writers may, unfortunately, be but too effec- tual, in the present state of things, by acting upon the diseased national sus- ceptibilities, in producing or aggra- vating public evils, the vigilance of the literary police should be commen- surate with the activity of literary de- linquents ; and the efforts of the con- servators of social order should be regulated, not by their estimate of the utility of those with whom they may have to deal, but by their conviction of the calamities which a neglect of them may bring upon the country. We were, we confess, influenced by another motive also. In ’98 and 1803, the service of treason was a service of danger. The bold bad men who figured then as revolutionary bravos, were fellows of pluck and courage, and fearlessly staked their lives upon the issue of the enterprize, which was to bring them either death or glory. They were either enthusiasts, whose imaginations had been fascinated by visions of a golden age of liberty, in which the miseries arising from poli- tical causes should be heard of no more ; or hardheaded republicans, whose hatred of monarchy would be gratified, at all events, and who were willing to take chance for the shape into which government should resolve itself, when flung into the revolutionary crucible, and subjected to the tentative experi- ments of political reformers. But there was no miserable self-seeking in their views. They did not masquerade in patriotism with any aim at personal objects. Vanity, and a love of popu- larity, may, no doubt, be laid to their charge ; as few public men, on any side, are without the desire of public dis- tinction. But there was an uncalcu- lating bravery, if not heroism, in the characters of the two Emmets, and Bussel, and M‘Nevin, and Wolfe Tone, which raised them far above the grovelling wretches who preach and practise sedition as a trade, and feel that not only safety, but wealth and emolument, may be found in the ad- vocacy and dissemination of principles which would formerly have involved their professors in danger. Such are the patriots, par excellence , of the present day. They may flourish, and win personal consideration for themselves, by the very arts which caused others to perish. Can any man doubt that the progress of democratic change has already anticipated the de- signs of many of the United Irishmen, and that there are few of them who would not be shocked at the manifest symptoms of social disorganization which are already bathing their coun- try in blood ? And these — are they not clearly traceable to the open con- nivance, if not direct encouragement, by the government, of sentiments and opinions, views and projects, which, if not in direct accordance with those of the traitors of the by-gone generation, who suffered for them exile or death, only differ from the latter by the more sweeping changes which they involve, and the more plausible and confident effrontery with which they are given to the world. What has been Doctor Madden’s reward? We had done our best to render his martyrology of treason in- nocuous in Ireland. He tells us that his bookseller informed him, our no- tices of his volumes damaged their sale. But what of that ? Has he him- self been a sufferer by them ? No such thing. They have recommended him to the special patronage of our Whig government ; and he now rejoices in the station and the emoluments of Chief Secretary to the colony of New South Wales. After this, let any one doubt, if he can, the j ustice, the libe- rality, the wisdom, and the discrimi- nation of Earl Grey ! Doctor Madden does not disguise his principles. They are transparent, under the flimsy covering which he at- tempts to cast over them, and identical with those of the heroes and the mar- tyrs whom it is the object of his vo- lumes to panegyrize. In Ireland, lite- rary justice was done upon him ; and it is certain that he could now do very little harm. But there is a portion of the British empire into which the transplantation of such a man, with such opinions, might be attended with very disastrous effects. The late penal colony, in all probability, still contains some of the actors in the late rebel- lion, and, doubtless, a numerous pro- geny of the descendants of those whose lives had been compromised by their principles, and who were permitted to adopt the mild alternative of leaving 162 Seditious Literature in Ireland . [Feb. their country “ for their country’s good.” And with what delight must they acclaim the advent of a man in the station of chief secretary, whose services have been a justification of the practices of their fathers, and an inculpation of the tyrannical govern- ment by whom they were so cruelly driven from their native land ! Yes ; we deliberately pronounce this one of the most monstrous abuses of patronage ever perpetrated. We wish Doctor Madden no ill ; se- verely as we reprehend his opinions, it would be a positive pain to us to do him any personal harm. But of that he need entertain little fear ; our censure is his recommendation to office. His views and his principles meet the approbation of the cabinet of Lord John Russell; and he has been sent where they may find a congenial soil, and where the dragon’s-teeth may pro- duce the armed men, who will, sooner or later, cast off the yoke of colonial servitude, and vindicate for their coun - try, in the far east, a national inde- pendence. Before we come to the volume be- fore us, there is one point touching which we wish to make the amende honourable to Dr. Madden, for what we now believe to have been an erro- neous impression under which we la- boured, when animadverting upon his life of General Corbet. He has pub- lished, in a separate volume, the life of Robert Emmet, in a preface to which he takes us to task for repre- senting the aforesaid general as one who received money from the govern- ment for important disclosures. We were, undoubtedly, under the impres- sion that the “ William Corbet” whose name appears in the list of the persons who received money for secret services, at or about the time of his capture and escape, was the veritable individual who figures as a patriot in Dr. Madden’s pages. But he has now completely satisfied us that such was not the case — the Corbet alluded to being a literary gentleman, well known, and highly esteemed in this city, and whose services to govern- ment, although secret, were of an ho- nourable character, and not such as compromised, by any act of treachery, any of “ the friends of the union.” But do we abandon our belief that Corbet was a paid agent, and that to the discoveries which he made, he was indebted for his life? By no means. We cannot go over in our minds all the circumstances of his cap- ture, his captivity, and his escape, without feeling a moral conviction that the conclusion at which w r e ar- rived was the true one. Why was he not shot, when taken with arms in his hands, while aiding and abetting the French in a hostile invasion ? Why was he not at once brought to trial ? AYhy w r as the period of his captivity so prolonged ? Why was his freedom of action so little interfered with, and his safe custody so loosely cared for? We can imagine but one answer to these questions — because his life was found more useful than would have been his death. It was publicly declared in the House of Lords, that Napper Tandy, who was taken with him, made very important disclosures, which — and not any truckling to the boastful threats of Bonaparte — constituted the ground upon which the government consented to his enlargement. It is our belief that Corbet, who was embarked in the same boat, acted with similar pru- dence, and purchased impunity from a merciful government, who were much less bent upon punishing the past than preventing the future. We know, also, that government had its agents in the very heart of Paris, and thus became cognizant of the most secret movements of those who were plotting mischief against the state. And, nothing would have con- duced more to the success of this system of espionage, than that these agents should be ostensibly officers in the French service. That Corbet could have had any participation in such practices, Dr. Madden indignantly scouts, because he was a man of such pure and un- blemished honour ! Was he not a traitor to his lawful king? Was he not an invader of his native land? Would he not have consigned to French Jacobinical rule its whole population ? Did he not renounce his allegiance to the mild constitu- tional monarchy under which he was born, and plight his political troth to a despot, who would have crushed liberty wherever his power extended ? Did he not aid that despot in desolat- ing the continent? Did he not ac- company his legions in their unprin- cipled invasion of Spain ? Was he not aiding and abetting in the merciless exactions, proscriptions, and rnassa- Seditious Literature in Ireland. 163 1848 . cres, by which the French armies endeavoured to tire out, or intimidate, or exterminate its brave and patriotic population ? And is this the man, whose word of honour, forsooth, is so inviolable, that we must swallow, upon his ipse dixit alone, a tissue of the most monstrous absurdities, which, if alleged by the most unexception- able witnesses, would require a weight of evidence fully equal to that which should prove a miracle, before it could be believed. In the separate volume, containing the life of Robert Emmet, Dr. Mad- den gives some interesting additional particulars respecting Sarah Curran, and her gallant and devoted husband, Colonel Sturgeon. But, even here, his old propensity overmasters him, and he cannot avoid having a fling at the Duke of Wellington, by insinuat- ing, according to information derived from a sagacious Cork correspondent, that Sturgeon was slighted by the Duke, and that it was a sense of un- requited services which impelled him to expose himself, in an affair of posts, at Yic de Bigorre, in France, where he lost his life. If this be true, it speaks but little either for the recti- tude of his principles, or the sound- ness of his understanding. We need not say that we utterly disbelieve the tale. It has, however, served Dr. Madden’s purpose, as a peg to hang a note upon, by which the character of the illustrious Duke, for justice, and for generosity, is still more grievously compromised. We give it at length, because we happen to possess the most authentic means of proving its enve- nomed falsehood. It is as follows : — “ Poor Colonel Sturgeon was not the only meritorious officer whose claims on the Duke’s justice appeared very clear to other military men, but very doubtful and deniable to ‘ the greatest captain of the age.’ 4 The holding- back’ of the services of distinguished, or deserving persons, in public dis- patches, we find productive of the same calamitous results as unmerited reproof, slights that cannot be accounted for, nor formally complained of — not pri- vately, nor without premeditation, in- flicted. Early in the peninsular war, one of the bravest officers in the British army, the colonel of the 4th Foot, 4 The King’s Own, 1 fell a victim to the latter species of punishment. The diffi- culty of building up a high military reputation, may account for the pain which is caused by the pulling down of its pride — and the offence that is often found in a prominent position in the army, leads to the fuil exercise of all the prerogatives of authority, and these are not always compatible with very strict notions of justice and magna- nimity. The colonel of 4 The King’s Own’ put an end to his existence, ren- dered insupportable by a sense of injury inflicted, as he felt, and as his brother- officers believed, without just cause. — R. R. M.” Such is Dr. Madden’s version of a transaction, the true account of which could have been easily learned, had he suffered his prejudices to wait upon his honesty, and sought for correct information, by referring to the duke’s dispatches, or consulting any distin- guished officer of the British army, who had served, at that period, under that illustrious commander. Here, a most deserving officer is represented as being driven, by an act of cruelty and injustice, to the crime of suicide! If such be the fact, great is the merit of the man who unmasks the mon- ster, be he whom he may, upon whom such an atrocity is justly chargeable. Towards the duke, we confess that we have always felt a sentiment of veneration and gratitude, not easily to be described. His exploits are identified with the brightest pages of England’s military glory. And his personal character, in its simple dig- nity, in its self-renouncing abnegation of all the glare and the eclat of martial renown, has always appeared to us to throw immeasurably into the shade the brightest of Grecian and Roman heroes. To us it appears a very little thing, to call him the victor in an hundred fights. But, it is much to say, that he never sought a victory for fame — and that he never, when the exigencies of the service required it, declined a position of responsibility and danger. But, if Dr. Madden’s accusation of him be just, away with his claims to historical consideration. The man who drives a brave and meri- torious soldier to suicide, is no better than a murderer — and, no exploits can gild his crime — nor should any ser- vices which he may have performed shield him from general execration. In this, we are sure, we but give ex- pression to the sentiment which the note we have extracted from Dr. Madden’s volume is intended to con- vey. And now, reader, what is the plain and simple truth ; and what 164 Seditious Literature in Ireland. [Feb. was the current tradition of the army, which Dr. Madden might have easily learned, had he desired, upon this subject, correct information ; and had his intention, indeed, been, not to vilify the living, but to vindicate the dead ? On the night of the 10th of May, 1811, the French garrison of Al- meida, which was strongly besieged by Lord "Wellington, effected their escape, having blown up a large por- tion of the works, and spiked the guns. As soon as the fact was known, orders were issued with a view to their pur- suit and interception, which, had they been promptly executed, must have caused every man of them to be taken. Colonel Be van, of the Fourth, was directed to advance upon Barba de Puerco ; and, had he received his orders in time (why he did not has never been explained), or followed them correctly when he did receive them, he would have reached that place before the enemy, who must, in such an event, have laid down their arms. But not only did he march late (which might have been owing to not having received his orders in time), but he missed the correct road, although he had but two miles and a half to go, and only arrived at Barba de Puerco time enough to witness the departure of the French, who were now able to make good their retreat, and could no longer be intercepted. All this was sufficiently mortifying ; but more remains to be told. Colonel Bevan’s orders were, to occupy Barba de Puerco — not to go beyond it. These orders he did not obey. Spurred on by his personal gallantry, he thought of nothing but pursuit, and dashingly followed the French across the bridge, and along a zig-zag road, overhung by lofty hills, which were occupied by the enemy in great force, who inflicted a very severe loss upon their rash pursuers. This it was that stung the duke ; and he reprehended Bevan, for his diso- bedience of orders, and is said to have told him that the death of every man who fell after he crossed the bridge, must be laid to his charge. We ask, could he have said less ? He did not say more. But poor Bevan was so moved by it, that he retired to his quarters and blew his brains out ! And this Dr. Madden calls “ un- merited reproof,” and would have his readers to infer that the illustrious soldier by whom it was conveyed, and upon whom lay all the responsibility of these important transactions, was virtually guilty of murder ! Is it possible to imagine a more false or a more envenomed insinuation? Wel- lington’s tenderness for the lives of his soldiers (which was proverbial in the army), he would convert into an unjust accusation of the officer by whom they were so rashly exposed ; and his sternness in reprehending a departure from instructions on the part of his subordinate, which was at that time but too common, and which frequently caused great loss and in- jury to the service, he would repre- sent as a cruel wound, wantonly in- flicted upon a meritorious individual, an indignant sense of which drove him to put a period to his existence. Can anything more clearly show the jaundiced medium through which this miserable scribbler views every man whose deeds of glory are calculated to uphold the honour and dignity of the British crown, and every circumstance which may in any way tend to in- crease the extent, or to add to the stability, of the British empire ?* And now, having seen the animus by * The following extracts from the Duke’s despatches, will best show what his feelings were upon this occasion : — “TO MAJOR-GENERAL ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. “Villa Fermon, 15th May, 1811. “ Sir — Adverting to your report of the transactions of the morning of the 11th inst., in the pursuit of the garrison of Almeida, I have to state that nothing has given me more concern than the conduct of Lieut.-Colonel , of the regi- ment. When the enemy had passed the bridge of Barba de Puerco, the farther pursuit of their troops was useless ; and every step taken beyond the point to which the Lieut.-Colonel was ordered to proceed, was one of risk to the officers and soldiers under his command, from which the retreat was next to impossible. The Lieut.-Colonel did not know possibly that the whole of the second corps d'armve were at San Felices, but a short distance on the other side of Barba de Puerco, and upon hearing the firing, formed upon the Agueda, to protect the retreat of those troops ; he knew, however, that the garrison ot' Almeida, although, perhaps, iu disorder, were a body far superior in numbers to those he had under 1848.] Seditious Literature in Ireland . 1G5 which he is actuated, the reader is the better prepared to estimate, at its true value, his “ History of the Penal Laws enacted against the Catholics,” the very title-page of which is suffi- cient to show the root of bitterness from which it has proceeded. He gravely tells us that his inten- tion is not to stir up the evil passions, which should be suffered to sleep with the generations which have passed away, but to awaken all parties to a sense of the danger of legislating upon religious distinctions, and to impress upon all the duty of mutual forbear- ance and brotherly love ; and for this purpose, there is not a calumny upon record that he does not rake up, in order to vilify the authors and the promoters of the English Reformation as wretches steeped in crime and covered with infamy, and who were, as it must be inferred, moved and seduced by the instigation of the devil in the hellish contrivances to which they had recourse for the overthrow of the “Catholic” religion. The laws enacted, and the measures taken by Elizabeth, to secure her person and to preserve her crown against the machinations of her popish enemies, he would fain represent as the unprovoked malignity of a fiend- ish nature, seeking, without any just provocation, for an occasion to perse- cute the priests of God. That Elizabeth should have been excommunicated by the pope, he makes no account of. That she should have been declared illegitimate, and a sentence of deprivation passed against her, was only according to the ortho- dox maxim, that an heretic and an usurper should cease to reign. The good of the Church required her re- moval; and when opportunity pre- sented itself, no good “Catholic” should refuse to be aiding and assist- ing in such a cause. But that this menaced princess should take any pre- cautions against the spirit of treason thus evoked ; and that she should consent to, or authorize, the enforce- ment of any stringent enactments, by which Jesuits, or other seditious per- sons, the emissaries of the pope, should be prevented from carrying into exe- cution the plots which were formed against her life, and from which nothing but her own vigorous mind, and her own valorous determination, could have preserved her, — this was an un- pardonable sin, in the eyes of the Romanist panegyrist of his persecut- ing Church, not to be forgiven either in this world or the world to come, and well calculated to bring down the vengeance of God upon a wicked queen, and a guilty nation ! ; Dr. Madden’s “ History of the Pe- nal Laws ” is written in the spirit of his “Lives of the United Irishmen.” his command, and he did not know what troops were in San Felices to support them. This advance, however, and his passage of the bridge, was an imprudence to which all the losses of the day must be attributed. The frequent instances which have occurred lately of severe loss, and, iu some instances, of important failure, by officers leading the troops beyond the point to which they were ordered, and beyond all bounds — such as the loss of the prisoners taken in front of the village of Fuentes on the 3d and 5th instant ; the loss incurred by the 13th Light Dragoons, near and at Badajoz, on the 25th of March ; the severe loss incurred by the troops in the siege of Badajoz, on the right of the Guadiana, on the 10th instant; and the loss incurred by Lieut.-Colonel , on the 11th instant, have induced me to determine to bring before a general court-martial, for disobedience of orders, any officer who shall in future be guilty of this conduct. I entertain no doubt of the readiness of the officers and soldiers of the army to advance upon the enemy ; but it is my duty, and that of every general and other officer in command, to regulate this spirit, and not to expose the soldier to contend with unequal numbers in situations disadvantageous to them ; and, above all, not to allow them to follow up trifling advantages to situations in which they cannot be supported, from which their retreat is not secure, and in which they incur the risk of being prisoners to the enemy they had before beaten. The desire to be forward in engaging the enemy is not uncommon in the British army ; but that quality which I wish to see the officers possess, who are at the head of the troops, is a cool, dis- criminating judgment in action, which will enable them to decide with promptitude how far they can and ought to go with propriety ; and to convey their orders, and act with such vigour and decision, that the soldiers will look up to them with con- fidence in the moment of action, and obey them with alacrity.” The following we extract from a letter of the Duke to Marshal Beresford : — “I think the escape of the garrison of Almeida (although we have taken and destroyed a good lot of them), is the most disgraceful military event that has occurred to MS.” 166 Seditious Literature in Ireland. [Feb. In the one he is the unscrupulous par- tisan of popery ; in the other, the blind idolater of treason. According to him, the Romanists were all lambs — the Protestants all wolves : the latter were rabid fanatics, actuated by a fiendish hatred of true religion — the former, pious sufferers for the faith, willing to endure every extremity of persecution, while they forgave and prayed for their oppressors and mur- derers ! It is true, there were, occa- sionally, such ugly transactions as the Sicilian vespers, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew ! It is true, a me- dal was struck at Rome to commemo- rate the latter tragedy, which was re- garded by the pious of the Romish persuasion as an holocaust most accep- table to heaven ! What of that ? — the sufferers were heretics, hated of God and man, who were thus doomed to this sweeping destruction ; and if guilty Sodom was consumed by fire, and the idolatrous Canaanites visited with extermination, who could call in question the vice-gerent of God, when he fulminated his anathema against a faction of religious incendiaries, who were marring the unity of the Church, and disturbing the peace of a Catholic kingdom ? We would not have it understood that Dr. Madden uses these words ; or that any sentiments to this effect are directly, and in set form, present- ed to his readers. But we unhesitat- ingly aver, that no one can read his work without feeling that such is the spirit with which he is imbued ; and that when facts, which could not be controverted, compel him to admit the injustice and the cruelty of the perse- cuting Mary towards the martyred Protestants, whose only offence was the profession of the reformed faith, his depreciation of them is so marked, and his apologetic zeal for their op- pressors so conspicuous, that it is quite clear that if he were of the party in power in the days of Bonner, they would have had little to expect from his “ tender mercies.” While the pre- cautions taken by Elizabeth for the preservation of her crown and dignity, when she was menaced by the hostility of the whole Catholic world, with the pope at its head, he represents as an outrage against liberty of conscience! As if any sovereign was bound to re- spect the scruples of those who were leagued against her life ; and as if the treason which in England had mani- fested itself by plots and conspiracies, and in Ireland had broken out into civil war, was consecrated by assum- ing the garb of religion, and aiming at the restoration of the Church of Rome ! We do not deny the sincerity of many of the sufferers, in their devo- tion to what they believed a just cause, any more than we should deny the sincerity of the Emmets and the Shears’s in their attachment to the principles to which some of them were victims. But we utterly deny the justice of the conclusion, that any such sincerity should be regarded as opposing a bar to the execution of penal laws against such delinquents ; or that any profession of treason, as a religious opinion, should be allowed to operate in defeasance of the only protection which the sovereign could have for the security of her crown, or the people of this realm for the tranquillity of the kingdom. Dr. Madden has taken much pains to show that the various conspiracies against the life of Elizabeth, were plots contrived by Walsingham for the destruction of the innocent papists. The attempt is worthy of the man who has not hesitated to impute to emissaries from the Irish government, the burning at Scullabogue, and the massacre upon Wexford-bridge, in which the popish leaven, working in the hearts of the Irish rebels in Ninety- eight, was so horribly manifested. But he cannot deny that Elizabeth was placed under interdict and ex- communication by the head of his church ; and he will scarcely affirm that there were not many of the pro- fessing members of his creed who would regard that alone as a sufficient warrant for her dethronement or as- sassination. Against such, he must well know that it behoved her to be upon her guard, and that her security must, indeed, be very small, if treason should be suffered to mask itself under the guise of religion. We should deem it quite unpardon- able to load our pages with the autho- rities which would abundantly prove the reality of the dangers by which the throne and the person of Eliza- beth were beset. They must be suffi- ciently familiar to every well-informed reader. But Dr. Madden himself quotes a statement of the Jesuit, Cam- pion, made just before his execution, and published al ter his death, which in- 1848.] Seditious Literature in Ireland. 167 volves, we think, unequivocally, the admission, that in case of excom- munication by the pope, he would have held himself absolved from his allegiance. His words are these — ‘‘Then, as for excommunicating the queen, it was exacted of me, admit- ting that excommunication were of effect, and that the pope had sufficient authority so to do, whether then I thought myself discharged from my allegiance or no. I said this was a dangerous question, and they that de- manded this demanded my blood. ’ ’ How, by so demanding of him, could his in- quisitors be said to demand his blood, if a true answer to the question asked did not involve a confession of the guilt of treason ? Now, if any similar charge could be brought against Ridley or Latimer, in the days of Mary, it would, we think, at once degrade them from the rank of martyrs, and we should hold that queen absolved from all the odium which she brought upon herself by their cruel deaths, which Dr. Mad- den is compelled to call judicial mur- ders. But they maintained no opinion incompatible with a true allegiance. The grounds of their condemnation were questions of religious faith. They were burned at the stake because they differed with their persecutors re- specting the pope’s supremacy, and transubstantiation. This was clearly a case of persecution for conscience sake ; and to confound with this the cases of Campion, and Parsons, and Allen, and their associates, who be- came obnoxious to the civil power, not because of theological errors, but be- cause of complicity in treasonable practices, would be to overlook the most obvious distinctions, and to maintain that, because the wolf had chosen to wear sheep’s clothing, he should be regarded as a peaceable and unoffending neighbour. It is well known that while Rome encouraged Spain to prepare the Ar- mada by which England was to be invaded, she also disciplined and in- structed the missionaries by whom the people were to be prepared to aid the invaders ; and that she depended as much upon the spiritual influence of the one, as upon the military prowess of the other, to make good her cause in these islands. Was the British government to await in calm security the event of these machinations, and suffer priests and Jesuits to weave in secret their treasonable plots, while the foreign enemy was preparing his fleet, and marshalling his squadrons for their subjugation? We have deep reason to be thankful to Providence that no such infatuation overruled their counsels, and that vigour, de- termination, and sagacity were ex- hibited in penetrating the designs, and frustrating the machinations of their enemies. We are not to be surprised that all this should be but little palat- able to Dr. Madden, whose church might have been re-established, had no such precautions been taken, and no such wisdom been displayed. But to call the punishment visited upon the partisans of popery for such practices, religious persecutions , betrays an ef- frontery, or an ignorance, of which we would scarcely have believed the most reckless fanatic could, at the present day, be guilty. But such is the teaching, and such are the teachers, by which Ireland is now to be instructed ! Such are the men who command promotion, as the just reward of their services, in cover- ing the religion and the government of England with obloquy and vitu- peration ! We would be mistaken, however, if we conveyed to any, the idea, that Dr. Madden is an hireling slanderer. He but follows the natural bent of his inclination, when he de- fames and vilifies a country which he detests, and a form of Christian wor- ship which he regards as an abomina- tion ; and he would do so, we are persuaded, with the same blinded and headlong zeal, if patronage did not await upon his performance. His patrons have sought him, because, as it would seem, they fain would inti- mate the sort of merit which would secure their favour, rather than he them, by any servile accommodation to their views. Thus it is that they would at present conciliate the mob- ocracy in Ireland ; thus it is that they would win the confidence of the parti prefer, through whom they hope to govern the country, and tranquil- lize, for a season, its unruly popula- tion. Is it any wonder that to such rulers Ireland should be “a diffi- culty,” when they resemble the blind man who sat on the horse with his face to the tail, and all whose efforts, by whip and spur, to make the animal go in one direction, only drove him on in another. They will find, per- haps, when too late, that every step 168 Seditious Literature in Ireland. [Feb. they advance in such a policy, only perils the connexion between Great Britain and Ireland. Let us suppose the machinery of their policy complete — that a British ambassador resides at Borne, and that the Pope is induced to exert his authority over the Romish prelates, in order to induce them to withdraw from, and to discountenance, repeal agitation. To what extent would such influence reach ? Just to this, to ascertain for his holiness that he had no power whatever to control such agitation ; just to discover that, in Irish Romanists, faction predominated over superstition, and that Popery was merely the husk, of which politics were the kernal. The system would be based upon a most erroneous notion, that religion in Ireland governs faction, instead of faction governing religion. As long as the Pope lends his spiritual sanction to views and pi ejects by which party objects may be attained, he will be regarded with all reverence. The instant he seeks to counteract them, he will be considered to have ex- ceeded his province, and his authority will be disclaimed. “ Sit Divus, dum non sit vivus,” was the scornful answer of Caraculla to the Roman senate, when they proposed to confer divine honours upon his brother, who had shared with him the imperial power, and whom he caused to be murdered. “ Make a god of him, if you like, but I will have no brother near the throne.” Just so would it be here. As long as the Pope aids and abets the faction, or, as long as he is only a King Log, he may be permitted to exercise a nominal sway ; but, as soon as ever he attempts to dissolve the strong band of nationality, by which millions are bound together in the cause of Repeal, or to influence the politics of a priesthood, who but too faithfully represent those millions, he will find his influence set at nought ; and a reaction may set in, by which, what is now;acknowledged as his legitimate spiritual authority, may be rejected. But, whatever may be thought of the spiritual enlightenment of the see of Rome, no one can deny that there has ever resided there much of worldly wisdom ; and the Pope, we may be very sure, will make his own terms for any exercise of his power in Ire- land, by which British interests may be maintained. These will embrace the endowment of the Church of Rome, and the exaltation of her prelacy in the British empire — not only in England, Ireland, and Scotland, but throughout the colonies. And the concession of these terms must precede, as a matter of course, the services for which they are to be granted. Let this be done, and no power on earth can prevent the accomplishment of a Repeal of the Union. Let the Church of Rome be aggrandized — let the Popish priest- hood be exalted, and the Protestant clergy in a corresponding degree de- pressed, and the representation must become so predominantly popish, that they may demand their own terms in the imperial parliament. And is it, when they are thus within reach of their object — when they actually see the goal to which all their thoughts had been directed — when nationality and independence are full in view,— that they can be diverted from the prosecution of them by the mere sic volo of a foreign ecclesiastic, who will be considered to have exceeded his authority, and to be acting as the hireling instrument of their enemies ? And, are there no political combi- nations which would influence the po- licy of the Vatican, in the case of England becoming engaged in foreign war, while she was embarrassed by Irish agitation? What, if a formi- dable confederacy were leagued against her, and if an opportunity presented itself of overthrowing her power, and thus removing the most formidable obstacle to the spread of Romanism over the world? Would the then Pope, because of any engagements entered into now with the heretical English, resist the temptation of strik- ing a blow at her greatness, by which heresy might receive a fatal wound, and Romish Catholicism be exalted ? They are very silly drivellers by whom such a notion can be entertained. The Pope would, in such a case, lead on the league against the British empire. Irish agitation would be stimulated to the very top of its bent ; the priest- hood would be again marshalled against the constituted authorities. The cha- pels would be converted into Jacobi- nical clubs, and the national schools into seminaries of sedition. And when the menaces of foreign aggression be- came sufficiently formidable, and do- mestic embarrassments increased, the dismemberment of the empire would 1848 .] Seditious Literature in Ireland. be openly avowed — the independence of Ireland would be proclaimed — and, as Greece has been wrested from Tur- key, and Egypt become virtually an independent state,, under the guarantee of protecting European powers, Eng- land would find the principle upon which she has acted towards other nations, turned against herself, and be compelled to submit to terms of dic- tation, which would erect an angry and insulted neighbouring country into a rival state, and reduce her, from her present lofty pre-eminence, to the condition of a fourth or fifth-rate power amongst the governments of Europe. To such contingencies we may, at present, be very blind. Prosperity may have dazzled our eyes, so that we cannot see, or understand, these things. But others see them, and are looking with a malignant eagerness for the time when they may come to pass. France sees them — Austria sees them — Russia sees them — they are thoroughly understood by the more subtle spirits at Rome ; and greatly are our rulers self-deceived, if they suppose that they are not ardently de- sired, and earnestly looked forward to, by multitudes, in Ireland. To those who know this country well, nothing seems more astonishing than the ignorance of its actual con- dition evinced by our rulers. They seem utterly unconscious of the mate- rials of sedition that are accumulating around us, or of the efforts of the san- guinary enthusiasts of Repeal to stir up bad blood, and to keep alive na- tional discord. We some time since called our readers’ attention to a se- ries of publications, entitled “ The National Library for Ireland,” and great was the astonishment and indig- nation excited by the evidences these afforded of a systematic design to orga- nize the people for a general insurrec- tion. We have had occasion to wade through much of the seditious writing which preceded the outbreak of Ninety- eight, and we deliberately aver, that it was loyalty itself, in comparison with the effusions which now pass unpu- nished, and which are circulating through the length and the breadth of the land. In these, as our readers may have seen, every sentiment which should animate a good subject is outraged — every principle which should guide and actuate an honest man, and a m Christian, is set at nought. The oath of allegiance is scoffed at in open and wicked mockery and scorn ; an universal rising against the English government, when the people feel equal to it, is enjoined as a solemn duty ; the traitors of Ninety-eight, who perished on the scaffold, or in the field, are deplored as patriots, and exalted as martyrs ; the introduction of a French force, to aid in overthrow- ing the English authority, is advocated and eulogised ; assassination is openly recommended — there is no mincing the matter. Michael Reynolds is loudly praised, because he offered to assassi- nate Thomas Reynolds, the celebrated informer ; and Samuel Neilson is se- verely censured, because, when an opportunity presented itself, he did not stab him through the heart ! All this, in publications levelled to the capacity of the lowest vulgar, and circulating, not by tens, but by hun- dreds of thousands, and the influence of which is not confined to the actual purchasers, immensely numerous as they are, but extends to all those who flock together to hear them read, as they are, by thoroughly drilled and disciplined incendiaries, in every county-town, and village in Ireland ! Thus it is that treason is fashioned into primers, and sedition converted into spoon-meat for the eleves in the new schools of normal agitation. The writers of them are no common men. They evince powers beyond those of most ordinary traders in sedition ; and evidently could write so as not to offend the taste of a higher class of readers, if their object was not to make an impression on the lowest classes, upon whom the rough and the bloody work must chiefly devolve, in the coming revolutionary contest. This it is which gives a peculiar significancy to these political ‘ ‘ tracts for the times, ” by means of which the most rancorous disloyalty has found a tongue, and the foulest forms of treason have become “ household words” in Ireland. The producers of these deleterious stimulants are under no terrors what- ever that they will be disturbed in their vocation by any process of law. As things are ordered at present, the risk bears no proportion to the profits. It would be regarded as a most wanton invasion of liberty, if these panders to the passions and prejudices of a mis- guided multitude were prevented, by 170 Seditious Literature in Ireland. [Feb. any disagreeable process of law, from ministering to the furious anti-national hatred, which threatens the country with civil war. It is at once a pleasing and a profitable pursuit. On a former occasion, the emissaries of sedition, Dr. Madden’s heroes, pursued their vocation at the risk of their lives ; but now, instead of danger, there is not merely safety, but popularity — instead of loss, there is gain. The rebels of ’98 “ counted the cost” when they threw themselves and their all into the revolutionary contest. Poor fel- lows ! they lived before their time. Did they exist in our day, they would know how to turn their patriotism into a gainful trade, and to derive wealth and consideration for the liberation of Ireland. Of the former, as compared with the present crisis, it may be said, that then the supply of seditious literature created the demand ; now the demand creates the supply. For years pre- ceding Ninety-eight, able, but mis- guided men laboured strenuously for the dissemination of doctrines by which the realm became disordered. At pre- sent a disordered realm and an insane craving for political excitement, ope- rate as a bounty upon the production of these seditious publications, which outrage every principle of loyalty and virtue ! But we will be told that “ the schoolmaster is abroad,” and that the remedy for all this is to be found, not in any enforcement of penal laws, but in the ameliorating effects of educa- tion. “ See,” say our opponents, “ what ‘the National Board’ is doing, and wait awhile until the effects of their present measures begin to ap- pear.” Upon the “ vexata questio ” of national education, we shall not now permit ourselves to enter, having al- ready expressed ourselves fully upon that subject. But we should have much more confidence in the nostrum proposed, if the educated themselves were not amongst the ringleaders of the movement by which all the evils we so earnestly deprecate may be brought to pass. Was the late Mr. O’Connell uneducated ? Are the Ro- mish prelates uneducated ? Is the ac- complished editor of The Nation news- paper uneducated ? Are the “ Young Ireland” party — Smith O’Brien, Bar- ry, Meagher, Mitchell — uneducated ? And if they be, when will the masses arrive at the intellectual eminence which they have attained, and which has only increased their nation- ality, and given a superadded inten- sity and determination to their re- solves for the Repeal of the Legisla- tive Union ? — a measure which Mr. Holmes, the father of the Ulster Bar, assures them is nothing but an act of legislative spoliation and wickedness, without the slightest moral obligation whatever, and not endurable longer than by force of arms it can be main- tained ! Talk of education, indeed, in such a ferment, and at such a crisis ! Were the individuals who declaimed against the Legislative Union, at the period when that saving measure became the law of the land, uneducated? Was Plunket, or Saurin, or Curran, or Ball, below their most gifted cotem- poraries in intellectual attainment ? No ; they stood at the top of their class ; and we blame them not because a proud nationality rendered them ob- livious for a season of the advantage of that act of imperial incorporation upon which the safety of the empire de- pended. No doubt, afterwards, many of them were led to entertain more enlightened views ; and we doubt not that the period will come, when all who survive of the present advocates of Repeal will have altered minds, upon that subject. But it is the veriest idiotcy to talk of education pro- ducing any sudden change upon ex- cited individuals, with firebrands in their hands, and combustible bodies scattered profusely around them. Be- fore it can begin to take any effect, the incendiary may be the victim of his own conflagration ; and the light which would show him the delusion under which he laboured, may flash from the very fires which he had kin- dled, and the ravages of which he would be wholly unable to control. Thus it was with the educated revolu- tionists of France. The guillotine, which they had employed against those whom they deemed traitors and op- pressors, soon dripped with their own blood; and the retributive justice of an avenging God appeared almost as conspicuously in their punishment, as human wickedness in their crimes. But it is not merely folly — it is miser- able mockery — to look at such results as any compensation for the evils, both present and prospective, which the in- 1848 .] Seditious Literature in Ireland. 171 cendiary publications to which we have referred, are bringing, and must continue to bring, upon Ireland. The prospect before us is, undoubt- edly, one of deepening gloom ; and did we not trust in a graciously overruling Providence, despondency would settle upon us. The factious no longer fear any discountenance from those who are placed at the head of affairs. They rather claim connexion with, and ex- pect favours from them. Dr. Mad- den, the material of whose writings constitutes a great part of “ The Na- tional Library,” has already obtained high official station in that dependency of the British crown where his prin- ciples can do most mischief ; and this must operate as an encouragement to others, to whom it would seem to say, in very intelligible English, ‘ ‘ Go, and do thou likewise.” What an edifying spectacle is now being exhibited, in the rupture of par- ties, hitherto confederate, and whose sentiments found, in The Nation news- paper, a common exponent ? Both are ardent and gifted Irishmen — both are pledged and devoted to the prosecution of Repeal. Of both it may be said, that a Repeal policy has taken posses- sion of their minds, more as an impas- sioned sentiment, than a moral convic- tion ; and England, as a domineering foe, who has basely plundered the na- tion of its rights, is regarded with as rancorous a hatred as could be prompt- ed by the most indignant scorn Wherein, then, it may be asked, do these champions of popular rights differ ? In this : Mr. Mitchell would unfurl the oriflamb, and make pre- paration for immediate war. Mr. Duffy would rather “wait a while,” and see whether something more fa- vourable than can at present be dis- covered in “the signs of the times,” may not present itself, before actual hostilities are resolved on. Mr. Mit- chell utterly loathes the aristocracy, as renegades or traitors ; and regards the middle classes as little better than corrupt or blundering jackasses, with- out a particle of patriotic fire. Mr. Duffy, although he deplores the dege- neracy of both, is desirous of trying them a little longer ; and a keen pre- sentiment of the inconveniences that might arise from a process of law, called an action for sedition, has ren- dered him curiously guarded in criti- cising the effusions of his patriotic friend, and causes his admiration to wait upon his prudence, while he ex- cises from them what his tact teaches him may be regarded, by the legal authorities, as an extra quantum of sedition or treason. But if any one supposes that Mr. Duffy is one whit more regardful of the authority of British law, or one atom more re- conciled to the authority of British rule, than Mr. Mitchell, he would do that talented gentleman great injus- tice. The difference between them is merely a difference of time. It is not a question of principle, but one of ex- pediency. Both are prepared for a bloody struggle, if it should be neces- sary, for the recovery of the nation’s rights. But the one considers it pre- mature to hazard such a struggle just now ; while the other is prepared, at all hazards, to make war to the knife upon the landlords, and would, forth- with, set about accumulating the ma- teriel for an army, training the pea- santry to the use of arms, and instruct- ing them in the tactics by which they may be rendered invincible in their mountain-fastnesses, when they are contending against the hated Saxon, for the freedom of their native land. Now, what is to be said of all this ? That the individuals whom we have named are both sincere in the profes- sion of their respective views, we fully believe ; and we are prepared to accord to them the respect which no political differences have ever caused us to withhold from the honest and the sin- gle-minded. But what is to be said of the government which can tolerate such seditious ravings? — which can leave a credulous and excitable people exposed to such moral and political contagion ? And then, when the laws have been practically violated, a sys- tematic contempt for which is thus freely and extensively circulated, which can make victims of the wretch- ed dupes, who are consigned to expa- triation or the gallows, while the insti- gators of the crimes for which they suffer are unmolested in their perni- cious calling, and suffered to derive consideration and opulence from the deleterious products upon which their ingenuity is employed? We delibe- rately say, that they are beneath the scorn of the fabricators of a sedition with which they do not dare to grap- ple ; and that while the source of crime is thus regarded as sacred, no- 172 Seditious Literature in Ireland. [Feb. thing effectual can be done to remedy the evils by which our poor country is disordered. That the act recently passed, and at present in operation in some of the disturbed counties, can operate no radical cure of such disorders, we frankly declared in our last number. We designated it as an act less calcu- lated to afford protection to the inno- cent, than to convey a warning to the guilty. It was a deplorable thing to see a British government reduced to the miserable alternative of asking leave of the leaders of the faction in Ireland, to introduce just so much of extra-constitutional rigour into the administration of the law, as, while the ribbon conspirators laughed at their proceedings as a mockery, might take away from themselves the re- proach of conniving at wickedness, the continued impunity of which was exciting the indignation of the empire. That this law would be very promptly called into action by the Irish autho- rities, we very well knew, because Lord Clarendon is an honest as well as a very able public functionary, whose eyes, we believe, are fully opened to the awfully disorganized state of Ireland. That the juries, both grand and petit, would do their duty, we firmly believed, because the gentlemen of Ireland have never, on any great occasion, shrunk from any peril, but have boldly confronted pub- lic odium and personal danger, when the good of the country required it at their hands ; and our expectations have not been disappointed. What- ever could be done by means of such an enactment, has been done. But has the plague been stayed ? Has the Ribbon confederacy been broken up ? Are the gentry one whit more safe than they were from the arms of the assassin ? No such thing. Some con- victions have taken place, but they do not constitute ten per cent, upon the amount of the murders. It was very carefully provided for in the act, that no nocturnal disturbance should be given to the miscreants, who may assemble in their lodges by night to decide upon the fate of the ob- noxious individuals by whose activity some of their* fraternity may have been brought to justice. That would be an infringement of the rights of the subject. Their den is to be regarded as their castle ; and while they are thus left free to plot against the lives of others, a hair of their heads may not be touched with impunity ; and the functionary who should dare to invade the sacred pri- vacy of their committee-room, would soon find himself in a difficult case, a hundred pens and a hundred tongues denouncing him as an enemy to public liberty. “ Can these things be, And overcome us, like a summer cloud, Without our special wonder." We have already repeatedly stated that the day of Repeal, “ dies ilia,” may come, without any of the agen- cies by which it is at present osten- sibly sought for. It may be, not wrung from England, but forced upon Ireland. As to the “ bubble, bubble, toil and trouble” of the faction by whom it is at present aimed at, we hold them of little account. Before a steady course of wise and vigorous policy, they would dissolve into thin air, “vox et preterea nihil.” The humbug of Old Ireland, and the fierce, impracticable extravagance of Young Ireland, might be equally dis- regarded by the statesman who took his stand upon constitutional princi- ples ; and while he remedied every real grievance, resolutely determined to maintain the articles of the Union. But the minister who, for party ob- jects, makes an alliance with the fac- tion of the country against the land- ed interest, and the superstition of the country against the Established Church, is the most dangerous enemy to the integrity of the empire. He it is who gives importance to the Repeal movement. He it is who, by unwise concession, diminishes the centripetal, and increases the centrifugal force — by the due equilibrium of which an harmonious connexion between the two countries can alone be maintained. And should the hour of separation come — as come, assuredly, it will, if our course of policy be not altered — such a calamitous result will not be ascribable to O’Connell, or the priests, or Young Ireland, or Old Ireland, but to the degree in which faction shall have triumphed over principle ; and the very system of government become itself the machinery of agita- tion which can only find its perfect consummation in the dismemberment of the empire. 1848.] d Merry Christ mar . 173 A MERRY CHRISTMAS. December 23, Dublin. — Postman’s knock. Letter from uncle in Tip- perary : — “ Thrasher’s Hill, December 22. “ Dear Phil — Christmas holidays. Remember your promise. Aunt Mar- tha in the dumps — wants to be roused. Lively fellow, Phil. Don’t be afraid ; the hoys know whom to molest — don’t shoot strangers. No excuse taken. “ Yours truly, “ Walter Yellington.” Unpleasant remembrance. Wish Uncle Wat would forget my promises, and remember his own. Said last time, he would die in a year and leave me Thrasher’s Hill. Must go, how- ever — death before dishonour. Preparations for merry-making : — Imprimis, make my will, and leave my death provisionally on Uncle Wat. Secondly, get’ two pistol-pockets in- serted into the breast of my new pale- tot. Thirdly, dry half a pound of Davy’s powder between a couple of warm plates. And fourthly, pay the washer- woman’s bill. Serious thoughts of becoming a re- formed character, if I come back alive, and joining the “ Go-to- Church- three- times-of-a-Sunday Society.” 24th — Early train to Ballybrophy. Second class — hard seats, but choice company, viz. — A police head-consta- ble, a Holycross farmer, vigorous on the tenant-right question, and a Me- thodistical miller— all with their nos- trums to save the country. Policeman says matters will never be right till parliament establishes a power of sarch, and fixes a more liberal scale of constabulary allowances. Farmer declares landlords to be the root of all evil ; and miller traces everything to the worship of “ the golden calf,” while he insists that Christian men and women ought to be fed on bread and oatmeal-gruel three times a-day. That is the way to bring down the golden calf, not to talk of setting up the golden hopper. Ballybrophy Eleven miles from YOL. XXXI. — NO. CLXXXII. Roscrea ; but called, in time and fare- tables, “ The Roscrea Station." Is that quite fair of the said tables ? Ar- rived there in safety, which we thought surprising, considering that we ran twenty miles an hour part of the time. Landed in a slough, called a road ; for making a hundred yards of which, without hiring three hundred men to do it, a servant of the company had his brains dashed out with spades and pickaxes, a month ago. “ A striking proof (observes tenant-right man) of the eagerness of the poor people in this country to get employment yea, forsooth, and likewise of the conse- quences of their not finding it — “ For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.” Obliging navvie offers to conduct me to the scene of the murder for six- pence. Dare say he knows it, but decline his offer. Omnibus to Roscrea, with civil coachman and saucy cad ; latter official dubbed “ agent” in these parts. Drop him (not sorry for it) at Borris-in- Ossory, a lugubrious town on the borders of Queen’s County, and just where Tipperary opens its jaws. No unapt Porta d' Averno. Proprietor, Duke of Buckingham — an hereditary absentee, who can boast of more dung- heaps than flower-gardens, and more beggars than both. Inhabitants, in general, seem badly off* for soap, and not disposed to patronise the Irish Glass Company. Many of them bare- headed, probably because their hats are doing duty in the windows. Brown paper also, and wisps of straw, in ge- neral requisition. No small joy in the neighbourhood, at a report that the Duke must sell his Irish estates, to pay his English debts ; in which case, speculation has it that Peter Kinshela, a baker in the street, will be Duke of Borris-in- Ossory. Mem. — Peter’s bread is baked— so. Roscrea Hotel. — What is an hotel, or hostel ? “An inn,” saith Samuel Johnston, simpliciter. An inn (saith Irish practice) where neither host nor N 174 A Merry Christmas. [Feb. hostess ever make themselves visible to the guests, but leave les petits soins to be administered at the discretion of a tribe of unwashed and ragged boys and girls, who call themselves waiters, porters, boots, and chamber-maids. Even these delegates are not too facile when you most need their attentions, but make amends for neglect, by ex- treme and gregarious officiousness, at the moment of your departure. Travellers, with all their luggage, introduced into coffee-room, so called because half-a-dozen rural dandies are there, lounging by the fireside, and conversing about “ d — d fine girls,” with cabbage-leaf cigars in their mouths, and small bottles of Guin- ness’s Double X at their elbows. Order a car for Thrasher’s Hill — twenty miles farther up the country. Benevolent-looking gentleman, whose way lies in the same direction, offers to join and go halves in the fare ; but looks too like a landlord — the most dangerous company on these roads — must, therefore, decline the partner- ship. Driver afterwards commends my prudence, Mr. having been wanted on the side of Knockshegowny, on Wednesday last, by two gentlemen, who desired to see him a few minutes in private ; and only escaped the in- terview by making a detour round the hill. There’s luck in leisure. Driver very agreeable road-compa- nion ; points out several interesting situations, such as the spot where Corker Wright kilt three robbers ; the heap of stones by the wayside, where Maher was waylaid and mur- dered by the Ryans — “ a nate spot for a surprise of the soart the large “ furry” field, where Brennan was run into by the Peelers ; and the farm that “nobody darr take,” since the last occupier was burned to death in the house, with all his family. Gentleman passes in a gig with a very frightened servant beside him. Driver moralises thereupon. Laments the fate of that meritorious class, in and out of livery, who were formerly able to make terms for themselves in the worst of times, but must now take comfort, when a volley comes, in the knowledge that it was not aimed at them in particular. Thinks it should be hanging matter to put slugs in a charge, intended for only one indivi- dual, whereby the innocent may suffer with the guilty ; and enlarges with much feeling on the enormity of firing swan-drops at any man, however bad he may be, in a crowd. Concludes, by declaring that people, and espe- cially gentlemen, cannot be too cau- tious in these awful times, about the company they keep. Mem — Consider myself safe in that sense at any rate. Fall in with a drove of cattle from the neighbourhood of Thrasher’s Hill, and question drover about the state of the country thereabouts. Reports it “ remarkable paceable ; not an outrage of any account these eight days.” Note — “ any account” means aggra- vated manslaughter and worse ; for of attempts to shoot, and breaking into houses by night, to warn men of their last hour, there is no lack up to the latest date. A dialogue in Irish between driver and drover, of some duration, enough to make one nervous, in statu quo. They must be talking of me too, they look so hard this way. And so they were ; as I learn afterwards from my Automedon, who thus interprets the conversation : — “ Will this man be safe, going in it after nightfall?” “ Daylight or dark makes no differ- ence about Thrasher’s Hill.” “ I believe you. "Will he be safe, though ?” “ What is he ? A tenant ?” “No.” “ A landlord ?” “No.” “An agent ?” “No.”. “ A policeman ?” “No: he is only a gossoon from Dub- lin, going down for the Christmas.” “ Go on, then ; I’ll insure him, ex- cept the hoys mistake him for some of those.” Agreeable contingency. Virgil’s “ Errorem hostibus ilium,” no good divinity in such a case. Move on ra- ther anxiously, praying that I may pass for what I am. Nightfall — Thrasher’s Hill. — Nu- merous isolated discharges of small arms in the fields serve to keep the horse lively and ourselves awake. Driver is of opinion it must be watch- ing the turnips thim guns are ; be- cause if their masters did not supply it for such a purpose, “ where would they get the powther ?” At all events, he insists, it is a good sign, when pub- lic notices like these are going on, that 1848.] A Merry Christmas. 175 nobody in particular is expected to come the road ; for in such cases not as much as a dog that barks is suffered to be abroad. Sharp lad this, and seems to be very well informed about the state of the country. Uncle Wat’s hall-door triple-barred and chained. Long parley before ad- mission. Uncle receives me with pis- tol in one hand and hot poker in the other ; the latter being always kept in the fire, to be ready for sudden in- vasions. Aunt Martha prepares rai- sins for plum-pudding, and two cousins from Waterford play at Commerce with Jack Lewis, an old friend of the family. Dinner over long ago ; but a broiled bone at the fire, and plenty of potatoes, dry and mealy, as ever they were before the breed of them knew a day’s sickness. Conversation about the state of the country. Uncle Wat considers him- self quite safe as yet, unless some new devilment springs up ; as he has taken the precaution not to ask a farthing of rent since harvest. Nevertheless, judges it no more than prudent to lock the maids up in the garret, with a good padlock on the outside of the door, and to bar out all the boys, as soon as “ The clock strikes their hour for retiring” to their dormitory over the stable. Family don’t separate till long after midnight ; and then every one takes up a large handbell, of which a num- ber are ranged on the hall-table with the candlesticks, for the purpose of alarming the household, should any disturbance take place before daylight. Uncle Wat makes his final round of all the passages and halls, with his trusty friend the poker ; then wishes “ To all, to each, a fair good night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light." 25th — A merry Christmas, and many happy returns of it, to us all in this halcyon district ! Preparations for going to church. First of all, draw lots to determine who shall remain behind, and keep garrison, while the rest are abroad? Jack Lewis wins, and entrenches him- self among newspapers, with the keys of the house, and four or five stand of arms laid, ready for use, on the table before him. Flock of geese, under the command of a most ancient and vigilant gander, driven into stable- yard, to raise an alarm, in case of intrusion from the rere. Long-horned bull turned out of his paddock upon the lawn, to act as sentinel in front. Jack looks out of the window, from his fortress, like the governor of Gibraltar, and bids us pray for him. Family coach sets out, with a cordon of involuntary protectors. Coachman in front, ploughman and gardener be- hind, stuck up to share in the honour and glory of anything that may be in- tended for the inside passengers. Coachev ordered to whip like winking through all planted places, and by walls, or thickset hedges ; which he does as if his own life depended upon it. Return from church in the same order, after a delay, occasioned by the absconding of our rear-guard, who are discovered, however, behind the church, and compelled to resume their elevation. Arrive at road-entrance, and spy our sentinel, the bull, per- forming all sorts of four-footed evolu- tions in front of the hall-door. De- spatch ploughman to invite him to retire into his cantonments, which he obstreperously declines — such mutiny detaining us for some time, with an exposed flank, on the way-side. Re- gain our quarters at length, the only incident worthy of record being, that Jack Lewis is taken fast asleep over the fire ; uncle Wat, after much in- effectual knocking and hallooing, hav- ing to climb into the window, at the risk of being shot, and secure the arms, before Jack is restored to conscious- ness. Court-martial on the faithless gar- rison, who alleges, in defence, that he had begun to read Joseph Hume’s speech on the monetary crisis. Unani- mous verdict of guilty, with extenu- ating circumstances ; cousin Lucy de- puted to pass sentence, which is, that the criminal be taken to the place from whence he came, to wit, the parlour- fireside, and there compelled to finish the reading of the whole debate, with- out one nod, wink, yawn, or stretch, from the first motion, to the last divi- sion ; and, may dulness have pity on his aching sight ! Merry-making in earnest. House secured at four o’clock against ingress and egress, and a general determina- tion formed to “ drive dull care away,” by barring out Molly Maguire along with him, and setting Captain Rock, 1 76 A Merry Christmas. [Feb. with all his company of Blackfeet, Wliitefeet, Caravats, Carders, Thrash- ers, and Peep-o’-day Boys, at defiance, for one night, at all events. The more effectually to exclude them, every dcor, up-stairs and down-stairs, is locked and bolted before sunset, and a couple of trusty policemen, borrowed for the occasion, are invited to take their places as guests among the con- vivial feasters in the servants’ hall. Mem Grana Uile's rule of hospi- tality, to throw open all the gates, and beat The Roast Beef before the door, won’t do in Lower Ormonde. December 26 Sunday. Family decide upon performing their devo- tions at home, with the exception of Jack Lewis, who is bundled out, neck and crop, and ordered to go to church, as a further penance for his hesternal breach of the articles of war. Strict injunctions laid upon him not to fall asleep at the sermon ; and, for better assurance thereof, to be sure to come back with the text at his fingers’ ends. Comes back wide awake, but declares the text was Greek. Ascertain, by a reference to parish clerk, who drops in for his usual Christmas guerdon, that it was not “ Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin,” which is “the only Greek” Jack was ever heard to say he knew from high Dutch. Threatened with another court-martial for prevarica- tion. Dublin newspapers in the Thrasher interest exult that Tipperary has been bloodless for three posts in succession ; on reading which Uncle Wat com- mands all the doors to be double-lock- ed three times over, and heats his poker to a white heat ; such announce- ments being (as he reports) uniformly re-echoed from the seat of war by some egregious and astounding atro- city. Great frying of cold plum-pudding, followed by a sermon of J eremy Tay- lor, which sends Jack off at the first Division, and much “enlivens” Aunt Martha. December 27th. — Hunting morn- ing, and how the field is taken. Each gentleman carries cartridges in his belt, and holsters before him. Cou- teaux de chasse are also in contem- plation ; and all agree to ride close up together, allowing the dogs to go a- head, if unavoidable, rather than break too loosely over the country. Nobody to turn over, unless in pre- sence and within hail of a mounted member, or more, who shall see that the frieze- coat that catches the horse shall not mount it himself and ride away with the holsters. If a member casts a shoe, and must go to a forge to refit, another member (or two, ac- cording to the character of the loca- lity) to accompany him. Should the hunt be invited anywhere to luncheon, members must carry their pistols into the house along with them, and care- fully examine their girths on coming out. To combine as much as possible amusement with security, any one who is not well mounted is requested not to mar the sport of those who are, but to stay at home. Ladies, also, who patronize a fashion long preva- lent in the western province, of as- sembling at the covert on jaunting- cars, to see the dogs turned in, are respectfully assured that it would de- tract much from the enjoyment of their male friends, should two or three of them be carried off some fine morn- ing up the Glen of Aherlow, as hos- tages, or brides elect, by the “ Right Boys.” By a close attention to the above rules and cautions, a good share of exciting recreation is still attainable by such of the gentry as are not afraid to risk a chance shot in pursuit of it. Dine out with a neighbour, who, being an agent, offers no apology for entertaining his guests on the second floor ; a Roscommon gentleman of the same profession, who sees his friends below stairs, having been lately dis- concerted by a discharge of heavy duckshot through the window, just as the company had been summoned to the festive board. Return to Thrasher’s Hill at night, guarded by a patrol of police, who had promised to call for us on their rounds. That force the great link of re-union here. Without them all so- cial enjoyment must necessarily be self-contained, like an Edinburgh laird’s mansion. On the way home, hear several ex- plosions “ Through the empty vaulted night j” proving, according to the theory of the Roscrca driver, that no turnips can be better watched than the tur- nips of Lower Ormonde. December 28tli. — A shooting party, regulated with equally nice caution as the hunting of the day before. Concen- A Merry Christmas. 177 48.] tration the grand principle of safety, and the practice nearly the same as street-firing. Not more than half the barrels in the company can be discharg- ed at any one time. If it be true that all field sports are more or less a mimicry of war, those of Tipperary are a good deal more so than less. A season’s cockshooting here should make very pretty voltigeurs of our young gentle- men. Fall in with a few “boys” in the woods, who are great amateurs of the sport, but never carry guns them- selves ; no, nor nothing but kippeens * with which they would be proud to beat the bushes for our honours. “ Baiting is chaip” in Tipperary ; but being al- ready supplied, and “ Having no need, Thank them as much as if we did.” Hear them in a few minutes after- wards squibbing away for their own diversion, with something else than eens. lindman’s buff in the evening, to enliven aunt Martha; and to bed at midnight, serenaded by cow-horns, with the usual gunpowder accompani- ment from the hills. December 29th. — Accompany the Sub-Inspector, with a strong party of soldiers and policemen, in chase of a noted villain, charged with murder, and known to be concealed hereabouts. Country people uncommonly civil, and ready to afford us every information. “ Every” information, too, it is. One saw a man answering the description running down by the river ; another met him about the same time, half-way up the hill ; a third believes he is over the Shannon “this way;”t a fourth knows, of his own knowledge, he is four miles off in an opposite direction, getting his brogues mended by a cou- sin of his own, one Kilfoyle. All men and all women say, “ God speed you !” and wish us “ joy of our prize man,” when we catch him. Never people were more unanimous, as far as good words go, or more officious, in fur- thering the course of justice. Get a view of him at last, stealing away inside a hedge, at a considerable distance down the side of a long and gentle declivity. A general pursuit, still aided by the peasantry, who make themselves busy in opening gates, breaking down gaps, and facilitating the descent of the party by every means. Fugitive redoubles his speed, and takes the open field. Loud shouting of the pursuers. Every eminence crowded with spectators, in the utmost state of agitation; some screaming, others jump- ing up in the air incessantly, as if pos- sessed, others waving handkerchiefs in the wind ; little boys running up and down like mad. Ardour of pursuers increased. Many young hands, that they may run the lighter, fling off their shoes, which are never found again. Transcendental sport — beats fox-hunting. Fugitive approaches a stream, and makes two attempts to jump across it, but bodges twice. Pursuers raise a great shout, and increase their speed. He turns about towards them, stamps upon the ground, tosses his hand aloft, runs at the stream once more, and clears it ; plunges into a thick planta- tion at the other side. Three policemen close at his heels : two of them jump the stream, the last touches the opposite bank, fails to make his ground good, and disappears, carbine and all, under the water. Shout from the heights, sounding like derision. Rather strange that. More of the party get over the wa- ter, and scour the plantation. Run- away appears beyond the trees, clam- bering up a steep, with first policeman close on his haunches. Distance les- sens every stride. The government reward appears already in the grasp of First Peeler. Runaway trips over the root of a tree — policeman tumbles heels over head on top of him. Inextinguishable roars of laughter from all the peasantry, far and near, with cries of “ Success, Lar! — Good boy, Lar ! — Hurrah for Lar !” “ What can it mean?” Ask a civil, honest-looking man, the only one within hail of me — “ what is it ?” “Is it fwhat it is, your honour? Faith, and d’ye see, wliishper now — but just show us that gun first, if you plaze ” Whips it out of my hand, before I have time to say nay. “ She’s a purty piece. Thank you. Switches. j At the present moment. 178 A Merry Christmas, [Feb. sir. I can’t stop now to tell you fwhat it is, but ax Lar ; hell let you know all about it.” Rascal grins, and trots off out of sight in an instant, while the laughter is renewed all round at my expense. Pretty girl in particular, who bade me God speed ten minutes ago, with a remarkably sweet and winning voice, thrown almost into fits. Ah, colleen dhasl “ Miseri, quibus Intentata rides.” Hateful practical jokes, relics of barbarous ages, how my soul loathes you ! Lar brought up in custody, dancing a sort of Tipperary Polka, and sing- ing— “ Nobody shall go to gaol From Garryowen agloria." Nota Bene Said Lar, alias Larry Longlegs, turns out a drag ; being no more nor less than the parish fool, tricked out in a blue jacket and oil- skin cap, to resemble the desired cri- minal, and lead her majesty’s forces, civil and military, far away from the real object of pursuit, on a fool's errand . The remainder of the daylight wasted by two or three policemen in a fruitless search for their shoes, which had, no doubt, walked away half an hour before, in company with my lamented double-barrelled detonator, and “ the real Simon Pure" personated by Lar. Last evening at Thrashers Hill. Waterford girls (giggling poppets) thought it quite funny, “ how Cousin Phil’s gun went off.” Aunt Martha herself more lively than became her years and gravity ; and Jack Lewis attempted one of those abortive im- pertinences called a pun, turning upon the Lar-es, stolen out of Horace, something about “ Lare certo,” which he ridiculously Englished into “a certain Larry.” But it would be making too much of the creature to repeat it. Uncle Wat also forgets the urbanity of an host, so far as to proffer me the loan of his poker. Wretched, demoralised country, whose gentry can make a jest of such things ! Dec. 30th Back to Roscrea, cha- rioted by a villain who laughed at me yesterday, and now swears, with a crying face, that he is “ sorry for my trouble.” Catch three o’clock train ; peremptorily decline to take a return- ticket ; and arrive at the Barrack Bridge “ Relicta non bene parmula.” Phil. Fowler. 1848.] The Apothecary's Wife. 179 THE APOTHECARY’S WIFE. — A RUSSIAN STORY. BY COUNT SALLAGUB. IN TWO PARTS. — PART II. CHAPTER IV. The reader will recollect that we left the baron and Charlotte standing in the apothecary’s shop. We resume the thread of their discourse where it was broken off. “ It’s a long time since we last met, Herr Baron,” said the apothecary’s wife. “ A long time, I am sorry to say,” replied the Petersburg dandy ; “ and I never expected that this journey of mine, which I undertook so unwil- ingly, would have afforded me so agreeable a surprise.” “ What surprise, Herr Baron ?” “ Good fortune, I’ meant to say — the indescribable good fortune of meet- ing you again — of once more renewing one of the pleasantest acquaintances of my youth.” Here the Baron cast a doubtful and scrutinizing glance on the apothecary ; but the latter only made a civil bow, as not seeming to understand the allu- sion. He, however, immediately after- wards invited the Baron to follow’ his wife into the sitting-room. Fuhren- heim entered the apartment with a sort of mysterious awe : varied remi- niscences of the past rushed on his memory — the professor’s humble dwell- ing — those familiar evenings formerly spent in her society, and a certain in- distinct visionary form that had once flitted round his bed of sickness — all these pictures reproduced themselves in rapid succession on the ground of his re-awakened heart. But it was no longer a slender, half-formed girl, with bashful manners and downcast look, that stood before him ; it was now a beautiful young woman, in the full bloom of her charms. Perhaps she might have lost somewhat of that ex- pression of untroubled calmness and serenity that had heretofore surrounded her head like an “ aureole but in its place an ineffable charm was spread over her features — an expression of intense passion and deep suffering, that conferred on her a new and most dan- gerous attraction. The furniture of her room was in- deed more than plain, it was scanty. A few chairs, an old divan, a couple of half-worn-out tables, and a small piano-forte near the window, in which a few flower-pots were symmetrically arranged. A glass-case in the corner exhibited a dozen china cups and saucers, arranged with German pre- cision and neatness. This modest and thoroughly German decoration made a painful impression on the baron, and his thoughts wandered involun- tarily to the gay boudoirs of the Petersburg ladies ; this feeling was, however, only momentary — the longer he lived, the more indifferent had he become to the outward decorations of life. “ I should never have dreamed of finding you here,” said he, in a low tone. The apothecary’s wife suppressed a sigh. “ And, least of all, married,” con- tinued he. A look of mute reproach was the only reply. “ Your father is quite ” “ He is dead,” replied Charlotte. The Baron was embarrassed ; he did not know what to say. Suddenly the habits of thinking of the fashionable world regained their ascendancy over him ; a seductive idea presented itself to his mind, and recalled it from re- miniscences of the past to the present. “ The old father is dead (thought he to himself) ; her husband is a booby that can be easily cheated ; and she loves me, and here in this solitude I am quite safe from rivalry ; at all events it will help to dissipate ennui." “ You must be tired of this place,” said he, in a tone of tender sym- pathy. 180 The Apothecary s Wife . [Feb. “ Sometimes I am,” said Charlotte, a tear gathering in her eye ; “ my father died, and left me alone in the world. Poor man, how often he used speak of you ! Since his death my whole destiny has been, as it were, shipwrecked. I see everything in a different light. I don’t know how I should have been able to survive that time, if the remembrance of happier hours had not remained to me.” “Just as I thought (reasoned the baron to himself) ; that is an evident hint ; she is ennuyee, therefore I may do as I please with her. I should be a very schoolboy to let such an oppor- tunity slip.” “ But how came you to marry ?” said he. “ It was my father’s wish that I should do so. He thought I would he happy with a man that loved me, and who, he knew, was incapable of deceiving me.” “ That is meant as a cut at me (remarked the Baron to himself). I was quite right — she loves me ; and how beautiful she is ! Our fashion- able ladies are not fit to stand in the same room with her ; and how much time, trouble, and money have I not thrown away for this foolish chatter.” “ It is not every one that can com- mand their own destiny,” continued he, aloud, with a sigh. “ Your hus- band is a fortunate man ; nothing stood in the way of his good luck ; neither relations nor circumstances — not even you yourself, for — you loved him.” The apothecary’s wife smiled sadly, and replied — “ My husband is an ex- cellent, good creature ; he is truly attached to me in his way, and I should be very ungrateful not to appreciate his good qualities.” “ The usual tactics (continued the Baron, speaking to himself); difficul- ties must be invented — pangs of con- science, and all that sort of thing ; so that when the sacrifice has been made, there may be a greater claim for gra- titude, and a better ground for re- proaches.” A prey to such base feelings, he turned towards her again, and said, with an appearance of emotion — “ Your husband is the happiest man in the world — always near you, always with you ; he can pay you every ten- der attention ; he may clasp you to his heart, and forget the whole world, whilst he suns himself in the rays of your beauty.” Charlotte became visibly affected. At this instant her husband entered the room. “ What an infernal place this is !” said he, angrily ; “ there is no stand- ing it. One customer bargains and cheapens, another takes on credit ; just imagine, they are not ashamed to offer me fifty per cent., and then I must even wait for that till the new year — your most obedient — as if one could live on air in the meanwhile. What a place it is, to be sure 1” “ But why do you remain here ?” demanded the Baron ; “ I should think it would be much better if you went into some large town — to St. Petersburg, for instance.” “ Yes, that would not be bad ; but it is too expensive there for a mar- ried man. To be sure, if I had a place.” “ Oh, perhaps that can be ma- naged.” “ Pray do not trouble yourself about it ; your time must be too precious. You live altogether in the higher circles of society, and amongst such people you could not think of an humble apothecary.” “ You do me injustice in thinking so — I am always most happy to be able to serve a friend.” “ You do me a great honour, Herr Baron.” “ I hope to show you that I deserve the name of friend.” “ But you must find this place very stupid, Herr Baron?” “ Oh, not at all — quite the con- trary.” “ You men of the world have always something to say ; but it is quite im- possible that you could find this place agreeable. We have no amusement to offer you ; there is no theatre ; we know nothing of balls. A hearty wel- come, and a glass of wine, is all we can offer.” “ And I shall certainly avail myself of your kind offer.” “ Well, then, Herr Baron, come and dine with us on Wednesday. It will be the first time in your life that you have dined at an apothecary’s.” “ I accept your kind invitation with pleasure.” The apothecary claimed indulgence 1848.] A Russian Story. — Chapter IV. 181 for the humble fare he could offer, but appealed to his wife to join him in as- surances of a hearty welcome, to which she silently nodded assent. f* Take care, Lottchen,” added he, “that you entertain our guest well, and then, perhaps, he may be induced to come to us often.” Charlotte blushed, and left the room. The two men exchanged a few words more, and then the Baron took his leave. From that moment he could think of nothing else than this beautiful young woman. He recapitulated in his memory every immoral novel that he had previously read, and he deter- mined in his own mind to assume the character, and practise all the heartless stratagems of a professional seducer. The Wednesday came, and the Baron could scarcely await the arrival of the hour of dinner. He selected his most becoming coat and vest, forced himself into his Parisian surtout, and made his way to the apothecary’s dwelling. Franz Iwanowitsch met him at the door to welcome him, shook hands with him -cordially, and led him into the same room as before. In the centre of this room stood a table with four corners. Everything bespoke poverty, it is true, but, at the same time, every- thing was neat and clean. The cide- vant landed proprietor in the frogged coat, sat in a corner whetting his ap- petite with a pipe. “ And your wife, where is she ?” demanded the Baron. “ My wife is still busy in the kitchen about the dinner ; we cannot afford to keep a cook, and she is obliged to look after everything herself.” The Baron was much displeased that the person whom he intended to hon- our with his love should be busied amongst the saucepans, or employed in roasting a fowl wherewithal to re- gale the object of her early passion. “ Your most obedient,” said the pro- vincial dandy, emerging from his cor- ner ; “ how do you manage to live here amongst us ?” “ Oh, very well.” “ You are always dressed in the pink of the fashion. Was that waistcoat made at St. Petersburg ?” “ No — in Paris.” “ In Paris ! Oh, allow me to look at it ; it must have been very expen- sive ?” “ I don’t recollect.” “ Yes, dndeed — a Petersburg ele- gant — what whims he must have. At all events it must be confessed that you know how to dress.” At this moment the apothecary’s wife entered the room. She wore a plain white dress ; two long ringlets hung down to her shoulders ; and a black silk riband, fastened with a gold head, was bound round her temples. This somewhat too simple toilette threw the Baron once more off his centre. He made her a somewhat cold salutation, and began to talk of the weather. Meanwhile the dinner was served, and the guests took their seats. The cover was taken off the soup-tu- reen, and brought to light an old ac- quaintance — groats swimming in milk. The Baron gave Charlotte a look ; she smiled and blushed. Some women can impart to the most trivial incidents in life some of the poetry of their own dispositions, especially when their hearts are concerned in the matter. Fuhren- heim understood at once the secret meaning of this homely dish ; and over- looked, perhaps for the first time in his life, all the subsequent details of the dinner. The conversation was not very brilliant ; towards the end, how- ever, the apothecary got up from the table with an air of importance, went into the next room, and returned with a flask of champagne, the first that had entered the house since he had been proprietor. Wishing to receive his guest with all possible splendour, he had ventured on this extreme piece of luxury. The exterior of the bottle and the foam of the wine resembled champagne, but the liquor itself was warm, and of a dubious flavour. “ Our guest’s health, and long life to him,” said the apothecary. “ And the rank of a general,” added the befrogged dandy.” “ And every happiness,” whispered the apothecary’s wife. “ Another glass !” said the host, be- coming excited with his own hospi- tality. The bottle was soon empty, and the company rose from the table. It was already four o’clock, and the men smoked their pipes for a while ; but at length the conversation came to a stand still. The apothecary seemed to be meditating on something important — perhaps the sale of his establishment. 182 The Apothecary' s Wife . [Feb. or its transference to another town. The Baron looked at his watch impa- tiently. Charlotte was flushed and restless. The cidevant proprietor alone seemed at his ease ; he lay stretched on the divan, yawning with the great- est nonchalance, and appeared to be busily engaged in counting the flies on the ceiling. All at once he recollected that he must pay a visit to the post- master ; he, therefore, started up and took his leave, and the apothecary fol- lowed him to the door, and then re- mained in the shop to look after his business. Charlotte and Fuhrenheim were left alone together, and, it being late in autumn, it was already growing dark out of doors. Both remained silent, and in mute embarrassment. An unexpected timidity took possession of the heart of the reckless Lothario, and frustrated all his carefully-devised plans. He mused and mused, and at length came to the conclusion that he was cutting a most ridiculous figure. At length he mus- tered up courage, and broke through the silence. “ Will you not play something ?” said he. “ A Quatre Mains ?'* “Just as you please.” “ I play but seldom now.” “ Indeed ! Do you remember how much we used to play together in for- mer times ?” “Oh, yes; I remember it well.” “ Shall we begin ? I am quite at your service.” They sat down together at the piano, which the reader will recollect was placed at the window. A short dis- cussion took place as to what they should play, and who should take the bass. Charlotte requested the Baron to do so, as in old times he had done. They here began to play, but both of them struck dreadfully false chords. Sometimes he played too fast — sometimes she played too slow. This led to mutual apologies, and to begging each other’s pardon. Meanwhile the room was getting quite dark. “ Confess the truth,” whispered the Baron, — “you are angry with me.” “ Why should I be angry with you? God forgives us all. I think I played the wrong note.” “ No,” said the Baron, “pour out all your wrath on me ; perhaps I may yet be able to justify my conduct to you.” “ Oh, I beg pardon ; I believe I have got a bar a-head.” “ It gives me great pain, your being angry with me.” “ What can you care for it ? Turn over, if you please.” “ Your sympathy is so valuable to me — I need it so much — I am so un- happy.” “You unhappy !” said Charlotte, with emotion. She stopped playing. “ Yes, Charlotte — permit me still to address you by that dear name — I am truly unhappy. The world in which I live kills the heart — an icy blast per- vades it, and my heart can find no peace. In the midst of the crowd, I feel alone — I cannot attach myself to any one, and I cannot believe that any one has sympathy with me.” “ But,” said he, with more anima- tion, “do you know what consoles me? Can you guess what those feelings are, that alone animate my breast in the icy atmosphere of the world? Can you tell this, Charlotte ?” The apothecary’s wife was silent, but her bosom heaved. “ Yes, Charlotte,” continued the Ba- ron, f “it is the recollection of the times when we lived together — it is the remembrance of you that consti- tutes my only happiness. How often, when tired of the heartless frivolity of the saloons, do I look back to that fa- miliar, quiet corner, in which I lived, with you and for you. I then see be- fore me your window, and the well- remembered shadow on the white cur- tain. Fancy usurps the place of reality, and, happy in my waking visions, my heart once more beats with love and bliss.” “ Ah,” said the apothecary’s wife, in a voice faint with emotion, “ and what is my lot ? Here everything is strange to me, and joyless. I have not a single female friend. My father, too, is dead. Alasl too, I only live in the remem- brance of the past, for the reality of the present weighs on me like a moun- tain of lead.” “ Poor Charlotte! my heart told me that you, too, must be unhappy. No one here can appreciate you, no one can understand you ; but 1 know that you were born for sympathy, and created to participate in all the joys and sor- rows of love.” “ Oh, spare me.” 1848.] 183 A Russian Story. — Chapter V. “ Do I not tell the truth ?’* “ Unhappy truth I Oh, how long did I hope for happiness. I caught a glimpse of it from afar, but, meteor- like, it vanished, and loneliness became my lot.” “ No,” interrupted the baron; “in vain does destiny combat against love. Had we been united, we should have been happy — your eyes tell me so. Who shall prevent our being happy now?” “ I do not hate you.” “ Can we not rise above the vulgar prejudices of every-day life ? Can we not love one another, and find a com- pensation for our miseries in the sweet delusion ?” “ And what would the world say ?” “ What need we to care about the world ? Is not love a world in itself? How miserable is everything earthly, when compared with it ? How does it exalt the soul — what inspiration does not follow the passion of love !” At these words the Baron seized her hand — it trembled violently. “ And sacred duties,” gasped she, with trembling voice. “ These duties are but the fantasies of human calculation. Duty is an earthly conventionality, and heaven is open to us. You see it plainly enough, it was no blind chance — it was no blind chance that brought us together again ; we were created for each other. Do you not feel this ? But the force of my love enables me to anticipate that you must love me also.” “ And you do not deceive yourself,” said the poor young woman, covering her pallid face and throbbing brow with her hand. An indescribable feeling of triumph filled Fuhrenheim’s inmost soul. The room had now become quite dark. “ Oh !” said he, “ now I am ready to meet death for your sake — now happi- ness is within our reach, Repeat once more those precious words. Since when, and how did you come to love me ?” “ Oh, I will confess all — I have not ‘ power to keep silence any longer,” said she, speaking with great rapidity. “ I always bore your image in my heart ; I have never ceased to ” At this moment the door was thrown wide open, and a fat, barefooted pea- sant girl tramped into the room, bear- ing two brass candlesticks, in each of which was stuck a dimly -burning tallow candle. The apothecary’s wife with- drew her hand hastily from that of the Baron. The tallows, and the vulgar apparition of the peasant-girl, produced an unpleasant sensation in the “ man of the world;” but the dim glare of those candles shone like a ray from heaven, sent to illuminate the dark precipice that yawned at the feet of this unhappy young woman, who had suffered her- self to be led away by her feelings, un- til her inconsiderate passions had led her to its very brink. “ No ! no 1” said she, with a voice full of passion, but to which self-com- mand began to be restored, “a wife must be pure and unspotted — the tu- mult of passion is deceptive, but so much the more inevitably certain is the remorse that follows. I adjure you, by all that is sacred to you, never again to renew this subject.” The apothecary entered the room. “Now I am free,” said he, with a friendly nod. “ I am afraid you must be ennuyee. Let us make a bowl of punch, and play Boston.” But the Baron was visibly discom- posed, and would not listen to any proposal. Disappointed in his expec- tations, he rushed home to his own house, to toss about his couch the whole night long. Next morning the crafty roue from the capital was up to his ears in love with the simple provincial apothecary’s wife, and that, too, madly and hope- lessly. CHAPTER V. Meanwhile the townspeople began to whisper about all sorts of gossip. “ Did you hear the news ?” said the provincial dandy to Baruscheff, the shopkeeper, one day that he was pay- ing him a visit. “ Charlotte Kar- lowna — hem, hem ” “ It is not possible ?” said the other. “ Yes, it seems odd enough, even to me. But tell me, for heaven’s sake, what does the Baron sit at the apothe- cary’s the whole day for ? He is an Aulic councillor and a man of fortune, and he has got things that would as- 184 The Apothecary s Wife. [Feb. tonish you to see. I saw a ruby ring with him the other day — a beautiful thing — must have cost five hundred rubles at the lowest figure. And I asked him if he knew all the ministers, and he said that he knows most of them. It is well enough for such as I am to loiter about at the apotheca- ry’s, to kill time ; but it seems quite out of place for such as he is — a curi- ous business.” “ Tr ue enough — you are quite right,” replied Baruscheff, stroking his beard. “ Have you heard the news about Franz Iwanowitsch ?” said the justice of peace to the burgomaster, with a wicked leer. “ Oh, yes — in an underhand way,” replied the other. “ How in an underhand way ? Why it’s the talk of the town. They live openly together. ’Tis a shame and a scandal. In your place I should have interfered. The authorities ought, like a careful mother, to insinuate themselves into the private affairs of the citizens, and point out to them what they should avoid — it is their duty.” “ Hem — do you think so ?” “ Not a doubt of it ; you are the protector of our civic morality.” “ Indeed 1” “ Besides this, the Baron is a regu- lar freethinker. Did he visit you yet?” « No.” “ Is it possible ?” “ True enough.” “ And he did not visit me either. Well, to be sure, as to me that does not signify much ; but — the head per- son of the town — and did you visit him ?” “ Of course I did my duty.” “ And you went in uniform ?” “ Yes — to be sure.” ft And he didn’t pay you back your visit ?” “ How pay me back ?” “ I mean he didn’t return it again in person.” “ No, not as yet.” “ What an impudent fellow he must be — he should be taught manners.” “ I can’t make out how he can ad- mire the apothecary’s wife. She is just a German Frau, and nothing more. A Polish lady is quite a dif- ferent sort of thing. When we were quartered in Little Russia, I was quite delighted with them. You can’t say a word against them. How well edu- cated they are, and how well they dance the mazurka ; but what do you think I should say to the apothecary ?” “ That is your affair ; do what you think best.” “ That is a nice f coup,’ ” whispered the chief of police to the assessor, as the old secretary of the local tribunal was reading aloud a long and tedious report of some cause before it. “ A grand ‘ coup,’ I say. Civiliza- tion has made great progress of late years; and has even reached our town. The apothecary has sold his wife for 5,000 rubles.” “ He was in too great a hurry with the bargain,” observed the assessor, gravely ; “ he would have got double the money, if he had held out a little ; but, even as it is, that is a good round sum. What luck some people have, to be sure!” “ What resolution is to be pro- nounced in this case ?” interrupted the secretary. “ What do you think ?” replied the assessor. as Mr. O’Donovan observes — * In the ancient Irish manuscripts we find almost invariably written for T)fl of the modern Irish orthography.’ — Grammar, p. 34. The origin of the name is thus explain- ed in a marginal gloss on the word O) 0 r)'Deitjb (Connor) in the Martyr- ology of iEngus, at the 3rd of Septem- ber: J. <1)41110 t)4 COfl. b <5)411X0 4TT)bl'Cir COJt) 4 U-C 4 pixujr ^ tfleo lup0 l)4[bjC4b4»JTJ], ‘i. e. Daire-na- con, i. e. the oak wood in which were wild dogs formerly, and she-wolves used to dwell therein.’ This etymology per metathesim, was common with the Irish, as Colgan observes, who conjec- tures that Dercon, the church of Saint Olcon, was identical with Connor, add- ing, ‘ Derechon, seu rectius Dorechon, per transpositionem nostratibus fre- quentem, idem sit quod Condere seu Condore.’ — Act. SS., p. 377, col. 2, n. 9. By the country people the name is pro- nounced as if it was written Con-yer. The present parish church was built, in 1818, on the site of the old cathedral of St. Saviour’s, which had been partly destroyed in the rebellion of 1641, and a portion of which, having been re- roofed, and thatched with straw, was used for divine service, till it was super- seded by the modern church. This portion was probably the southern transept of a larger building, for it is described, by those w ho have attended it, as having stood north and south Eccles. Report of 1806, p. 97. In 1458, Patrick Olynnan w^as vicar of the cathe- dral church of Connor. — Reg. Prene, fol. 4. The rectory of the parish w as appropriate, at the Dissolution, to the abbey of Kells, the lands of which con- stitute the chief part of the western half of the parish. — See Taxation, at Desertum Conericc." “ Dunhelisp. — Now part of Dunluce parish. In 1609, it w as annexed to the corps of the Precentorship of Connor, under the name of ‘ Ecclesia de Sancto Cuthberto Dunlups.’ — Charter. ‘Ec- clesia Sti. Cuthberti de Dunlippis.’ — Terrier. In the townland Dunluce, a short distance south of Dunluce Castle, is the old churchyard, containing the ruins of a church which occupy the site of a more ancient building Ord. Sur- vey, s. 2. The Four Masters, at the years 1513, 1584, calls this spot Dunlis. In an Irish MS. account of the troubles of 1641, it is written <5)Ut) l)bn* Colgan spells it Dunliffsia. — Acta, SS., p. 377, col. 2. The present parish of Dunluce is an union of Dunluce and Portcaman.” In both these instances one observes the singularity to be remarked in al- most all ancient Irish spelling, viz., that the old name is more consonantal, and, orthographically at least, a sylla- ble or two larger than the modern : “ Condaire,” Connor ; “ Dun-lipsi,” Dunluce , like “ Concobhar,” Conor ; and “ Lathlobhar,” Lawlor and Lover, in personal nomenclature. This pe- culiarity may be considered analogous to that greater complexity and variety of inflexion, which is generally found in the grammatical arrangements of the more primitive languages, quite contrary to what we would be led to expect in going back on rude and un- lettered times. The niceties of primi- tive grammatical inflexion have been ascribed to the divine origin and com- munication of language itself — speech being regarded as a direct gift from God to man, and as such partaking of the perfection of its giver, and most per- fect while as yet least abused by its new possessors. The consideration of these hard-spelled names of places and per- sons leads rather to the contrary infer- ence ; showing, we think, the effort to adapt an imperfect alphabet to the expression of harsh or slovenly sounds, such as prevail in the articulation of an unpolished people. At present, all the consonantal points of those names are rounded off in pronounciation, and the spoken word often as little re- sembling the written sign, as Colclough or Cholmondely resemble the sound they represent in colloquial English. The imperfection, however, of the Irish alphabet is a strong argument for its antiquity. We have never been able to recognise the argument which ascribes to Roman missionaries the in- troduction of an alphabet beginning with the letter B. It is Herodotus, we think, who, remarking on the va- lue of the cow among primitive people, observes that the Phoenicians gave the first place in their alphabet to Alpha , because in their language that word sig- 1848 .] Reeves* Ecclesiastical Antiquities. 211 nified the cow. Hence the Roman and Greek alphabets may look to a Phoeni- cian origin ; but those alphabets which begin with other letters can hardly be referred, either directly or derivatively, to that source. We are well aware of the danger of trusting to the stock-in- cidents of the lives of the saints ; and recollect that Patrick’s alleged burning of the books of the Druids, is one of the incidents without which no hagio- grapher would think his work complete. But, looking to the unsuspected testi- mony of Csesar and Diodorus, we ap- prehend there can be no doubt that the use of alphabetic writing was gene- ral among the Druid priesthood of Gaul and Britain, at the commence- ment of the Christian era ; and there certainly seems no reason to suppose that those of Ireland were less in- structed than others of the Druidical order. The question, however, of whether this complex orthography, which has led us into those reflec- tions, indicates an imperfect grammar advancing into system, or a systema- tized grammar deteriorating by use, is still far from a settlement, and is one which will, doubtless, yet receive much further investigation. The assignment of etymologies in the old Irish treatises, is generally fanciful, and little to be relied on. Conderibi “ the wolf ’s-wood,” appears to be a very doubtful gloss. The old derivations of Bangor and Rathmore, may be advanced as examples of this school of etymology. Thus Brasil Brec, king of Leinster, returning with a prey of cattle, out of Scotland, landed at Bangor, “ and slaugh- tered a great number of cattle there, so that a great number of the beanna, i. e., the horns of the cows, were scattered over the plain, so that the place ever since bore the name of Maigh Beanncoir .” The tradition which assigns the origin of the name of Rathmore is more romantic : “ Rath- more of Moylinny, was first called Rath-Rogrin, and, until the reign of Breasal Breac, son of Brian, king of Uladh. He went on an expedition (a submarine adventure) under Loch Laidh, and remained there fifty years. Mor, daughter of Rither, son of Gean- lamh, his wife, remained all that time in the rath ; and at last she said, 4 1 think Breasal’s absence too long.’ And a certain woman said to her, e It will be long to thee, indeed, for Breasal will never come back to his friends, till the dead come back to theirs.’ Mor then died suddenly, and her name re- mained on the rath — Unde Rath Mor dicitur. Breasal soon after returned to his house, one evening, as is related in ‘Breasal’s Expedition.’” These de- rivations will remind the reader of the etymons of Tara and Aileach to be found in Mr. Petrie’s essays. We be- lieve they are all drawn from the same source in the Dinseanchus; and that “ Cormac’s Glossary” will be found to consist, to a great extent, of similar matter. We cannot refrain, however, from extracting a passage from the Glossary, in explanation of the word Corryvreckan , which, our readers will probably remember, is the name of a great whirlpool off the western coast of Scotland. The name really appears to have the signification assigned to it, and the force of Cormac’s description is nothing lessened by the inability of our best Irish scholars to translate some of his similies : — “ Coire B recam, i. e. a great vortex between Ere and Alba to the north, i. e. the conflux of the different seas, viz., the sea which encompasses Ere at the north-west, the sea which encompasses Alba at the north-east, and the sea to the south between Ere and Alba. They rush at each other after the likeness of a luaithrinde, and each is buried into the other like the oircel tairechta , and they are sucked down into the gulp so ' as to form a gaping cauldron, which would receive all Ere into its wide mouth. The waters are again thrown up, so that their belching, roaring, and thundering, are heard amid the clouds ; and they boil like a cauldron upon a fire. “ Brecan, a certain merchant, the son of Maine, son of Niail of the Nine Hos- tages, had fifty curraghs trading be- tween Ere and Alba, until they all fell together into this cauldron, and were swallowed up, so that not one survived to bear the tidings of their fate ; and their fate was unknown until Lughaidh Dali [‘the blind’], the poet, came to Benchair, when his people going to the strand of Inver Bece found the bare scull of Bece, and having brought it to Lughaidh, et interroyaverunt eum cujus esset ; et ille eis dixit ; place ye the head of the poet’s wand upon it. They did so, et dixit Lughaidh Eigeas : — . “ ‘ The waters of the great sea, The waters of the vortex, Drowned Brecan. This is the head of Brecan’s dog, And little here remains of greatness, For Brecan and all his people Were in that vortex drowned.’ ’* 212 Reeves 1 Ecclesiastical Antiquities. [Feb. Mr. Reeves seeks to identify this Caul- dron of Brecan with the turbulent sound between Rathlin Island, and the mainland, called by the Irish Slogh- na-morra , or the Gulf of the Sea. The Charybdis Brecani, in which Columba was tossed when carrying the relics of Kiaran from Clonmacnois to Iona, can hardly have been the whirlpool of the Sound of Jura — but neither can it well have been the Sound of Rathlin ; in short, the probability is, that the vortex itself has shifted its site, or disappear- ed altogether. Leaving the merely topographical portion of the work, in which several hundred parochial names are identified with the same careful accuracy that we see displayed in the paragraphs on Dunluce and Connor, we now come to the main part of Mr. Reeves’ perfor- mance, consisting of historical descrip- tions of the ancient civil divisions com- prised within these ecclesiastical boun- daries. The district included within the united dioceses comprising the present counties of Down and Antrim, is pro- bably the most interesting portion of all Ireland for historical investigation. It was here the Cruithne , or Irish Piets, were located ; it was hence the Dalriadan colonies proceeded to estab- lish the Scottish race and dominion in North Britain ; here Patrick first preached the gospel, and here (at Coleraine) there was already a Chris- tian bishop, at the time of Patrick’s arrival : it was here the influence of the bards longest survived after their dis- solution at Dromceat ; and here the final struggle between the old and new systems was determined, on the field of Moyra ; it was here the Anglo-Nor- man power attained its earliest and most splendid successes, till overthrown by the catastrophe of William de Bur- gho’s murder, and the return of the Claneboy ; it was here, again, that a new element of social interest was add- ed to the Reformation, by the estab- lishment of the Scottish faith, and forms of worship, in more modern times ; but this is a subject outside the bounds of Mr. Reeves’ work, and one which has been already well han- dled by Mr. Reid ; and we must take care not to entangle ourselves in theo- logical conflict, from which the candid pages of our author are happily quite free. The question of who were the Piets, has exercised the ingenuity of the ablest writers, from Ussher and Pin- kerton to our own time. Their total disappearance, and the loss of almost all traces of their language from North Britain, can only be accounted for by the superior fecundity, and greater strength and policy of the Dalriadic and Anglo-Saxon families ; unless we are to surmise, with Mr. Skene, that the Dalriadic progress is a figment, that the disappearance of the Piets, and loss of their language, is a delu- sion, and that the Piets spoke the same Gaelic as other members of the Celtic family, and as the Highlanders, whom he assumes to be their descen- dants, speak at this very day. It is singular that in their eager scrutiny after anything which could cast light on this obscure question, British in- vestigators have not yet turned their attention to the district inhabited by the cognate tribes of the Cruithne in Ulster. It may fairly be assumed that any names in the topography of this part of the country, which are not modern or Scotic (that is, Irish), are remains of the early Cruithnic nomen- clature. Now, among these we find Llan (Llan-abhac, now Glenavy) ; Bryn (Bryn-Tang, near Carrickfer- gus ; Brown-Dod, near Antrim ) ; Maes (the Maze race-course, near Lisburn) ; and Dufferin ; all British words, not to be found elsewhere in Irish topography, and now peculiar to Wales. The inference, then, would be, that the Cruithne of Ulster spoke a language cognate with the Welsh ; and, hence, a likely enough suggestion for the name Cruithne itself, viz., Bruithne, or Britanni ; it being the genius of the Irish to prefer the sound of k, where the Welsh delight in that of p; as, Irish, Can ; Welsh, Pen — “a head.” Irish, Mac; Welsh, M ( Ap — “ a son,” &c. If, then, the Ulster Cruithne were of the same family with the Piets of North Bri- tain, here appear some new reasons for regarding the latter as a Cymric race ; and, possibly, there may remain other arguments deducible from the family names of the tribes of Dalaradia in Cruithnic times leading to the same conclusion. The topographic inquiry might be prosecuted over the whole field extending from Dufferin, on the south, to Trostan mountain, on the north ; 1848.] Reeves' Ecclesiastical Antiquities. 213 both of which names evidence a former Cruithnic inhabitation. Their pecu- liar territory, however, which conti- nued to be known by the name of Crioch-na- Cruithne, down to the 14th century, was the northern part of Dalaradia, including the valleys of the Braid, Glenwhirry, and Six-mile- water rivers. It was here, in the im- mediate vicinity of Slemish mountain, that Patrick was brought up, in the household of the Cruithnic king, Mil- cho ; and here he probably acquired the language which afterwards enabled him to spread the message of the Gos- pel through the greater part of these dioceses ; for the tradition in Jocelyn’s time was, that he spoke four lan- guages, viz., Latin, French, British, and Irish, of which, in all probability, the British represents the language of this district. As to its ^sepulchral and architec- tural remains, the district differs from other parts of Ireland only in the greater number of its subterranean chambers and passages, associated with stone circles and pillar-stones on the surface, which, along the valley of the Six-mile-water, are of very frequent occurrence. This immediate neigh- bourhood constitutes the ancient Moy- linny, a district always remarkable for the fruitfulness of its soil, and the scene of a great abundance of such events as usually mark the pages of early Irish history. Here, on the boundary of the territory towards Larne, a.d. 160, king Tuathal the Acceptable was slain by Mai Mac Rochraidh, on the “ Hill of Sighs,” just at the source of the river. De- scending the stream, and leaving the pillar-stones and cromlechs of Nil- teen and Myadam on the right, we next reach Rathbeg, where king Der- mot Mac Cearbhil, “ perceiving the house to burn above his head,” and rushing from the door, was thrust through with a lance by Black Aodh, son of Sweeny Araidhe, a.d. 565 — “ qui scilicet Aidus Niger valde san- guinarius homo, et multorum fuerat trucidator” — a homicidal Piet, whom St. Findchan afterwards carried into Scotland, and there tried to convert into a priest ; but the bishop feared to lay his hand on the head of so fero- cious a disciple, and Black Hugh, “solummodo nomine presbyter,” re- turning to his former life of violence. was treacherously thrust through on ship-board, and drowned by his own people. Rathbeg, the scene of this vil- lany, is now obliterated ; but enough remains of the ramparts of Rathmore, in an adjoining townland, to shew the former extent of this old residence of the kings of Dalaradia. It must have been a great and strong fort, and has witnessed events that in any other country would have long since been made the subject of heroic story. Here dwelt the proud, unhappy Congal Claen, and here we may picture to ourselves old Ceallagh Mac Fiacbna, carried out upon his brazen tolg , to meet his nephew returning from the disastrous feast of Dun-na-n’gedh ; and as Congal enumerates the indig- nities put upon him at the royal ban- quet, handling under his gown the sword, which none till then suspected the bedridden senior of carrying : we may imagine its walls resounding to the songs of bards, enumerating the for- mer possessions of the kings of Ulster, and the former privileges of the poets, before the statutes of Dromceat trans- ferred their rents and honours to the Christian clergy, and sent twelve hun- dred of them adrift on Ulster, with no- thing but their harps and burning words to depend on for life or vengeance ; till Congal, at length maddened by a sense of his own wrongs, and by the instigations of the outraged poets, un- dertakes the fatal expedition, which terminated in his defeat and death at Moyra, a.d. 636. Here again, a.d. 684, Egfrid of Northumberland fought and overthrew the Cruithne, and slew their king, Cumascaigh : next, in a.d. 987, Brian Boru himself here took the tributes of Dalaradia ; and finally, in 1315, king Edward Bruce here burned to the ground whatever remains of the old residence of Rathmore were then subsisting. We linger along this valley with affectionate delay : here were the dwellings of friends and kindred ; and in the grave-yard, under the mount of Dunagore, over- looking the scene of all these strange vicissitudes, repose the bones of our forefathers. The construction of the fort of Dunagore mounts beyond the period of our written records. Its name, as anciently spelled, appears to signify the « fort of the warrior but who the Curaidhe was, whether Piet or Firbolg, is a question now inscru- 214 Reeves’ Ecclesiastical Antiquities. [Feb. table. The mount, notwithstanding its name, has, however, always appear- ed to us to be sepulchral ; and we have listened with much awe and wonder, in our boyish days, to traditions of a great cave underneath, alleged at va- rious times to have sw r allowed up a cow and a crow'bar, the latter being heard, long after it slipped from the hands of the quarryman, rumbling down funnels and galleries into the very bowels of the hill. There is one other sepulchral monu- ment of extreme interest (if it be still in existence) somewhere in this val- ley. We mean the pillar-stone which marks the grave of Fothadh Airg- theach, slain here by C&oilte, the foster-son of Fin Mac Cumhal, a.d. 285. The particulars of his death and sepulture are preserved in the Leabhair-na-Uidhre, from which they were first brought to light in Petrie’s “ Round Towers.” What gives them their peculiar interest is this, that they furnish the words of an inscription alleged to be written on this pillar- stone in the Ogham character. “ There is a pillar-stone at his earn, and an Ogum is (inscribed) on the end of the pillar-stone which is on the earth ; and what is on it is (6ocl)4j'D 2 l)ji 3 ?djecl) into) Eochaid Airgthech here.” It is plain that such an inscription would furnish the key to more than one-half the letters of the Ogham al- phabet : but where to look for the pillar is the question. Mr. Reeves, by adopting the Ollarba as the Larne river, and giving the name Ollar to the Six-mile- water (for it is certain that by these two names the two streams in question are designated, but the difficulty consists in appro- priating them each to each), fixes the place at the same spot already men- tioned as the scene of King Tuathal Teachtmar’s death; for Tuathal was slain at the spot where the two streams have their sources, one flowing east- ward through Moy-Laharna, and the other westward through Moy-Line. Now, Eochaid Airgthech is stated to have fallen in the battle of Ol- larba in Line ; and Mr. Reeves, to reconcile this with his identification of the Larne river as the Ollarba, refers it to the extreme upper part of that stream, where the sources of the tw o rivers are to some extent confounded, and part of the Larne river may be said to be in Moylinny, and part of the Six-mile-water river in Moy Larne. One naturally surmises that Mr. Reeves must have been under strong coercion when he had recourse to a supposition so violent, especially as Larne harbour was formerly known by the name of Older ( £/#ar)-fritb, and not Ollarba- frith, as his distribution of the names would lead us to expect. We must not be thought disposed to jest on a grave subject, when we tell our reader that the cause of Mr. Reeves perplexity in this particular is the mermaid, or syren, which Ethach Mac Muerdhi captured at the mouth of the Ollarba river, in the nets of Beoan, the son of Inli, fisher- man of Comgall of Bangor, in a.d. 558, according to the Four Masters ; for we suppose this was the process of reasoning which induced Mr. Reeves to reject Ollar as the name of the stream running into Ullar-iviih , viz — if a mermaid were caught at the mouth of the Ollarba, how could the Ollarba river run anywhere else than into the sea, which is the habitation of mermaids, or of phoca 1 , which might be mistaken for them? We own, in such a con- flict of testimony, we should have pre- ferred appropriating the name Ollarba to the river which traverses Moylinny, concluding that the entry about the siren was of the less authority. How- ever, the following passage from one of our oldest romances, descriptive of the route 'taken by parties travelling from Scotland by way of Larne to Ar- magh, will, we think, put this part of the question at rest : — “ Neidhe and his companions passed, together, towards Kintyre, and thence directed their course to Snog-point. They afterwars put off, over sea, from Portroy, and took shore at Ross-point ( Rinn-Rush ). Thence they proceeded over Semhne, over Latharna, over Moy- linue, over the Ollarba, over Tullogh- rosg (Tulh/rusk), over Ardsliebhe, over Csebh-thelca, over the upper Bann,” &c. — Contention of the Seniors. Mus. Brit. Egerton, 112, p. 37. That the Ollarba, therefore, is the Six-mile- water, appears pretty certain, and consequently (unless we are to re- gard this part of the story in the Leabhair-na-Hudre as fabulous) it is 1848.] 215 Reeves ’ Ecclesiastical Antiquities. in the valley watered by that river that we must look for the pillar-stone of Eochaid Airgthech. If any of our nor- thern antiquaries have time and inclina- tion to set out in search of this Rosetta stone of our Oghams, we would direct their attention to the district about Nilteen, already mentioned as abound- ing in sepulchral remains, and would point particularly to the lands of Standing- Stone there situate, and to the fields between the hamlet of Four- mileburn and the lands of Silversprings and Thrushfield. The passage last above-cited, in bringing parties from sea over Moy- Semne, next before Moy Larne, leaves no room to doubt that Mr. Reeves is right in his conjecture that the Shevne which has so long escaped the research of our best topographers, is Island Magee. Of all the Moys and plains of our old topography, this Shevne was the most elusive. O’Dono- van himself had only approximately fixed it. Mr. Reeves consequently approaches its identification with great caution $ and we commend his specu- lations on this point to other inquirers, as an example of judicious circum- spection worthy of general imitation. “ Island Magee The Four Masters, at A.M. 2859, speak of a R4TJ Of))0Tt]~ b4 0)t 1 Sejri}f)e, ‘ Rath Kimbseh in Shenvy and of 21)45 Se It) t)& J T)4)4l 'o2i|ttl)'6e, ‘Moy Shevny inDalaradia.’ (So Keating, vol. i. , pp. 176, 178; O’Flaherty, Ogyg., p. 169). At A.M. 3529, K 46 Ctithce '64 1 Settle, ‘ Rath Concha in Shevny;’ and at A.M. 3656, C4T> CuU -dtsutiVG 1 Serqqe, * the battle of Cul-athgurt in Shevny.’ The name occurs in the Tripartite Life of St. Patrick also, where, treating of his labours in Dalaradia, it states that he founded a church * in Imlech- cluana in agro Semne.’ — (Pt. ii., cap. 133.) Mr. O’Donovan, in a note upon the expression iTltdj ‘ host of Seimne,’ observes that ‘ the Ulto- nians were sometimes so called by the bards, from the plain of Seimne, situated in the territory of Dal Araidhe, in the south of the present county of Antrim.’ — (Battle of Magh Rath, p. 211.) “It is probable that this word enters into composition in Ransevyn, the an- cient name of Island Magee, which may be a corruption of K }t)X) Seqttjrje, ‘ the point of Shevny.’ It is possible also that the ^