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a less interesting speculation than either when they had risen to the full possession of power. Sir Jonah's first knowledge of the late Marquis of Londonderry and the Duke of Wellington is not a delineation of those qualities which afterwards raised them to fame, but it is curious, as a view of them both under a very early aspect of their history:-"My personal acquaintance with the Duke of Wellington originated accidentally, soon after I commenced public life. In 1793, when I was in high repute, most prosperous at the bar, living in the first ranks of society, a favourite at Court, and designated as a candidate for the first offices of my profession, I occasionally gave large splendid dinners, according to the habit adopted in those times by persons circumstanced as myself. At one of those parties, Lord Buckinghamshire, Sir John Parnell, Lord de Blaquiere, Lords Landaff, Ditton, Yelverton, the Speaker, &c., in all upwards of twenty noblemen and commoners, did me the honour of partaking my fare, to assist in preparing which, Lord Clonmell sent me his two grand cooks. A most cheerful party was predicted. The House had sat late, and etiquette never permitted us to go to dinner (where the Speaker was a guest) until his arrival, unless he had specially desired us to do so.

"The Speaker did not join us till nine o'clock, when Sir John Parnell brought with him, and introduced to me, Captain Wellesley and Mr Stewart, two young members, who having remained in the House, he had insisted on their coming with him to my dinner; where he told them good cheer and a hearty welcome would be found, and in this he was not mistaken. Captain Arthur Wellesley had, in 1790, been returned to Parliament for Trim, county Meath, a borough under the patronage of his brother, the Earl of Mornington. He was then ruddy-faced, and juvenile in appearance, and rather popular among the young men of his age and station. He occasionally spoke in Parliament, but evinced no promise of that unparalleled celebrity and splendour which he has since reached, and to which intrepidity and decision, good luck and great military science, have justly contri

buted to elevate him. Mr Stewart (Lord Castlereagh) was the son of a country gentleman, generally accounted a very clever man, in the north of Ireland. He had been a professed and not very moderate patriot; and at one time carried his ideas of opposition exceedingly far; becoming a leading member of the Reform and Liberal Societies. He began his career in the House by a motion for a Committee to enquire into the Representation of the People, with the ulterior object of a Reform in Parliament. He made a good speech, and had a majority in the House, which he certainly did not expect, and I am sure did not wish for. He was unequal and unwilling to press the point to further trial. The matter cooled in a few days, and after the next division was deserted entirely. Mr Stewart, however, after that speech, was considered as a very clever young man, and in all points well taught and tutored by his father, whose marriage with the Marquis of Camden's sister was the remote cause of all his future successes:-How sadly terminated!

"At the period to which I allude, I feel confident that nobody could have predicted, that one of those young gentlemen would become the most celebrated General of his era, and the other the Minister of England. However, it is observable, that to the personal intimacy of those two individuals they owed their elevation. Sir Arthur Wellesley never would have had the chief command in Spain, but for the ministerial aid of Lord Castlereagh; as Lord Castlereagh could never have stood his ground as a Minister, but for Lord Wellington's successes. At my house the evening passed amid that glow of well-bred, witty, and cordial conviviality, which was then peculiar to high society in Ireland.

"Many years subsequently to this dinner party, after Sir Arthur had returned from India, I one day met Lord Castlereagh in the Strand, and a gentleman with him. His Lordship stopped me, at which I was rather surprised, as we had not met for some time. He spoke very kindly, smiled, and asked if I had forgotten my old friend? It was Sir Arthur Wellesley whom I now dis

covered to be his companion; but looking so sallow and wan, and with every mark of what is called a wornout man, that I was truly concerned at his appearance. But he soon recovered his health and looks, and went, as the Duke of Richmond's secretary, to Ireland; where he was in all material traits still Sir Arthur Wellesley. But it was Sir Arthur improved. He had not forgotten his friends, nor did he forget himself. He told me he had accepted the office of Secretary only on the terms that it should not interfere with his military pursuits. He was soon sent as second in command with Lord Cathcart to Copenhagen. On Sir Arthur's return he recommenced his duty of Secretary, and during his residence in this capacity, I never heard a complaint against any part of his conduct as either a private or a public man. A few days before his departure for Spain, I requested him and Lord Manners to spend a day with me. The company was not large, but some of his military friends were of the party, Sir Charles Asgill, the present General Meyrick, &c. &c. I never saw him more cheerful or happy. The bombardment of Copenhagen being by chance started as a topic, I did not join in its praise; but, on the other hand, muttered that I never did nor should approve of it. What, Barrington?" said Sir Arthur, 'what do you mean to say?' 'I say,' replied I, that it was the very best devised, the very best executed, and the most just and necessary robbery and murder now on record.' He laughed, and we soon adjourned to the drawing-rooms, where Lady Barrington had a ball and supper, as a finish for the departing hero.

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"In 1815, having been shut up in Paris during the siege, I went out to Neuilly, to pay a visit to the Duke before our troops got into the city. I had not seen him since the day above mentioned, and he had intermediately much changed in his appearance, though seeming just as friendly. I had now known his Grace when Captain Wellesley,-Sir Arthur Wellesley,-Secretary Wellesley, and Duke of Wellington. In the first stage of this career I was, as a public man, more than his equal; in the last nobody is so much as his

equal. However, it is a fine reflection for the contemporaries of great people, that it will be all the same a hundred years hence.'"

Among the surprising things of Ireland nothing is more surprising than the total literary unproductiveness of her priesthood. That about two thousand men, unencumbered by any of the cares of domestic life, possessing abundant leisure, and enjoying incomes in some instances large, and in all adequate, should not have produced, even within the last fifty years of public stimulants of all kinds, a single readable volume, scarcely a single line, on any subject whatever, is among the unaccountable things which must be left to the panegyrist of Popery to praise. The polemics of Dr Doyle, under his mask of J. K. L., are certainly in print, and have been read, and are, so far, an exception. But while their sole merit is that of ignorant assertion, and their sole interest that which may be derived from contrasting the meek jesuitry of the acknowledged pamphlet with the insolent menace of the anonymous one, Dr Doyle forms no kind of exception to the general law of oblivion impressed on the whole intellectual produce of the Popish priesthood of Ireland. Yet individually there must be some of intelligence among so many; and some of the native humour is still to be found in their stories. O'Leary the Friar is still on record in Ireland as the leading humourist of his tribe; and his occasional intercourse with the higher ranks gave him opportunities of expanding at once his experience and his fame. One of his best stories was the "Bear of Boulogne."

Coming from St Omer, he stopped at Boulogne sur Mer to visit a brother priest. There he heard of a great curiosity which all the people were running to see-a curious bear which some fishermen had taken at sea off a wreck. It exhibited some strange degree of understanding, and evidently uttered articulate sounds, which the French, who find a name for every thing, called patois marin, but which they acknowledged that nobody could understand. O'Leary gave his six sous to see the wonder, which was shown at the port by candlelight, and was a very odd kind of

animal, no doubt. The bear had been taught a hundred tricks, all performed at the word of command. It was late in the evening when O'Leary saw him, and the bear seemed sulky; the keeper, however, with a short spike at the end of a pole, made him move about pretty briskly. He marked on sand what o'clock it was with his paw; distinguished between his male and female spectators, and, in short, greatly diverted the priest. The bear at length grew tired; the keeper hit him with his pole; he stirred a little, but continued quite sullen; his master coaxed him-no, he would not work. At length the brute of a keeper gave him two or three sharp hits with the goad, when he roared out tremendously, and rising on his hind legs, cursed his tormentor in very good Irish. O'Leary went immediately to the mayor, whom he informed that the fishermen had sewed upa poor Irishman in a bear's skin, and were shewing him for six sous. The civic dignitary, who had himself seen the bear, and probably felt the honour of his perspicacity involved, would not believe the statement. At last O'Leary prevailed on him to accompany him to the room. On their arrival the bear was still on duty, and O'Leary stepping up to him, asked in Irish "How he did?" The brute answered," Pretty well, I thank you." The Frenchmen were astonished to hear how plainly he spoke, but the mayor ordered him to be ripped up; and after some opposition, and a good deal of difficulty, Pat stepped forth, stark naked! out of the bearskin wherein he had been for fourteen or fifteen days most cleverly stitched. The women, of course, had taken to flight in the first instance; the men stood astonished; and the mayor ordered the keepers to be put in jail, unless they satisfied the bear; which was presently done. The bear afterwards told O'Leary that he was very well fed, and did not care much about the clothing, only that they worked him too hard. The fishermen had found him at sea upon a hencoop, which had saved him from going to the bottom with a ship in which he had a little venture of dry codfish from Dungarvan, and was bound from Waterford to Bilboa. He could not speak a word of any language but Irish, and had never

been at sea before. The fishermen had brought him in, fed him well, and repaid themselves by shewing him as a curiosity.

The Irish have an exuberance of poetry in those matters which are serious enough with the dealings of any other nation, politics, property, and religion. But they seldom, at least while they remain within the four corners of the land, think of writing. However, the Battle of Waterloo, which overthrew so many heroes, kindled one into the sublime.

"An Irish major, in 1815, printed and published in Paris, a full and true hexameter account of the great Battle of Waterloo, with his own portrait in the front, and the Duke of Wellington's in the rear; a work entitled to exceed, in ingenuity, all the works of the poets and poetasters of the generation. The printed list of subscribers, comprehended the names of every emperor, king, prince, general, minister, nobleman, &c., Russian, Prussian, Austrian, Don Cossack, &c., in existence. And, as he thought, very truly, that a book so garnished, must be worth vastly more than any other poem of the same dimensions, he stated that a few copies might still be had at two guineas each.' He succeeded admirably, and got more money at Paris than any of the army did at Waterloo. His introduction of the Duke in battle, was well worth the money. He described his Grace as Mars on horseback, charging fiercely over every thing in his headlong course

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friends and foes having no chance of remaining perpendicular, if they stood in his way; his horse's hoofs striking fire, even out of the regi mental buttons of the bodies which he galloped over; while swords, muskets, bayonets, helmets, spears, and cuirasses, pounded down by his trampling steed, formed, as it were, a high-road, on which his Grace seemed to fly, in his endeavours to catch Bonaparte. Yet the Major's idea of making the Duke of Wellington Mars, was a much better one than that of making him Achilles, as the ladies have done at Hyde Park Corner. Paris found out the weak point of Achilles, and finished him. But Mars is immortal, and though Diomed knocked him down, neither

his carcase nor his character is a jot the worse.

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odour. Every thing bespoke a most joyous banquet. But, meanwhile, where was the great object of the feast? The fifth hour had long elapsed, and impatience became visible in every countenance. The first half-hour surprised the company, the next quarter astonished, the last alarmed. The clock, by six solemn notes, now set the whole party surmising. Day had departed

The Irish recollections of Curran, are innumerable; yet the following "recollection" has had but little of its fame. A Mr Thomas, a Protestant clergyman, whose sobriquet in his own neighbourhood was Long Thomas"-he being nearly six feet and a half high-invited Curran and Barrington to spend a day, and sleep at his house, on their return from the assizes of Carlow. "We," says Sir Jonah, "accepted the invitation with pleasure, as he was an old college companion of mine, and a joyous good-natured hospitable divine as any in the county. The Rev. Jack Read, with several other good-humoured neighbours, was invited to meet us, and be treated with the wit and pleasantry of the celebrated Curran, who was extremely fond of this class of society. We all arrived in due time. Dinner was appointed for five precisely, as Curran always stipulated (whenever he could make so free) for the punctuality of the dinner-bell to a single minute. The very best cheer was provided by our host. At the proper time, the dishes lay basking before the fire, in readiness to receive their several provisions, all smoking for the counsellor, &c. The clock had that very noon been regulated by the sun-dial. Its hammer melodiously sounded five, and announced the happy signal for the banquet. All the guests assembled in the dining-room. Each having now decided on his chair, and turned down his plate, according to a fashion of rustic days gone by, in order to be as near as possible to Counsellor Curran, proceeded, in the moment's pause, to whet his knife against the edge of his neighbour's, to give it a due keenness for the most tempting side of the luscious sirloin, which, by anticipation, smoked upon its pewter dish. Veal, mutton, turkey, ham, duck, and partridge, all piping hot, were ready to leap into their respective dishes, and take a warm bath each in its proper gravy. The cork-screw was busily employed-place till morning early.' the decanters ornamented the four corners of the well-dressed table; and the punch, jugged, and bubbling hot upon the hearthstone, perfumed the whole room with its aromatic

twilight was rapidly following its example, yet no tidings of Curran ! Punctuality at dinner was a portion of his very nature. There are not more days in a leap year than were different conjectures broached as to the cause of my friend's non-appearance. The people about the house were now sent out on the different roads to reconnoitre. He had been seen, certainly, in the neighbourhood at four o'clock, but never after! Every now and then a messenger returned, with the tidings, that an old man had seen a counsellor, as he verily believed, walking very quick, on the road to Carlow.' Another reported, that a woman driving home her cow, had met one of the counsellors going leisurely towards Athy, and looking very melancholy. Another woman, more explicit, who was bringing home turf from the bog, declared, before the Virgin and all saints, that she saw a little man in black, with a stick in his hand, going towards the (river) Barrow.' Another, who went further yet, avowed, that as she was sitting at her own cabin door, feeding the childern, she positively saw a black gentleman going down to the river, and soon afterwards heard a great splash of water, whereupon she went, hot foot, to her son, Ned Coyle, to send him to see if the gentleman was in the water, but that Ned said, sure enough nothing natural would be going at that time of dusk to the place where poor Armstrong's corpse lay the night he was murthered. And he'd see all the gentlemen of the county to the d-1 (Heavens bless them) before he'd go to that same

"The faithful clock now announced seven, and the matter became too serious for jesting; there could be no doubt,' that Curran had met his catastrophe. I was greatly shocked;

our only conjectures now being, not whether, but how, he had lost his life. As he was known every day to wash himself all over with a sponge and water, I conjectured, as most probable, that, in lieu of his usual ablution, he had gone to the Barrow to bathe before dinner, and had thus unfortunately perished. All agreed in my hypothesis, and hooks and a draw-net were sent for immediately to Carlow to scour the river for his body. Nobody, whatever might be their feelings, said a word about dinner. The beef, mutton, and veal, as if in grief, had either dissolved into broth, or dropped piecemeal from the spit; the poultry fell from their strings, the cook had forgotten her calling, and gone off to make enquiries; the stable-boy had left his horses; indeed all the domestics, with one accord, had dispersed with lanterns to search for Counsellor Curran in the Barrow! The Irish cry was let loose, the neighbourhood soon collected, and the good-natured parson, our host, literally wept like an infant. I never saw so much confusion at any dinner-table. Such of the gentlemen as were by nature gifted with keen appetites, suffered all the tortures of hunger, of which, nevertheless, they could not in humanity complain. But a stomachic sympathy was very perceptible in their lamentations for the untimely fate of the great orator.

"It was at length suggested by our reverend host, that his great Newfoundland dog, who was equally sagacious (if not more so) with most of his parishioners, was not unlikely, by diving in the river, to discover where the body lay, and thus direct the efforts of the nets and hookers from Carlow. This idea met with universal approbation, and everybody took up his hat to go down to the river. Mary, a young damsel, the only domestic who remained in the house, was ordered to call 'Diver.' But Diver did not obey the summons. Everywhere resounded 'Diver, Diver,' in vain. New and multifarious conjectures now crossed the general mind; it was clear that Curran and Diver had absconded together. A gentleman in company now suggested, that a friend of his having been drowned while bathing, his dog never left his clothes on the bank, till

he had been found nearly dying of hunger. The conjecture, however, founded on this was but momentary. I knew that Curran both feared and hated big dogs; besides there had been no previous acquaintance between the parties. As one of the grounds of his hatred, he had once told me with infinite humour an adventure of his with a mastiff. When a boy, he had heard somebody say, that any person, by throwing the skirts of his coat over his head, stooping low, and creeping along backward, might put the fiercest dog to flight. He accordingly resolved to make the attempt with a miller's dog who would never let the boys rob his orchard; but soon found, to his sorrow, that he had a dog to deal with, who did not care which end of a boy went foremost, if he could get a good bite out of it. I pursued the instructions,' said Curran, and as I had no eyes but in front, fancied that the mastiff was in full retreat. I was confoundedly mistaken, for at the very moment I thought myself victorious, the enemy attacked me in the rear, and having got a reasonable mouthful out of it, was fully prepared to take another, before I was rescued. Actually, for a time I thought that the beast had devoured my whole centre of gravity; and that I should never go on a perpendicular again.'

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Mary was now sent on a general search of the rooms for the Newfoundland dog, while we sat pensive and starving in the parlour. We were speedily alarmed by a loud shriek, immediately after which, Mary rushed tottering into the room, just able to articulate Holy Virgin! The Counsellor is dead, sure enough, and I'll die too, gentlemen. I'll never recover it.' Upon which she crossed herself full twenty times. We now all flocked round, and simultaneously asked, how she knew that the Counsellor was dead. Crossing herself again, I saw his ghost, please your reverence,' said Mary to her master, and a frightful ghost it was, just out of the river, straight forenent me!' 'Where, where?' exclaimed everybody, as if with one breath. In the double-bedded room, next his reverence's,' stammered the terrified girl. We waited for no more to satisfy us either that she

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