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secede from the General Committee, to disavow their acts, and even to publish in the papers that they did not wish to embarrass the Government by advancing their claim of emancipation. It is difficult to conceive such a degree of political degradation; but what will not the tyranny of an execrable system produce in timer Sixty-eight gentlemen, individually of high spirit, were found, who publicly and in a body deserted their party and their own just claims, and even sanctioned this pitiful desertion by the authority of their signatures. Such an effect had the operation of the penal laws upon the Catholics of Ireland—as proud a race as any in all Europe!

"The first attempts of the Catholic Committee failed totally. Endeavouring to accommodate all parties, they framed a petition so humble that it ventured to ask for nothing; and even this petition they could not find a single member of the legislature to present. Of so little consequence in 1790 were the great mass of the Irish people 1 Not disheartened, however, by the defeat, they went on, and in the interval between that and the approaching session, they were preparing measures for a second application. In order to add greater weight and consequence to their intended petition, they brought over to Ireland Richard Burke, only son to the celebrated Edmund, aod appointed him their agent to conduct their application to Parliament. This young man came over with considerable advantage, and especially with the iclat of his father's name, who the Catholics concluded, and very reasonably, would for his own sake, if not for theirs, assist his son with his advice and direction. But their expectations in the event proved abortive. Richard Burke, with a considerable portion of talent from nature, and cultivated, as may be well supposed, with the utmost care by his father, who idolized him, was utterly deficient in judgment, in temper, and especially in the art of managing parties. In three or four months' time, during which he remained in Ireland, he contrived to embroil himself, and to a certain extent the Committee, with all parties in parliament, the Opposition as well as the Government, and finally desiring to drive his employers into measures of which they disapproved, and thinking himself strong enough to go on without the assistance of the men who introduced him, aim, as long as their duly would permit, supported him, in which he miserably deceived himself, be ended his short and turbulent career by breaking with the General Committee. That body, however, treated him respectfully to the last; and on his departure they sent a deputation to thank him for bis exertions, and presented him with the sum of two thousand guineas.

"It was'much about this time that my connexion with the Catholic body commenced in the manner which 1 am about to relate. I cannot pretend to strict accuracy as to dales, for 1 write entirely from memory, all my papers being in America.

"Russell, on his arrival to join his regiment at Belfast, found the people so much to his taste, and in return had rendered himself so agreeable to them, -that he was speedily admitted iuto their confidence, and became a member uf several of their clubs. This was an unusual circumstance, as British officers, it may well be supposed, were no great favourites with the Republicans of Belfast. The Catholic question was at this period beginning to attract the public notice, and tin- Belfast Volunteers, on some public occasion (I know not precisely what) wished to come forward with a declaration in its favour. For this purpose, Russell, who was by this time in their confidence, wrote to me to draw up and transmit to him such a declaration as I thought proper, which 1 accordingly did. A meeting of the corps was held in consequence, but an opposition unexpectedly arising to that part of the declaration which alluded directly to the Catholic claims, that passage was, for the sake of unanimity, withdrawn for the present, and the declaration then passed unanimously. Russell wrote me an account of all this, and it immediately set me on thinking more seriously than I had yet done on the state of Ireland. I soon formed my theory, and on that theory 1 have uniformly acted ever since. To subvert the tyranny of our execrable government—to break the connexion with England, the never-failing source of all our political evils, and to assist the independence of my country—these were ray objects. To unite the whole people of Ireland, to abolish the memory of all past dissensions, and to substitute the common name of Irishmen in place of the denominations of Protestants, Dissenters, and Catholics—these were my means. To effectuate these great objects, I reviewed the three great sects. The Protestants I despaired of from the outset, for obvious reasons. Already in possession, by an unjust monopoly, of the whole power and patronage of the country, it was not to be supposed they would ever concur in measures, the certam tendency of which must be to lessen their influence as a party, how much soever the nation might gain. To the Catholics 1 thought it unnecessary to address myself, because that as no change could make their political situation worse, I-reckoned upon their support as a certainty. Besides, they had already begun to manifest a strong sense of their wrongs and oppressions ; and fmally I well knew, that however it might be disguised or suppressed, there existed in the breast of every Irish Catholic an inextirpable abhorrence of the English name and power. There remained only the Dissenters, whom I knew to be patriotic and enlightened. However, the events at Belfast had shewn me that all prejudice was not entirely removed from their minds. I sat down accordingly, and wrote a pamphlet addressed to the -Dissenters, and which I entitled " An Argument on behalf of the Catholics of Ireland;" the object of which was to convince them that they and the Catholics had but one common interest and one common enemy; that the slavery and depression of Ireland was produced and perpetuated by the divisions existing between them ; and that consequently to assert the independence of their country, and their own individual liberties, it was necessary to forget all former feuds, to consolidate the entire strength of the whole nation, and to form for the future but one people. These principles I supported by the best arguments which suggested themselves to me, and particularly by demonstrating that the cause of the failure of all former efforts, and more especially of the Volunteer Convention in 1783, was the unjust neglect of the claims of their Catholic brethren. This pamphlet, which appeared in Sep. tember 1791, under the signature of "A Northern Whig," had a considerable degree of success. The Catholics (with not one of whom I was at that time acquainted) were pleased with the efforts of a volunteer in their cause, and distributed it in all quarters. The people of Belfast, of whom 1 had spoken with the respect and admiration 1 sincerely felt for them, and to whom I was also perfectly unknown, printed a very large edition, which they dispersed through the whole north of Ireland; and I have the great satisfaction to believe that many of the Dissenters were converted by my arguments. It is like vanity to speak of my own performance so much, and the fact is, I believe I am somewhat vain on that topic; but as it was the immediate cause of my being made known to the Catholic body, I may perhaps be excused for dwelling on a circumstance, which I must ever look on for that reason as one of the most fortunate of my life. As my pamphlet spread more and more, my acquaintance among the Catholics extended accordmgly. My first friend in the body was John Keogh, and through him I became acquainted with all the leaders, as Richard M'Cormick, John Sweetman, Edward Byrne, &c. in short, the whole Sub-Committee, and most of the active members of the General Committee. It was a kind of fashion that winter 0791) .among the Catholics to give splendid dinners to their political friends in and out of parliament, and I was always a guest of course. 1 was invited to a grand dinner given to Richard Burke 011 his leaving Dublin, together with William Todd Jones, who had distinguished himself by a most excellent pamphlet in favour of the Catholic cause, as well as to several entertainments gi\en by clubs and associations. In short, 1 began to grow into something like reputation; and my company was in a manner a requisite at all the entertainments of that winter. But this was not all. The Volunteers of Belfast of the First, or Green Company, were pleased, in consequence of my pamphlet, to elect me an honorary member of their corps, a favour which they were very delicate in bestowmg, as I believe 1 was the only person, except the great Henry Flood, who was ever honoured by that mark of their approbation. I was also invited to spend a few days at Belfast in order to assist in framitigthe first club of United Irishmen, and to cultivate a personal acquaintance with the men, whom, though I highly esteemed them, I knew as yet but by reputation. In consequence, about the beginning of October, I went down with my friend Russell, who had by this time quitted the army and was in Dublin on his private affairs. The incidents of that journey, which was by far the most agreeable and interesting one I had ever made, 1 recorded in a kind of diary, a practice which I then commenced and have ever since from time to time continued, as circumstances of sufficient importance occurred. To that diary I refer. It is sufficient here to say that my reception was of the most flattering kind, and that 1 found the men of the most distinguished public virtue in the nation, the most estimable in all the domestic relations of life. 1 had the good fortune to render myself agreeable to them, and a friendship was then formed between us, which I think it will not be easy to shake.


"We formed our club, of which I wrote the declaration ; and certainly the formation of that club commenced a new epoch in the politics of Ireland. At length, after a stay of about three weeks, which I look back upon as perhaps the pleasantest of my life, Russell and 1 returned to Dublm with instructions to cultivate the leaders in the popular interest, being Protestants, and if possible to form in the capital a club of United Irishmen. Neither Russell nor myself were known to one of those leaders. However we soon contrived to get acquainted with James Napper Tandy, who was the principal of them, and through him with several others. So that in a little time we succeeded, and a club was accordingly formed, of which the Hon. Simon Butler was the first chairman and Tandy the first secretary."

Here our limits oblige us to break off for the present, and to reserve for a future number the concluding portion of these memoirs.


Tis a time of pride, when the bark is prancing,

Like an Arab steed, o'er the waste of waves,
When her path behind in light is glancing,

And the fire-white foam her boltspril laves:
Then, then is the time of proud emotion,—

And, if in the bosom a proud one sleep,
Twill awake to dance to the music of ocean,

And sweep with the winds o'er the weltering deep!

With my bark through her own blue path careering,

I never can envy the landsman's bliss;
No sun on the shore ever shone so cheering.

As it sparkles down on a world like this.
What music can make the heart so sprightly,

As the roll of the billows in the breeze?
What ball upon earth ever shone so brightly,

As the stirring dance of the sunlit seas?



One of the most unhappy persons whom it has been my fortune to encounter, is a pretty woman of thirty, or thereabout, healthy, wealthy, and of good repute, with a fine house, a fine family, and an excellent husband. A solitary calamity renders all these blessings of no avail:— the gentlewoman is touchy. This affliction has given a colour to her whole life. Her biography has a certain martial dignity, like the history of a nation; she dates from battle to battle, and passes her days in an interminable civil war.

The first person who, long before she could speak, had the misfortune to offend the young lady, was her nurse; then in quick succession four nursery maids, who were turned away, poor things! because Miss Anne could not abide them; then her brother Harry, by being born and diminishing her importance; then three governesses; then two writingmasters; then one music-mistress; then a whole school. On leaving school, affronts multiplied of course; and she has been in a constant miff with servants, tradespeople, relations and friends, ever since; so that although really pretty (at least she would be so if it were not for a standing frown and a certain watchful defying look in her eyes), decidedly clever and accomplished, and particularly charitable, as far as giving money goes, (your ill-tempered woman has often that redeeming grace,) she is known only by her one absorbing quality of touchiness, and is dreaded and hated accordingly by every one who has the honour of her acquaintance.

Paying her a visit is one of the most formidable things that can be imagined, one of the trials which in a small way demand the greatest resolution. It is so difficult to find what to say. You must make up your mind to the affair as you do when going into a shower-bath. Differing from her is obviously pulling the string; and agreeing with her too often or too pointedly is nearly as bad: she then suspects you of suspecting her infirmity, of which she has herself a glimmering consciousness, and treats you with a sharp touch of it accordingly. But what is there that she will not suspect? Admire the colours of a new carpet, and she thinks you are looking at some invisible hole; praise the pattern of a morning cap, and she accuses you of thinking it too gay. She has an ingenuity of perverseness which brings all subjects nearly to a level. The mention of her neighbours is evidently taboi, since it is at least twenty to one but she is in a state of affront with nine-tenths of them; her own family are also taboo for the same reason. Books are particularly unsafe. She stands vibrating on the pinnacle where two fears meet, ready to be suspected of blue-stockingism on the one hand, or of ignorance and frivolity on the other, just as the work you may chance to name happens to be recondite or popular; nay sometimes the same production shall excite both feelings. "Have you read Hajji Baba," said I to her one day last winter, "Hajji Baba the Persian ?"—" Really, Ma'am, I am no orientalist."—" Hajji Baba, the clever Persian tale i" continued I, determined not to be daunted. "I believe Miss R." rejoined she, "that you think 1 have nothing better to do than to read novels." And so site snip-snaps to the end of the visit. Even the Scotch novels, which she does own to reading, are no resource in her desperate case. There we are shipwrecked on the rocks of taste. A difference there is fatal. She takes to those delicious books as personal property, and spreads over them the pricklyshield of her protection in the same spirit with which she appropriates her husband and her children; is huffy if you prefer Guy Mannering to the Antiquary, and quite jealous if you presume to praise Jeanie Deans; thus cutting off his Majesty's lieges from the most approved topic of discussion amongst civilized people, a neutral ground as open and various as the weather, and far more delightful. But what did I say? The very weather is with her no prudent word. She pretends to skill in that science of guesses commonly called weather-wisdom, and a fog, or a shower, or a thunder-storm, or the blessed sun himself, may have been rash enough to contradict her bodements, and put her out of humour for the day.

Her own name has all her life long been a fertile source of misery to this unfortunate lady. Her maiden name was Smythe, Anne Smythe. Now Smythe, although perfectly genteel and unexceptionable to look at, a pattern appellation on paper, was in speaking, no way distinguished from the thousands of common Smiths who cumber the world. She never heard that "word of fear," especially when introduced to a new acquaintance, without looking as if she longed to spell it. Anne was bad enough; people had housemaids of that name, as if to make a confusion; and her grandmamma insisted on omitting the final e, in which important vowel was seated all it could boast of elegance or dignity; and once a brother of fifteen, the identical brother Harry, an Etonian, a pickle, one of that order of clever boys who seem born for the torment of their female relatives, foredoomed their sister's soul to cross, actually went so far as to call her Nanny! She did not box his ears, although how near her tingling fingers' ends approached to that consummation it is not my business to tell. Having suffered so much from the perplexity of her equivocal maiden name, she thought herself most lucky in pitching on the thoroughly well-looking and well-sounding appellation of Morley for the rest of her life. Mrs. Morley—nothing could be better. For once there was a word that did not affront her. The first alloy to this satisfaction was her perceiving on the bridal cards, Mr. and Mrs. B. Morley, and hearing that close to their future residence lived a rich bachelor uncle, till whose death that fearful diminution of her consequence, the Mrs. B., must be endured. Mrs. B.! The brow began to wrinkle—but it was the night before the wedding, the uncle had made some compensation for the crime of being born thirty years before his nephew in the shape of a superb set of emeralds, and by a fortunate mistake, she had taken it into her head that B. in the present case stood for Basil, so that the loss of dignity being compensated by an cncrease of elegance, she bore the shock pretty well. It was not till the next morning during the ceremony, that the full extent of her misery burst upon her, and she found that B. stood not for Basil, but for Benjamin. Then the veil fell off; then the full horror of her situation, the affront of being a Mrs. Benjamin, stared her full in the face; and certainly but for the accident of her being struck dumb by indignation, she never would have married a man so ignobly christened. Her fate has been even worse than then

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