Like Ossian, my soul is full of other times; the joy of my youth returns;' and I can now view, through the vista of years, the long perspective of my eventful lifethe tricks of youth, the contests of my later years, the enemies I have defeated, and the friends I have caressed. All, all I have done and said shall be laid before my read ers; and, though their pleasure must be great, mine shall be greater; for what a fool was Franklin! he robbed Heaven of lightning, yet lamented that he could not renew the tenure of life. Silly man! he need not have petitioned Jupiter; he had only to sit down before a good coal fire in his two-arm chair, uncork a bottle of port, or mix a tumbler of whiskey punch, shut the door of his apartment, and unburden his thoughts. The waters of oblivion, according to the reports of the latest travellers, are not half so mentally soporific as these necessary companions of a lonely hour; for they immediately, judging from myself, annihilate the present time, and renew the scenes of twenty, forty, or fifty years ago. Reminiscence has nameless charms for me; and, in these delightful moments of retrospection, I forget the obloquy that has been showered upon my name, the arts of my enemies, and the imprudence of friends; while I revel amid the scenes of youth and manhood, laugh at all the ludicrous incidents of my long life, and enjoy, for the hundredth time, the jokes, the pranks, and the vacant laugh,' of those I shall never jest, or drink, or fight with, more. No matter! age has only reversed my pros. pects: in youth I looked forward to the future, but now my greatest solace is derived from the past.

Reader! judge not harshly of my conduct. Many things I have Many things I have done which give me pleasure, maný that give me pain. To you I relate the good and evil of my life; and, before you condemn mine, recollect how much of both is in thine own.

CHAPTER I.

MODE OF NURSING IN IRELAND

SIXTY YEARS SINCE.

straw boss in the corner, he was not a little astonished to see six of us, all of one age, sprawling on the floor, among whom he could not recognise his own. He inquired of the brat who was performing the duty of a nurserymaid for Sthase, and was told she was busy in the potatoe-garden. And how,' he inquired, do you feed all these children? Well enough,' replied our protector, at the same time calling out Gin ! Gin!' when in ran a grey goat, and placed herself over a hole in the floor, into which a child was no sooner put than it commenced au immediate attack upon the dugs of poor Gin, who was in the habit of performing for us all the functions of a wet-nurse. Indignant as my father felt, he remained silent until he discovered his son through my obstinacy; for, it having come to my turn to descend into the sucking-hole, I refused to quit my hold before nature was satisfied; upon which the boy seized me by the arm, saying

IN the good old times, when it pleased Providence that I, the most remarkable character of the age, should be born, no mother nursed her own child. Fostering was then the common practice of the country; and, as I afterwards understood, more than three score women contended for the honour of suckling the tenth son of the old chieftain of Rockglen. Sthase M'Farlane, however, was selected, she being the foster-sister of my mother; and, immediately after the christening (a real Irish one), she carried me to her cabin, situated among the mountains, about five miles from my father's house. Being intended for the church, my Being intended for the church, my nurse received particular directions to be careful of her charge, and she promised to watch over the 'little darling' with more than a mother's anxiety; after which she was presented with the fleeces of three wethers, six hams of bacon, a muskaan of butter, a piece of Come out of this, Rock; you linen, and a sack of oatmeal. Such would drink as much as five.' was the munificence of the times,Oh,' says my father, interposing, and such was the anxiety of my parents for the welfare of little Decimus!

let poor Rock drink his fill; and, as I looked up in his face, he snatched me from the floor, pressed me to his heart, and bedewed with his tears my sun-burnt face. A removal to Rockglen immediately followed, and in happier moments I have been pleased to see the venerable chieftain shake his sides with laughter while he related this anecdote, always concluding it by assuring his auditors that he attributed my eccentric disposition to the milk I was reared on.

Sthase having many foster-sisters, she was obliged to become a nurse to more children than one; and a single cradle rocked half a dozen of us to repose-a circumstance which, I fancy, led to that love of society which has attended me through life. The period was one of alarm; and the vocation of my father (hunting tithe-proctors) prevented him from paying that attention to his child which he would otherwise have done, were But, though I was, like the he not encumbered with the most founders of Rome, suckled by a important public affairs. For two quadruped, it does not follow but years neither he nor my mother that I was well fed; for, in addicame to see me; and, when he did tion to Gin's milk, I ate good make it his business to inquire mutton. This I can't state from after his son, I was pointed out to my own knowledge, but I have no him in rather a singular manuer. doubt of its truth; for, on my He arrived alone at the cabin,coming home from nurse, we had and, having taken his seat on the a leg of lamb for supper; and,

when grace was concluded, I cried out, with great vehemence, Hide the bones!-hide the bones!' This I learned from my foster-father; for it appeared that he, like most mountaineers, was in the habit of stealing the sheep that fed on the hills, and, to avoid detection, used to order his children, after every meal to hide the bones.' For many years this remained a standing jest at Rockglen; and I remember the time when I was silly enough to take umbrage whenever any one after dinner cried out Hide the bones!'

I shall not dwell any longer on the anecdotes of childhood, but pass, at once, to that period | which is yet vividly impressed upon my memory-my school-boy days; from which time I began to observe the manners and conduct of men, and to perform myself no contemptible part in the great drama of life; for, like players, we have our exits and our entrances.'

(To be continued.)

DR. DOYLE'S LETTERS.*

THE favourite topics with most of those who oblige the world with . their opinions of Irishmen are the apathy and want of laudable ambition evinced by our peasantry. Yet nothing more unjust; for, if they have one fault greater than another, it is their aspirations after unattainable rank and consequence. This failing, or ambition, is universal throughout the country; and those who doubt the fact have only to remove the obstacles which im pede the Catholics in their way to wealth and honours to be convinced of their error. At present there are only two avenues by which they can reasonably hope to emerge from obscurity-the church and counting-house; and, accordingly, we find these filled to redundancy with the sons of the peasantry. Sometimes, indeed, their ambition * Letters on the State of Ireland, addressed by J. K. L. to a Friend in EngCoyne, Dublin, 1825, 8vo.

Jand.

soars higher, and it is by no means uncommon to see a farmer's son, whose father did not till, perhaps, more than forty acres of land, at the very top of one of the liberal professions. The Irish bar, at the present moment, owes much of its celebrity to the sons of our peasantry, and some of the most eminent physicians sprung from this useful rank. To adduce an instance, I have only to mention the venerated name which heads this article. Dr. Doyle's father is, or at least was, a small farmer in the county of Wexford, and, like many of his neighbours, educated two (I believe) of his sons for the church, and three or four more for the liberal professions. Not having been near New Ross since 1798, I cannot speak positively as to the success of all these brothers; but I think I once heard that fortune awaited their individual endeavours. I hope that this was the case; for such laudable ambition deserved success. At all events, it must gratify the honest farmer, if he yet liveth, to see one of his sons, at least, foremost in his profession-not only a dignitary of the church, but a political character deservedly held in high esteem, and looked up to by millions for advice and directionhis opinions swaying the multitude, and the government publishing his opinions.

Dr. Doyle is a living instance of the omnipotence of genius over circumstances; for the incate greatness of his mind has surmounted all obstacles; and, although the son of a peasant, and bishop in a church devoid of power, yet his name and authority, in matters of religion and politics, stand conspicuous above the more favoured dignitaries of a legal es tablishment.

Dr. Doyle has published, within these few years, several useful pamphlets; but the present, I believe, is the only volume of consequence which he has given to the world. Neither the style nor man

ner of this work are likely to please an Englishman; and, indeed, many of his opinions on questions of political science will admit of very serious objections. I, for one, am at issue with the Doctor on many points; and I am sorry he did not leave politics entirely to me. Tithe is my peculiar province, and no man knows better how to regulate the discipline of the church. As my individual opinions, however, on Irish affairs, will be completely developed in my Letters to Irish Landlords.' I will not stop here to contend with the Doctor, but pass on to the theological part of this volume, which shows the author to be a scholar,a divine,and a philosopher. To discuss religious subjects, however, is no part of my duty; and I shall, therefore, content myself with abridging, from the Doctor's Third Letter, a de. scription of religion in Ireland :

6

only religious, like other nations, but enThe Irish are, morally speaking, not tirely devoted to religion. The geogra phical position of the country, its soil and climate, as well as the state of society, have a strong influence in forming the na tural temperament of the people; they are more sanguine than the English, less mercurial than the French-they seem to be compounded of both these nations, and

more suited than either to seek after and indulge in spiritual affections. When it pleased God to have an Island of Saints upon the earth, he prepared Ireland from afar for this high destiny. Her attachment to the faith once delivered to her was produced by many concurrent causes, as far as natural means are employed by Providence to produce effects of a higher kind. The difference of language, the pride of a nation, the injustice and crimes of those who would introduce amongst us a second creed, are assigned as the causes of our adhesion to that which we first received. These causes have had their influence; but there was another and a stronger power labouring in Ireland for the faith of the Gospel; there was the natural disposition of the people suited to a religion which satisfied the mind and gratified the affections, whilst it turned them away from one whose origin, as it appeared to us, was tainted, and which stripped worship of substance and solemnity. Hence the aboriginal Irish are all Catholics, for the few of them who have departed from the faith of their fathers only appear " rari nantes in gurgite vasto." To these are joined, especially within the ancient pale, great num

bers who have descended from the first settlers, and who in process of time have become more Irish than the Irish themselves; every year also adds considerably to their numbers, not only, as we suppose, through the influence of divine grace, but also by that attractive power which abides in the multitude: so that were it not for the emoluments and pride attached to Protestantism, and the artificial modes resorted to for recruiting its strength, there would not remain in three provinces of Ireland, amongst the middling and lower classes, more than a mere remnant of the modern faith.

The religious feelings of this people are quite intense: having suffered so much for the faith, they consider it the most precious portion of their inheritance, and would willingly undergo new centuries of trials and privations to preserve it. They set so high a value on it, as to consider not only that the just man lives by it, but they sometimes even substitute it for justice itself. It is not unusual to see individuals of them return occasionally to the savage habits generated in them by the penal laws, or to hear them glory in the profession of their religion, whilst they dishonour it by the most criminal excesses.

There is also reason to suppose that they dislike the religion which is allied to the persecution they have undergone, in proportion as they are attached to that which sustained them under its pressure; and, until every vestige of injustice towards their own creed is worn away, their aversion to that which the law sanctions is likely to continue.

The ministers of this religion, however, are in general well stored with classical and scholastic knowledge; less refined, perhaps, than persons who are unacquainted with their vocations might desire, but not deficient, certainly, in those qualifications which the parochial clergy of a young nation (for such Ireland may be deemed) should possess. They are energetic, active, laborious, shrewd, and intelligent; they are the most moral class of persons not only in this country, but, I think, existing on the earth: they are exact, or rather they are filled with zeal, in the discharge of their duties; their office, their connexions, their necessary habits of intercourse, mix them up and identify them with the people; they are acquainted with, and take an interest in, the domestic concerns of almost every family; they possess the full and entire confidence of their flocks; they are always employed; there is nothing dull or quiescent about them. Such are the ministers of the Catholic religion in Ireland-a class of men who either direct the general feelings of the people, or who run with the current in whatsoever direction it may set.

From these observations you may easily infer that the state of religion amongst the

Catholics is rapidly improving, that their piety is becoming enlightened, and that good works are gradually ingrafting on their faith. The vexations, the insults, the injuries, to which their religious profession has been exposed, or is still subjected, the extreme poverty under which they labour, the party spirit which, like a fiend, continues to agitate the whole frame of our society, may retard or impede the progress of religion amongst them; but, if these evils should be lessened or removed, I can unhesitatingly assure you, that, in the department of piety and all the sublimer virtues, there will be a regular and marked increase throughout the Catholic people of Ireland.

Of the state of religion amongst the Presbyterians I know but little, and I regret that I have not had more opportuni ties of making myself acquainted with the principles and practice of that respectable people, as well as with the character of their clergy. From the inquiries I have made, I am inclined to think favourably of them; for though I am told that in Belfast, like in Geneva, there is a great latitude of belief allowed, still in moral and social virtue the Presbyterian has by no means degenerated. Their number, I believe, is stationary, making a due allowance for the increase of population. The Methodists, with the several sub-denominations of dissenters, might be said, in a certain sense, to be falling into disrepute the cry of Church in Danger," which has been incessantly rung through the country for the last two or three years; the several attacks made from the high places, and by the profane, upon the wealth and indolence of the parsons; the charges of their prelates, the example of the other religionists, particularly of the Catholic clergy, has not only awakened the dormant energies of the establishment, but it has brought back from the conventicle many a strayed sheep. This should be, to every person who wishes well to society, a subject of congratulation, as it is painful and humiliating to see our fellowcreatures so bewildered as to exchange any regular form of Christian worship, however imperfect, for the ravings of their own fancy, or the wild and fantastical canting

of some self-sanctified enthusiast.

The Church in Ireland has always partaken more of a political than a religious establishment; she was planted here by force, in a soil no way congenial to her; but that force which planted her threw over her the shield of its protection. It gave to her an immense share of the spoils of the country; it preserved her possessions, that in them, as in some happy valley, the children of the state might be fed and educated. All the retainers of the great paid obeisance to her, and she was always looked on, not as the spouse of the Redeemer, but as the hand-maid of the ascendency.

'You may easily suppose that in a church so occupied religion does not flourish; but you are not to form a hasty opinion on this matter. Religion is as much an affection of the heart as a sentiment of the mindit is, therefore, nearly allied to passion; and fear, and hope, and emulation, especially if allied to enthusiasm, produce effects similar to those produced by the purest piety or most disinterested zeal. Great numbers of Methodists and fanatics have crept into the church: these propagate their own enthusiasm. The fear of losing their accustomed influence, of seeing their own riches exposed, and their possessions new modelled-this fear, joined with the hope of resisting the spirit of justice and of inquiry which is abroad, have aroused the selfishness, if not the zeal, of others; and a pride, inherent in every corporate body, animates the entire of the clergy to free themselves from the reproach of indolence, and even to increase, if it were possible, the number of their followers.

It is not unusual to find the old Protestant, who for years has been as regular an attendant at church as the sexton, and in some cases the sexton himself, when he has closed his accounts with this world, and has no more to expect from the parson, to send for the priest, in order to settle with him the affairs of that other world to which he is about to depart: it has passed into a proverb with a certain class amongst us, that, for a man to be happy in this world and the next, he should live a Protestant and die a Catholic.

In a diocese with which I happen to be well acquainted, the conversions to the Catholic faith are, at an average, about two throughout the kingdom they may amount hundred in each year; and I suppose to about five thousand annually. Some of these are secret ; many of them occur during the last illness of the persons changing; but, however they happen, they are numerous, considering how small the sum-total of Protestantism is; and, when joined to the numbers who emigrate, when neither loaves nor fishes can be had at home, account for the gradual diminution

of the Established Church.'

ROCK'S POTHEEN-A SONG,
By Brien O'Flaherty, the hereditary Bard
of the Rock Family.
BEGONE, ye dark obtruding cares,
And ne'er again come near me—
My soul for every ill prepares,

Whilst I've potheen to cheer me!
Oh! potheen,

The nice potheen,

The mellow, mild, and rich, potheen! The chosen toast

Round Erin's coast,

The pink of spirits, Rock's potheen!

Unfathomed by the exciseman's rule,

Our native shines in bottles green; And where's the drink so mild and cool As barley-juice-our smoked potheen? Oh! potheen, &c.

Let Britons boast their ale and beer,

For whiskey, gragh! they've never seen, Or else another tune we'd hear

In praise of Rock glen's prime potheen.
Oh! potheen, &c.

Let stupid sots, while tippling wine,

The virtues of the grape make known; But those who wit and worth combine Must pledge themselves in Innishowen. Oh! potheen, &c.

ROCK'S CHARACTER OF
O'CONNELL.

WERE I to select an Irishman to exhibit before a British assembly I would choose Daniel O'Connell. Cool, manly, and unaffected, he is sure to please sober, honest, and well-meaning men, as the English people really are. He has just modesty enough to conceal his vanity, and eloquence enough to make himself understood, without creating suspicion in his auditors that he is only an advocate. His person, too, is of the Bull breed, full, active, and perfect; while the corporeal sympathy thus excited is strengthened by his round good. humoured countenance, occasion. ally lighted up with an innate intelligence, which gives the great leader' the appearance of an inspired ploughman; for, when not under the influence of excitation,

there is nothing in his face indica. tive of the talent he really possesses.

as

O'Connell was formed for Irishmen, and Irishmen for O'Connell: the attributes of each contribute to the fame of both; for what would O'Connell be if not cheered by Irishmen? and what would Irishmen now be if not aroused by O'Connell? The counsellor knows every avenue to Paddy's heart, and has at his fingers' ends all the national clap-traps which are sure to awaken applause, though the subject should otherwise be barren as a Green-Street brief in a case of petty larceny. Is he to blame for making use of these adscititious means of inspiring patriotism? Certainly not: Demosthenes, and Cicero, and Henry, did so before him; and what the Greek, the Roman, and the American did with effect, why not O'Connell do again? But the great secret of his powerful in. fluence arises neither from his tact, his eloquence, nor his religion; it proceeds directly from the sympathy he feels in common with the great body of the people. He is one of themselves, a Catholic, a helot, an Irishman; he endures the same wrongs, burns with the same passions, and glows with the same patriotism; but he can give shape, and substance, and utterance, to his feelings; and, as these are the feelings of millions, his countrymen throng around one who so forcibly expresses what they would wish to say themselves, were not equal power of speech denied them.

O'Connell is not altogether a first-rate orator; and let him despise the fulsome praise of Cobbett, who would persuade him that he is superior to Sheridan. He is a great man, though not decidedly a great orator; and he must be content to take his station next to that galaxy of Irishmen, Burke, Grattan, Curran, &c. a portion of whose splendour is stolen to light up the temple of British eloquence. His talents are of that happy me

dium which circumscribes utility; for, were they more or less, he would be useless. The multitude would, then, either despise or not understand him; but now his genius is a light that guides without leading astray. Men of tran scendent talents have astonished, but not benefitted, mankind; and I am persuaded that those orators who opposed despotic powers were men such as O'Connell is-men of the people-capable of instructing without being misunderstood. Compare the fame of Demosthenes with any of his speeches, and what a discrepancy appears! Why Phillips's character of Washington is a mile before any thing of the Athenian; and yet what is the fame of Phillips to the fame of Demosthenes? A child's paper boat to a British seventy-four!

O'Connell has been accused of ambition, just as if honest ambition was not laudable; for who has ever deserved well of mankind without desiring and receiving praise? He is, it is true, liable to err; but where is the public man whose life is more free from reprehensible conduct than Daniel O'Connell ?

Again, it has been objected to O'Connell that he is vain; and why not? What kind of insensible mortal would he be if the confidence, cheers, and blessings of seven millions of people would not make him vain? The leader of lords, knights, and esquires-the organ of an oppressed and ill-used population-has a right to be vain ; and, if he were not, I should spurn him as a heartless wretch, who had not enough of common honesty to set a proper value on attributes that should make a virtuous man proud. Ambition and vanity, like wealth and power, are absolutely necessary to utility; and he that has neither is like a ship devoid of rudder and sails; for, though otherwise capable, when wanting these she is incapacitated from reaching or making for any definite port. O'Connell, I admit,

is partly an egotist; but this, though a private fault, is a public good; for the man who does not labour to conceal his business or his purposes is incapable of misusing the confidence of others, at least in a public cause; for the very act would deprive him of his beloved topic-self. But O'Connell is mortal, and therefore we must judge him as we judge other men; and, since Demosthenes has not been condemned for seeming pleased with the observation of the poor Athenian woman, who pointed him out as the great orator, why censure O'Connell, because the high and low, the rich and poor, crowd to get a glimpse at the great leader? Lord Liverpool himself had the curiosity to get a peep at the Catholic orator.

I have once more heard and seen him myself, and that, too, in a foreign land. Like a thousand others, I attended at the Freemasons' Tavern on the day of the Catholic meeting; and, as Dan arose, the honesty of his counte. nance, and the delicious richness of his brogue, quite unmanned me. They brought with them a train of associations that could not be resisted; and, as I thought of my country my home-my misfortunes-and myself, I gave way to my

tender sensibilities, and a flood of tears coursed one another down my wrinkled face. Gentle reader, pardon this softness in an old man; for, had you been an exile from Rockglen, the rugged home of my ancestors, and a stranger in London, listening to Daniel O'Connell's touching allusions to your country, you, too, would have wept by the hour, and blessed the tongue that so eloquently praised and vindicated poor ould Ireland.' His style and manner on that day were the same as usual-bold, confident, and unaffected-no harshness in his tones-no theatrical exertions-no foreign allusions or laboured similes;all was natural, familiar, and dignified. Had i never heard or seen him before, I

I

fee-house; but, instead of entering that resort of bibliopoles and par. sons, he must cross the Row, walk up the opposite lane, and at No. 11, on the right-hand side, he will find -an invitation to dinner.

should have no hesitation in pronouncing him a fit person to become a leader in a popular cause; for he appeared to have surmounted the influence of ordinary excita tion; while the homely, yet correct, language in which his thoughts The Plagues of Ireland' is a flowed, left him accessible to the disgrace to the Dublin press-I poorest understanding, without mean in a mechanical point of offending the most chaste and clas-view-being very inferior to a Lonsic ear. Of many parts of his speech don two-penny publication; but I disapprove; but, considered as the vivida vis animi, which is an orator, England would have evinced in every page, gives the some difficulty in finding his pa- poem an intrinsic value, from which rallel, notwithstanding the sneers its contemptible vehicle cannot deof my granny of the Times,' who tract. Murray or Colburn could would put him on a level with the not have the face to offer less than corn-roasting Hunt, and the poor five guineas a line for such poetry apothecary Jones. The leading as the following:Journal' of Europe reminds me of those cabin-curs in Ireland, who run out after travellers, showing their teeth, but afraid to bite; for during these last three months past I am in pain for the editor, who seems to labour under control that he evidently disapproves.

Rock.

THE PLAGUES OF IRELAND.*

THE only venomous thing that can live in Ireland is a satirist; and, since he employs his sting in wounding the Plagues,' I am not sorry that he escaped the curse of St. Patrick. Mr. Furlong has grappled with all the evils that really affect Ireland, from the Chief Governor down to Captain Rock, both of whom he insinuates to be very suspicious persons. The charge, however, as Tommy Moore would say, is, like the sword of Harmodius, covered with flowers; for, though it cuts keenly, it compliments while it wounds. Marquis Wellesley has, I should suppose, since placed him on the list of those who are to be provided with places; and I feel so much his debtor, that, should he visit the 'modern Babylon' any time during the next six months, let him inquire for St. Paul's, an useless big, black, building-then for the Chapter Cof

The

*The Plagues of Ireland, an Epistle, by Thomas Furlong. Dublin, 1825.

Name not the "Gang," let no harsh truths be told

Of those whom senates in mute awe behold;

a sound,

Breathe not a fault! perchance, ere drops [thee round; Their air-drawn hosts may rise and bem Their mustered myriads may be poured along, [thy tongue; And by some thrust, or hedge-shot, stop Bludgeons or bottles may adorn each hand, And blazes, blows, and bluster, scare the land:[lodgers run, Great is their power! think how the Though none had e'er began at number [gaze again Great is their power! nay turn, and On the black brethren of Cathedral Lane; On the lean race, who snatch a scanty pay, From hammering nails, and Popery, through the day; [the loom, On those who stitch, and those who mount Round Mitre Alley, or along the Coombe; On those half shod, half shirted, and half fed, [head:

one;

Who steal at night to deck the Dutchman's Great is their wealth! say can their stock be small, [Donegal ? When twelve and six-pence came from Great is their learning! though some letters tell [can spell : That even their great grand masters scaree Great is their zeal! their piety! and great That cant which links their cause with church and state :

Think of the cry that lately filled the land, When the foiled law drew back its baffled [spread,

hand:

Think of the panic that through Britain

Think of the mists that swam round Can