cal weathercock-inconstant as the breeze that blows; and, when he lately undertook the cause of Ireland, they knew it was not from the love he bore the Catholics, but from a desire to profit, by procuring a sale for his works among a people who were unacquainted with the history of his life. We have no personal enmity towards Cobbett; but, in justice to an abused people, we thought it right to state this much, in the hope that members of the New Association will refrain from disgusting the English mind by praising a man who can do no good to their cause; and who is at best only an advocate for them, because all other parties have discarded him. With his attack on Mr. O'Connell we have nothing to do we leave that gentleman to defend himself-for we pretend not to be of any man's party; but are the advocates of the rights of Irishmen, on the broad principle of political justice. ARCHBISHOP MAGEE-BLANCO WHITE'S EVIDENCE AGAINST THE CATHOLICS Rory O'Rourke, Esq. to the Editor. HERE I am, my dear Editor, as Taylor and Hessey's Magazine* would say, in the metropolis of all Ireland, a description of which I need not send you, as you know it yourself even better than I do. Yesterday morning I received your letter, reproaching me for not having furnished the promised article last month, and requesting one for your August number. Curse the fellow,' said I; does he think I am made for nothing but to write?' But then, recollecting how attractive any thing of mine must be, I did seriously determine to send you a page or two. Daniel O'Connell-a good subject, but too hackneyed. Richard Sheilnot time to do him justice. Catholic affairs-that is the province of the Editor himself. None of these pleased me; and, after finishing the cup of tea, rubbing my forehead, and pacing up and down the room, I sat down to comment on the reception given to Kean and Miss Foote by a Dublin audience. Pshaw! said I, flinging down the pen, who would condemn England, because Lord Deerhurst and that natural Hayne patronise bull-baiting and Cannon? and surely these are as good a representation of John Bull's taste as a playhouse mob is of Paddy's morality. After all, perhaps coquettes and would-bereligious people are the most fastidious. Despairing now of being able to send you any thing, I sallied into the street, when, luckily, whom should I meet but Archbishop Magee. The presence of the pompous prelate reminded me of his evidence before the Parliamentary Committee; and now, thinking that I had hit upon a good subject, I hurried to the Dublin Library. As usual, O'Connell had his knot of admirers around him; and, amongst others, the celebrated Barney Coyle; but, as it was yet early, the group soon dispersed, each person in pursuit of his own immediate business. Silence being thus restored, I turned over the papers on the state of Ireland, and commenced very seriously to read Dr. Magee's evidence. When I had got to the middle of the page I was obliged to recommence, for I could not possibly understand it. Again and again this occurred; and, after making a trial in almost every page, I threw the Report down in despair, for understand it I could not. I wish to God the British Parliament would act like Ollam Fodhla in the Great Fes, or Irish House of Commons, and • By-the-by, what has happened to the 'London?' Alas! your Magazine has given it a death blow, for die it will, like other consumptive things, at the fall of the leaf, since it has got into poor Hunt's hands. I suppose we shall have now a few dissertations on the natural beauties of Hampstead; and, bad as they must be, yet they will, perhaps, be more readable than the sad stuff it recently contained. employ a certain number of Fileas, to turn their proceedings into verse. We should then, at least, have rhyme where there is no reason. Archbishop Magee's evidence stands in great need of such a process; for, at present, it is quite as unreadable as his stupid volumes on the Atonement. I can, therefore, say nothing about his opinions on the Thirty-nine Articles,' Maynooth College,' or Arianism.' Mr. Phelan's evidence is not worth a thought. Quitting the Reading-Room I went to the Library, and took up Blanco White's evidence against the Catholics. This gentleman writes for the New Monthly Magazine,' and is the author of Doblado's Letters from Spain.' He is the son of an expatriated Irishman, and was himself educated for the Catholic Church. Growing up, however, one of those weeds, which, as Swift says, the Pope throws over the wall when he's cleaning his garden,' he came to England, where the Established Church ever expands her arms to receive the discarded ecclesiastics of Rome. Mr. Blanco White is undoubtedly a clever man, and knows very well what way the cat jumps. He can see as far as another into a mill-stone, and of course is an enemy, under present circumstances, to the emancipation of the Irish Catholics. Perhaps he may be sincere: I doubt Several new works lay scattered around me. Coventry proves to a demonstration, that Lord George Sackville was the author of Junius's Letters; and Pepy's Memoirs' is a good gossipping picture of the age in which the author lived. It is, however, more useful than entertaining, for a great portion of the book is very dry reading. Stevenson's Twenty Years' Residence in South America,' is really a valuable work. The author is candid, impartial, and full of information. He gives us an accurate description of men, manners, and things in Peru and Chili; and is quite free from those vulgar prejudices which blind English travellers to the moral worth and happiness of other countries. Alas! lover as I am of liberty, I fear the inhabitants of these divisions of South America will benefit nothing by revolutions. Let well enough alone' is a good maxim, and surely these people were happy enough. The principal actors in the late revolutions, with the exception of O'Higgins,* and one or two others, were great scoundrels. Mr. Stevenson Don Bernardo O'Higgins, the supreme director of Chile, possesses a considerable share of real courage; is resolute in executing a determination, but tardy in forming it : diffident of his own abilities, he is willing to take advice from any one, but always inclined to consider the last as the best. Thus, without forming his plans on the judicious analysis of the counsels offered, by eschewing the good, and rejecting the evil, he has often been led into difficulties in his political administration. These waverings were highly injurious to the furtherance of Chilean prosperity, which was, no doubt, the idol of his soul; and this same want of determination often produced evils of no less moment in the military department. His love of his country was doubtless sincere, and perhaps his earnest desire to be always right, sometimes led him into errors; but in this case it is more just to judge of the motive, or the cause, than of the action, or the effect. The establishment of the senada cousulta was, in itself, a virtuous measure; but the expectation of finding five individuals who should see the good of the country, and the advancement of its true interests, through the same medium as himself, was one of the virtuous mistakes of O'Higgins, which placed him under the controul of his own creatures; and often retarded the execution of plans of vital importance to the state, and rendered their execution abortive or nugatory. The private character of O'Higgins was truly amiable. He was kind and condescending; apparently more at home at his evening tertulias, than when under the canopy of the Supreme Directorship. In the whole of his conduct it might be truly said, that "E'n his vices leaned to virtue's side." Being the son of an Irishman, Don Ambrose Higgins, who died in the high situation of Viceroy of Peru, he was passionately fond of the countrymen of his father, and I gives us a complete history of Lord Cochraine's proceedings in South America. Lingard's History of England' is a work deserving an encomium from your own pen. Another volume has been lately published, and furnishes additional proofs of the author's powers. A Catholic priest, after all, is the only man who has written a valuable history of England; for even the critic in the Edinburgh Review' is compelled to acknowledge Dr. Lingard's superiority over Hume. The exceptions taken by the reviewer amount to nothing, and it was singularly unjust of the scribe to charge the doctor with having made partial quotations in the instances mentioned. Three Irish novels have been lately published, but none of them calculated to do honor either to the country or their authors. Thomas Fitzgerald, Lord of Offaly,' is not a bad one for the Minerva press, but the Adventurers, or Scenes in Ireland in the Reign of Elizabeth,' is sad stuff indeed. The Eve of All-hallows' is by my friend Harstonge, of Molesworth Street, an honest fellow, but one who, I fear, will never acquire He much fame by writing novels. brings his heroine into the world at the time James II. mounted the throne, and in a page or two after tells us she was near a score years old when that monarch landed in Ireland! Mr. Harstonge being a member of the Royal Irish Academy is, I suppose, privileged to make such a bounce as this, without being called to account for it, particularly as the work is dedicated, by permission, to Sir Walter Scott. indeed, meet no less a personage than Sir Walter Scott, and his son-in-law, Lockhart, Mrs. Lockhart, and Miss Scott, and some other ladies. Sir Walter is just the same as when you and I saw him in London. His face is real Scotch, and indicates but little of the mind within. He is very lame, and dresses plainly. Lockhart has rather an intellectual countenance, and looks as if he could write some of the worst articles in Blackwood; a work, by-the-by, which some people think he edits. During dinner the conversation had nothing very particular in it. Harstonge had it nearly all to himself, and he talked incessantly of Irish antiquities, and of the Irish academy. When the cloth was removed, the ladies retired to the next room, and left us to our wine. We all laughed at this comparison. Ay, ay,' Sir Walter, 'returned our host, though Edinburgh may be called the modern Athens, we have some pure spirits still in Dublin. Our Curran's and Grattan's are not yet all dead. We can boast a Morgan, a Sheil, and others; while Dublin has given birth to the modern Anacreon -Thomas Moore.' And let us drink his health in a bumper,' said Sir Walter. This proposition was instantly complied with. 'Not long since,' said Sir Walter, in a feeling tone, you might have numbered poor Maturin among your resident literati; but he is gone to that bourne from whence no traveller returns. The mention of his name, however, reminds me of a particular friend of his, Mr. Furlong. He lives in Dublin, I believe?' Harstonge, you must know, is Sir Walter's friend, and is now employed in showing the Great Unknown' the ⚫lions of Dublin. As I was preparing to quit the library, he entered-recognized me at once, and, after a cordial shake of the hand, invited me to dinner. You will meet,' said he, significantly, somebody there?' I did, believe an Irishman was never deceived in his expectations of support and protection in O'Higgins. In short, the character which a Chilean gave to me, conveys a very accurate summary of his general outline. "There is too much wax, and too little steel in his composition; however, there are few better, and many worse men than Don Bernardo." if you don't make Irish literature popular also. Imitate the example of Scotland. A strong pull, a long pull, and a pull altogether, will soon bring you up the hill.' Saying this, he suited the action to the word, and joined in the laugh he excited. 'Dublin,' said Lockhart, 'is a much larger city than Edinburgh, and yet the Scotch capital supports two magazines, a quarterly review, and other periodicals, while all Ireland has but a single magazine.' Harstonge explained the reason; and I insisted that Blackwood's Magazine' was indebted to England and Ireland, for nine-tenths both of its readers and writers. Sir Walter smiled, and changed the conversation by observing, Nothing in our day is more remarkable than the improvement in periodicals. You shall now find in a monthly magazine articles, as well and as profoundly written, as in any of the quarterly reviews.' At this moment Sir Walter's son, who had been prevented from coming to dinner, entered, and the conversation took a very uninteresting turn. The above will, no doubt, remind you of the anecdote of Locke and the three noble wits. Great men talk somewhat like ordinary individuals; and if you find nothing remarkable in the foregoing conversation, the fault is not mine. I have reported it accurately. To-morrow I set out for Kilkenny, where you will direct to me. I stop some time at Ballyspellan, where I intend to drink the waters. By-the-by, have you seen Dr. Ryan's pamphlet, on the Mineral Waters of Ireland.' It is well written. The doctor seems to be a very clever fellow, and his treatise is well worth the perusal of those who labour under complaints, that drive them to Harrowgate and Cheltenham. The pamphlet is printed in Kilkenny, by Reynolds, and does infinite credit to the Irish press. Yours, RORY O'ROURKE. As Ireland has latterly attracted a degree of attention commensurate with her importance, it is necessary, in order that she may enjoy the full benefit of future laws, to have her real condition made known; for, when economists reason from false data, and draw inferences from erroneous statements, the public are deceived, the government misinformed, and legislative enactments prove either useless or mischievous. It is not for an individual so humble as I acknowledge myself to be to enter upon the vast field of Ireland's wrongs, to discuss abstract questions of a political nature, or set myself up as an oracle on national affairs. Aware of my incompetence for such an undertaking, I choose for myself a less ambitious task-that of describing the condition of the Irish peasantry. With them I have been acquainted for more than five-andtwenty years with them I have spent some of the happiest hours of my life-and with them, had I a choice, I should spend the remainder of my days. I have seen other climes and other men; I have made myself intimate with the condition of the people of other countries; and am thus enabled to appreciate more accurately the state of the Irish peasantry. Notwithstanding these undoubted advantages, perhaps some persons will be inclined to question the truth of my statements, particularly as they differ from those of others, and militate, in many instances, against the evidence given by most respectable individuals before the Parliamentary Committees on the State of Ireland. I have certainly no right to demand implicit belief in what I state; but, while I shall scrupulously adhere to truth, I shall adduce all the proofs in support of my evidence which the nature of the subject will allow. Many of those who had been summoned before the committees were persons who could possibly know but little of the peasantry; many of them confessed their ignorance on the subject; and many more were evidently influenced either by favourite theories, or less excusable prejudices. Lest I should commit the faults I deprecate, I shall state nothing but facts which have come within my own knowledge, and leave to others the task of assigning causes, and suggesting remedies where remedies are required. The first thing which strikes the traveller in Ireland is the apparent wretchedness of the habitations of the poorer classes. Unlike those of France, which are generally built of the same materials-mud and strawthey don't look well even in perspective.* There is too often a total absence of trees; and no great taste displayed either in choosing a situation, or in ornamenting it after it is chosen. Dunghills and pools of water surround them, instead of paddocks and gardens. There are seldom to be seen gravel walks, trimmed hedges, or flower borders, as in several parts of England; and, though the better sort of farmers display a superior taste, the face of the country-apart from its natural beautyis unsightly in the extreme. Hence the stranger who passes rapidly through it, and who takes his information from some ignorant and bigoted squire, returns home to confirm the popular opinion respecting Irish misery, the barbarism of the Mr. James Cobbett, in one of his Letters from France,' dated Vesoul, saysThe prettiest villages, in perspective, that I ever saw; but, in reality, the most insufferable masses of mire that can be conceived.' VOL. I.-No. 7. 2 r |