reviewers reviewed.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.

SIR,-Having contracted some years back, an itch for scribbling, I contemporaneously acquired an extraordinary reverence for these sage censors of the literary world, the Reviewers; and have endeavoured to guard, in the progress of my intellectual labours, with the most cautious vigilance, against every thing which could argue illiteracy, carelessness, or want of due research. The history of Man, in his social character, and the influence which religion and morals possess in promoting his temporal happiness in that character, have been the chief topics of the books published with my name; on his higher duties I have only ventured to speak anonymously.

After viewing men and manners in other countries, I have lately become patriotic, and made a book on Ireland, intended chiefly to guard my young countrymen of this and the sister island, against various mistakes into which writers, both ancient and modern, were calculated to lead them; such, as on the one hand, that all the old Milesians were as royal as the Welch, and as learned as the Athenians; and on the other, that the Irish were equipped with wings and tails, and consequently more genuine wild beasts than either the Tartars, the Arabs, or the American Indians. Before I commenced my labours on this subject, I perused many authors, both Irish and Anti-Irish; and I confess, that, in my simplicity, I thought them both wrong in thus extravagantly raising or depreciating the character of my countrymen; and to this I was led, perhaps ignorantly, to attribute much of the bad blood which has too long existed between this and the neighbouring country, who like an ill-matched yet capricious pair, have for centuries been unhappy together, yet loath to part.

When I first pondered the subject, I certainly had many qualms and apprehensions; and first, my natural wish of passing peaceably through life, suggested the thought that by entering on this unbeaten path, I was about to expose myself to the cross-fire both of the Irish and the Anti-Irish; and that by presuming to praise either party when it ought to be praised, or blame it when it ought to be blamed, I should make both parties my enemies;for however human nature loves to sip the cup of Circé, the mixture of the smallest drop of censure instantly dissolves the enchantment. "But," I replied, "he who was once called the Great Unknown, has already trodden the same path in his Juvenile History of Scotland, where he had English and Anti-English Protestants and Catholics, Covenanters and Anti-Covenanters,' Burghers and Anti-Burghers, Jacobites and Williamites, to deal with, and he has followed the same impartial course that I intend to pursue, yet he numbers the sale of his book, not by hundreds or thousands, but by tens of thousands. "Ah," retorted a sage monitor, "the subjects of his book and yours are widely different.

monu

He had no necessity to indulge his cool-headed countrymen with tales of their ancient glory, eked out of the scanty remains of old chronicles, rendered still more scanty when divested of the rubbish of fable with which they are enveloped. He had to treat of the wars between England and Scotland, as the contests of rival princes, accompanied by all the gorgeous array of powerful armies, who often met in deadly fight, and have left to posterity, the battles of Bannockburn, Dupplin, and Flodden, as ments of their mutual hatred. He has the exploits of a Wallace, a Bruce, and a Montrose, with a host of other patriots, to enrich his pages; besides the adventures of kings and queens, princes and princesses, knights and squires, and stories of tilts and tournaments, and Highland feuds, without end." "But, my good friend," I answered, "though, since the English got a footing in this country some six or seven hundred years ago, either through their own unlawful cupidity, the treachery of the king of Leinster, the benevolent wishes of the pope for our present and eternal welfare, or through all these put together, our old Milesian kings have been compelled to live in a kind of diminished glory, among their vassals; yet for four hundred years after the invasion, the O'Neills, the O'Briens, and O'Connors, contrived to keep up the warlike spirit of the Irish in their respective provinces; while the English heroes, the Geraldines, and Butlers, the Bourkes and the Berminghams, with numerous names of inferior note, of the same race, largely indulged a similar love of fighting, to the great benefit of the country, and to furnish food for history. Nor are we altogether without royal stories,-for in about seven centuries, no less than six of our imperial masters condescended to visit us-the last only for the love he bore us. First, we have the story of King Henry II., who landed at Waterford in all the pomp of war, to fulfil the pope's benevolent wish of evangelizing the country; but he found the clergy and the chiefs so pliable, that having no occasion to shoot an arrow in anger, he contented himself with astonishing the Irish by a display of his gold plate and good cheer at his pavilion erected on Hoggin-green in our metropolis; and then he left his new and old subjects at sixes and sevens, while he went to take care of his wars in France. After him came the youthful viceroy prince John, and the pomp and insolence of his courtiers furnish an excellent subject for a story. About one hundred and fifty years after, the puissant Richard II. arrived to crush for ever the turbulent spirit of the Irish, and like a certain king of France,

"He, with thirty thousand men,

Marched up the hill, and then marched down again."

But though king Richard was foiled by that wily rebel Art Mac Murchard, yet we have a good story in the manner in which he entertained the Irish kings in Dublin, and the method he took of civilizing them. I cannot, however, find another royal story during the whole of the subsequent three centuries; but at

the end of that long period, we had two kings together in Ireland, James and William, and their exploits will furnish me with stories sufficient nearly to fill a volume. Yet, after all, though I have few royal anecdotes with which to entertain my young readers, and though my military details may not afford them much instruction in the art of war, I will venture to assert, that our country can boast of a greater variety of chief governors than any other nation in Europe; not less than 572 changes, (according to Ware,) having taken place in the office of lord deputy, lord justice, or lord lieutenant, in less than six hundred years. I shall therefore have abundance at least, of viceregal stories :-and of religious controversies, party feuds and battles, and sieges, great and small, bards and minstrels, &c. &c., I warrant you there will be no lack. I will therefore even go on;-if my materials be coarse, I shall gain the more honor if I manufacture a merchantable article; and though I possess not the vanity to expect that I shall sail alongside the Great Unknown, yet I will endeavour to steer my little bark as closely as possible, in his wake."

You already know, Mr. Editor, that I have given the first volume of this important work to the public, which I have entitled, "True Stories from the History of Ireland." But no sooner did it leave the press, than the fear of the Reviewers started up in all its majesty and terror, before my eyes. Had I written on any other subject, I might have supposed that the insignificance of the book or its author, would have allowed it, without praise or censure, to make way by its own merits, or sink into oblivion. But the now all-engrossing word "Ireland," appearing on the title page, forbade my long indulging the hope of obscurity; and I confess that since the publication of my volume, my zest for Reviewreading has returned in all its force, and my kind bookseller has indulged this my propensity by furnishing me with a sight of all the periodicals. You may be sure that in opening their pages I have first bent an anxious eye to see if any notice had been taken of my "Irish Stories," and until this day I have met nothing in the numerous critiques on my little book, to occasion much depression of spirits. It is true that some, having higher game in view, passed it by unceremoniously enough as a harmless thing, but which might probably prove useful. Ŏthers have cheered it and wished it success; while others again have bestowed on it a shot or two, but have made amends for this slight mark of their displeasure at particular passages by giving the author credit for good intentions and judicious management. But this morning the repose into which I was fast sinking on this subject was suddenly disturbed, when the Monthly Review was put into my hands, from which I learned that I had roused the indignation of the learned Theban, its editor, by having presumed to call my Irish Stories true! If not true, by every rule of logic, they must be false. I shall therefore, with your liberty, examine the grounds on which he founds this serious charge.

Fortunately for my honest fame as an Author, my candid Reviewer confines his animadversions to that part of my Irish History,

which I acknowledge (page 6,) to be so full of fable, that I assert nothing positively concerning it. I have stated, because Irish writers have stated it before me, that Fergus the Great conquered Scotland. As this is said to have occurred in my fabulous period, let their authority go for as much as it is worth. But my Reviewer, on the other hand, states, that " he (Fergus) merely effected the settlement of a small colony in the Mull of Cantire, and the adjacent mountains of Argyllshire." Now he has produced as little authority for his assertion as I have for mine, and if we could, perhaps we should be obliged to resort to the expedient of Knickerbocker's sapient governor, Walter the Doubter, and decide the controversy by the comparative bulk and weight of the books. I therefore put it to the honor of my antagonist, that this at least should be a drawn battle.

Next comes a weighty accusation-"He has most culpably omitted the account given by Boëtius, of the banner of Fergus,— a thing which could not have failed to interest his young readers, as the origin of the lion in the royal arms of England." Here follows the quotation from the renowned Hector Boëtius, in old broad Scotch, which to make amends for the neglect of my Reviewer, I shall translate to the best of my ability, for such of your readers as are not learned in that language. "Against them" (the Picts) says Hector," went Fergus with ancient arms displayed in form of a banner; in which was a red lion rampant, in a field of gold, with thunder and stars dingand (I confess my ignorance of the meaning of this word;) his back like the noble lion when aroused to anger." Now, while I plead guilty to the charge of having omitted this true story, I must deny that the omission has been culpable, because Hector Boëtius having written a History of Scotland, and not of Ireland, I did not think it necessary to consult him, more especially as Campion and Hanmer, and many other old Chroniclers, voraciously credulous as they were, rejected his stories as fabulous, while the editors of the Biographia Britannica, pronounce his history to be full of legendary tales and perverted facts! So much for the authority of the renowned Hector Boëtius, with which my Reviewer so fiercely menaced my house of cards.

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Another of the charges of fable, or perversion of fact brought against me is, that I have said (p. 15.) "St. Patrick was taken prisoner by some Irish pirates." Nay," replies the sage critic, "these same pirates were none other than (according to Jocelyn,) the troops of Niall of the Nine Hostages." Now the character of Jocelyn, the biographer of St. Patrick stands pretty much on the same ground with that of Boëtius as an historian; therefore, his authority is equally dubious. But admitting (causa argumenti) that he is correct on this point; do they not deserve the name of pirates who, though commanded by a king, could drag an innocent youth from his parents, and consign him to slavery? Did our slave-dealers on the coast of Africa, even when authorised by the laws of England, deserve any other name?

My Reviewer is more cautious in his next charge, “Our Au

thor," he says, "further gives us to understand, that St. Patrick's mission to Ireland was a thing of his own contrivance, whereas it is certain that he acted under the orders of his superiors, as appears from what we find recorded in the Annals of Ulster." Now before I bow to this authority 1 request my Reviewer to inform me who the author of these Annals was. If by a deduction from these premises he would infer that Ireland was brought by the mission of St. Patrick into a dependence on Rome, the contrary opinion is maintained by Doctor O'Halloran, the respectable authority which he quotes elsewhere, who asserts, that "for more than five centuries after the death of St. Patrick, we scarce trace any vestige of a correspondence between Rome and Ireland, and that archbishops and bishops were appointed without consulting Rome." I am also charged with not having seen any of the sixty-six lives of St. Patrick extant in the ninth century. Will my kind censor inform me how many of them are extant now, and to which of them he would direct me when I next undertake a life of our patron saint? Lastly, I am accused of being fanciful, in supposing that Ireland was called the Island of Saints from the ardour of her people in building churches and colleges. I appeal to you, Sir, is this half so fanciful as that it originated in the mistake of a foreign author translating the name Erin, &c. into Sacra or Sancta.

I thank my kind friend of the Monthly that he does not think me more faulty (notwithstanding all my faults) than some of my neighbours and as fas est ab hoste doceri, perhaps I may insert his true story from Boëtius in my next edition. I shall now bid him adieu till the appearance of my Second Series, when I fear he will have occasion to break another lance with

A TRUE STORY TELLER.

Dublin, April 7th. 1829.

CHRONICLES OF A CURACY.-No. III.

(Continued from page 122.)

BUT as the blessed Saviour had forwarned, and as all past experience has proved, that he that would tear himself from the evil example of the many, and live godly in this present world, must suffer persecution-must take up a cross-so it was with Denis. He became soon the talk of the place, it was soon carried from cabin to cabin that Denis Flaherty and the Protestant curate were often seen together. It was also remarked, that his conduct was altered; and one particularly portentous circumstance was observed, he was detected reading a book, and that book was suspected to be a Testament. Now, all over Ireland it is the priest's bounden interest—it is as much as his craft is worth to have a sharp look out after those who are suspected of a lapse into Protestantism: latterly, as the danger has become