flowers, grew into branches, and ripened into fruit-till nothing was wanted for its full condemnation! And, oh! still more terrible, still more distracting, when the Judge speaks, and consigns it to the jailers, till it shall pay the endless debt which lies against it! Impossible, I a lost soul! I separated from hope and from peace for ever! It is not I of whom the Judge so spake! There is a mistake somewhere; Christ, Saviour, hold Thy hand --one minute to explain it! My name is Demas: I am but Demas, not Judas, or Nicolas, or Alexander, or Philetus, or Diotrephes. What? eternal pain! for me! Impossible, it shall not be.' And the poor soul struggles and wrestles in the grasp of the mighty demon which has hold of it, and whose every touch is torment. atrocious! it shrieks in agony, and in anger too, as if the very keenness of the infliction were a proof of its injustice. A second! and a third! I can bear no more! Stop, horrible fiend, give over; I am a man, and not such as thou! I am not food for thee, or sport for thee! I never was in hell as thou, I have not on me the smell of fire, nor the taint of the charnel-house! I know what human feelings are; I have been taught religion; I have had a conscience; I have a cultivated mind; I am well versed in science and art; I have been refined by literature; I have had an eye for the beauties of nature; I am a philosopher, or a poet, or a shrewd observer of men, or a hero, or a statesman, or an orator, or a man of wit and humour. Nay-I am a Catholic; I am not an unregenerate Protestant; I have received the grace of the Redeemer; I have attended the Sacraments for years; I have been a Catholic from a child; I am a son of the Martyrs; I died in communion with the Church: nothing, nothing which I have ever been, which I have ever seen, bears any resemblance to thee, and to the flame and stench which exhale from thee; so I defy thee, and abjure thee, O enemy of man!" Alas! poor soul;-and whilst it thus fights with that destiny which it has brought upon itself, and those companions whom it has chosen, the man's name perhaps is solemnly chanted forth, and his memory decently cherished among his friends on earth. His readiness in speech, his fertility in thought, his sagacity, or his wisdom, are not forgotten. Men talk of him from time to time; they appeal to his authority; they quote his words; perhaps they even raise a monument to his name, or write his history. So comprehensive a mind! Such a power of throwing light on a perplexed subject, and bringing conflicting ideas or facts into harmony!' 'Such a speech it was that he made on such and such an occasion; I happened to be present, and never shall forget it!' or, 'It was the saying of a very sensible man; or, A great personage, whom some of us knew; or, 'It was a rule with a very worthy and excellent friend of mine, now no more;' or, 'Never was his equal in society, so just in his remarks, so lively, so versatile, so unobtrusive; or, 'I was fortunate to see him once when I was a boy;' or, 'So great a benefactor to his country and to his kind;' 'His discoveries so great;' or, 'His philosophy so profound.' O vanity! vanity of vanities, all is vanity! What profiteth it? What profiteth it? His soul is in hell, O ye children of men; while thus ye speak, his soul is in the beginning of those torments in which his body will soon have part, and which will never die. (From Discourses to Mixed Congregations.) From 'The Dream of Gerontius.' I went to sleep; and now I am refresh'd, A strange refreshment: for I feel in me An inexpressive lightness, and a sense Of freedom, as I were at length myself, And ne'er had been before. How still it is! I hear no more the busy beat of time, I had a dream; yes :-some one softly said, I seem to hear him still; but thin and low, Ah! whence is this? What is this severance? And the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet, I now begin to feed upon myself, Am I alive or dead? I am not dead, A sort of confidence, which clings to me, So much I know, not knowing how I know, Wrought out in lengthening measurements of space, By endless subdivision, hurrying back Another marvel: some one has me fast And hark! I hear a singing; yet in sooth Angel. My work is done, My task is o'er, And so I come, For the crown is won, For evermore. My Father gave In charge to me This child of earth To serve and save, And saved is he. This child of clay To me was given, To rear and train By sorrow and pain In the narrow way, Alleluia. From earth to heaven. There is a uniform edition of Cardinal Newman's works in thirtysix volumes (1868-81); the Letters and Correspondence of his earlier public life were edited by Miss Mozley in 1891. There are several lives of him, or books on him, including those by Richard Holt Hutton (1890), E. A. Abbott (critical, or even hostile; 1892), and Waller and Burrow (1902); besides a study of Newman as a prose writer, by L. E. Gates, of Harvard (1899), a study of Newman as a musician (1892), &c. In W. S. Lilly's Characteristics (1874) of Newman will be found a large and classified series of extracts from Newman's works. And see reminiscences of Newman in the various works by Dean Church, A. W. Ward, and the Mozleys. Francis William Newman (1805–97), brother of the cardinal, was a Londoner born, and was educated at Ealing and at Worcester College, Oxford. In 1826 he obtained a double first and a Balliol fellowship, which he resigned; and he withdrew from the university in 1830, declining subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles. After a three years' stay in the East, he became classical tutor in Bristol College in 1834, in 1840 professor in Manchester New College (Unitarian), and in 1846-63 Professor of Latin in University College, London. He took a very keen interest in religious controversy, but with a tendency so diametrically opposed to that of his more famous brother that the elder one conceived it his duty to withdraw from intimacy with the younger, whose ideal faith was one which should include whatever is best in all the historical religions. He wrote in 1847 A History of the Hebrew Monarchy. His first notable book, The Soul (1849), sought to justify the aspirations of the human heart towards the divine, and has been called 'pietistic.' His most famous work, Phases of Faith (1850), is a curious counterpart to his brother's Apologia, being also an autobiographical account of religious development. But in his progress Francis was steadily drawn away from historical Christianity towards a theism which did not insist on immortality. The Phases led to much controversy, and produced Henry Rogers's Eclipse of Faith, with a reply and counter-reply. Theism appeared in 1858, and was followed by four volumes of Miscellanies (1869-90). Other works were a dictionary and handbook of modern Arabic, two mathematical volumes (1888–89), and a small book on his brother (1891); and he was responsible for over fifty books, treatises, or pamphlets in all. He was a keen vegetarian, total abstainer, and anti-tobacconist; and was as vehement against vaccination as against vivisection. Thomas Guthrie (1803–73) came from Brechin to study in Edinburgh for the ministry; and after filling a cure in his native county he rose finally to a charge in Edinburgh, where his eloquence and his labours to reclaim the degraded population won for him a high repute. In 1843 he helped to found the Free Church, and till 1864 attracted to his church of Free St John's crowded audiences, which comprised all the strangers who came to Edinburgh; for many years he was by far the most eloquent preacher in Scotland. Besides commentaries, sermons, and devotional works, he published a memorable book on social problems, The City: its Sins and Sorrows; and he was the first editor of The Sunday Magazine, from 1864. In 1845-46 he raised in eleven months £116,000 for providing Free Church manses; in 1847 he published his first (of three) Plea for Ragged Schools. A man of imposing presence, magnificent voice, and most genial and winning character, Dr Guthrie also used his singular gifts of oratory, of humour and pathos, in the cause of temperance and of compulsory education. His Autobiography was edited by his sons (1874-75). The Beginnings of Ragged Schools. My first interest in the cause of Ragged Schools was awakened by a picture which I saw in Anstruther, on the shores of the Firth of Forth. It represented a cobbler's room; he was there himself, spectacles on nose, an old shoe between his knees; that massive forehead and firm mouth indicating great determination of character; and from beneath his shaggy eyebrows benevolence gleamed out on a group of poor children, some sitting, some standing, but all busy at their lessons around him. Interested by this scene, we turned from his picture to the inscription below; and with growing wonder read how this man, by name John Pounds, by trade a cobbler in Ports mouth, had taken pity on the ragged children, whom ministers and magistrates, ladies and gentlemen, were leaving to run wild, and go to ruin on their streets; how, like a good shepherd, he had gone forth to gather in these outcasts; how he had trained them up in virtue and knowledge; and how, looking for no fame, no recompense from man, he, single-handed, while earning his daily bread by the sweat of his face, had, ere he died, rescued from ruin and saved to society no fewer than five hundred children. I confess that I felt humbled. I felt ashamed of myself. I well remember saying to my companion, in the enthusiasm of the moment-and in my calmer and cooler hours I have seen no reason for unsaying it-‘That man is an honour to humanity. He has deserved the tallest monument ever raised on British shores!' Nor was John Pounds only a benevolent man. He was a genius in his way; at any rate he was ingenious; and if he could not catch a poor boy in any other way, like Paul he would win him by guile. He was sometimes seen hunting down a ragged urchin on the quays of Portsmouth, and compelling him to come to school, not by the power of a policeman, but a potato! He knew the love of an Irishman for a potato, and might be seen running alongside an unwilling boy with one held under his nose, with a temper as hot and a coat as ragged as his own. Strolling one day with a friend among the romantic scenery of the crags and green valleys around Arthur's Seat, we came at length to St Anthony's Well, and sat down on the great black stone beside it to have a talk with the ragged boys who pursue their calling there. Their 'tinnies' [tin dishes] were ready with a draught of the clear cold water in hope of a halfpenny. . . . We began to question them about schools. As to the boys themselves, one was fatherless, the son of a poor widow; the father of the other was alive, but a man of low habits and bad character. Both were poorly clothed. The one had never been at school; the other had sometimes attended a Sabbath-school. Encouraged by the success of Sheriff Watson, who had the honour to lead the enterprise, the idea of a Ragged School was then floating in my brain; and so, with reference to the scheme, and by way of experiment, I said: "Would you go to school if-besides your learning--you were to get breakfast, dinner, and supper there?' It would have done any man's heart good to have seen the flash of joy that broke from the eyes of one of them, the flush of pleasure on his cheek, as-hearing of three sure meals a day— the boy leaped to his feet and exclaimed: 'Ay, will I, sir, and bring the hail land [the whole tenement or flat] too;' and then, as if afraid I might withdraw what seemed to him so large and munificent an offer, he exclaimed: 'I'll come for but my dinner, sir!' William Crowe (1745-1829), son of a Berkshire carpenter who worked at Winchester, became a chorister in the college chapel, was elected a poor scholar of Winchester College, and passing to New College at Oxford, became Fellow and tutor. From 1784 he was rector of Alton Barnes in Wiltshire, and from 1787 public orator of the university. His smooth blank verse Lewesdon Hill, which helped to inspire Coleridge, was printed anonymously in 1788, and, much amplified, was reprinted with other poems in 1804 and 1827. Crowe, who was almost a Republican in politics, published several sermons, Latin orations, a treatise on versification, and an edition of Collins's poems. His verses were praised by Wordsworth, Rogers, and Moore, as well as by Coleridge. Nassau William Senior (1790-1864), political economist and 'prince of interviewers,' was born at Compton Beauchamp, Berks, the son of a Wiltshire vicar, and great-grandson of Aaron Señor, a naturalised Spanish Jew, Nassau Thomas being the name of Aaron's son. From Eton he passed to Magdalen College, Oxford, where in 1812 he took a distinguished first-class in classics. In 1819 he was called to the Bar; in 1825-30, and again in 1847-62, was Professor of Political Economy at Oxford; in 1832 was appointed a Poor-law Commissioner; and in 1836-53 was a Master in Chancery. From the first he was eminently hospitable, sociable, and popular, and amongst his friends and intimates were Whately, Sydney Smith, Cornewall Lewis, De Tocqueville, and Cavour. He had an eager desire to reform the English poor-law; and as he was the author of the report on which the new law of 1834 was founded, he had a principal share in that epochmaking revolution in social economy. He travelled much, and wrote much for the Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews and other leading periodicals, his reviews of the Waverley Novels attracting much notice, and his article in the Edinburgh on Vanity Fair doing much to bring Thackeray's work into notice. Senior takes the most conspicuous place amongst English economists between Ricardo and J. S. Mill; following Ricardo in the main, he is much more readable and less abstract and absolute. He wrote on population, on wages, on money, and a complete treatise on Political Economy; his score of published works includes Biographical Sketches (1863); Essays on Fiction (1864); Historical and Philosophical Essays (1865); Journals, Conversations, and Essays relating to Ireland (1868); Journals kept in France (1871); Conversations with Thiers, Guizot, and other Distinguished Persons during the Second Empire (1878-80); and Conversations in Egypt and Malta (1882). It was in Paris during the movement of 1848 that he began to keep that full journal in which he recorded, in a manner as yet unprecedented, the substance of his conversations with famous and influential men. He had keen insight, a happy dialectic or maieutic faculty, an admirable (but discriminating) memory, and a precise but facile pen. True it is that he had not a perfect dramatic gift the speeches of his friends bear the hall-mark of his own mind and style; it is not so much for dramatic point and brilliancy as for political knowledge that the conversations are valuable. He could distinguish between private confidences and matters discreetly to be put on record, and so lost no friends and retained ready access to unlimited stores of information. He frequently had the conversations revised by the interlocutors; and though he was a Whig and of decided opinions, his mind was judicial and his representations have been accepted as eminently fair. Bagehot, a good judge, regarded the Correspondence and Conversations with De Tocqueville (1871) as one of the most charming books of that generation. Senior's journals were mostly published after his death by his daughter, Mrs Simpson, who in 1898 issued Many Memories of Many People. See Grant Duff in Nineteenth Century, August 1878. Samuel Warren (1807-77), born in Denbighshire, studied medicine at Edinburgh and law at the Inner Temple, was called to the Bar and made a Q.C. (1851); he was Recorder of Hull 1854-74, Conservative member for Midhurst 1856-59, and ultimately a Master in Lunacy. In Edinburgh he had got to know Kit North, De Quincey, and the Blackwood set, and his first literary work, Passages from the Diary of a Late Physician, appeared in Blackwood's Magazine in 1832-37; published separately as a book, the Diary was often reprinted, translated, and pirated, spite of the fact that the pathos is mawkish and the stories many of them not a little melodramatic. Ten Thousand a Year also appeared in Blackwood (from 1839). Tittlebat Titmouse' and some of the other characters were manifestly caricatures of recognisable persons; the whole was found highly entertaining, a good many defects were overlooked, and the public were almost as enthusiastic about the story as the author himself, who was glad to believe he had cut out Dickens and most of his contemporaries. The story certainly has had the success of being translated into various tongues and often reprinted. Now and Then, a third story, had only a transient success, though it ran through several editions. After the Great Exhibition of 1851 Warren published a slight work, The Lily and the Bee, which, calling itself an apologue of the Crystal Palace,' was generally voted almost inconceivably puerile. He also edited Blackstone's Commentaries; wrote some respectable law-books and some pamphlets on political, social, and religious questions; and reprinted in two volumes a number of reviews from Blackwood as Miscellanies (1854). Thomas Wade (1805-75), born at Woodbridge in Suffolk, published his first volume of poems, Tasso and the Sisters, in 1825, in which already the influence of Shelley was visible; but is best known by his Mundi et Cordis Carmina (1835), frequently also cited as Songs of the Universe and of the Heart. One tragedy, Duke Andrea, was acted with success in 1828; another, The Jew of Arragon, was howled down in 1830 as being too friendly to the Jews; The Phrenologists (1830), his one farce, was well received. Of two other dramas one is lost, the other remains in manuscript. Subsequently Wade published a number of verse pamphlets, Death and Love, Helena, &c.; a poem based on a story from a French translation of Mickiewicz, and a translation of Dante's Inferno in Dante's own stanza; and a series of sonnets. Mr Buxton Forman tried to revive interest in Wade, and printed selections of his poetry in Miles's Poets of the Century (1891-96); see also Literary Anecdotes of the Nineteenth Century, by Dr W. R. Nicoll and Mr T. J. Wise (1895-96). William Drennan (1754-1820), the Tyrtæus of the United Irish movement at the end of the eighteenth century, and the reputed author of the familiar expression 'the Emerald Isle,' was the son of a Presbyterian minister of Belfast, where he was born. Drennan was educated at Glasgow University, and graduated there in 1771. Subsequently he studied medicine at Edinburgh, where he became the pupil and friend of Dugald Stewart. Settling in the north of Ireland as a physician, Drennan was early drawn into the Irish Volunteer movement. In 1789 he moved to Dublin, where he became connected with T. A. Emmet, Wolfe Tone, and others, and in 1791 wrote the first statement of the objects of the United Irish Society, of which he was one of the founders. In the next few years Drennan produced a succession of lyrics which, from their appropriateness to the state of feeling largely prevailing in Ireland at the time, became widely popular. Of these the poems, 'To the Memory of William Orr' and 'When Erin first rose from the dark swelling flood'-in which the phrase 'the Emerald Isle' first occurs-achieved the widest measure of popularity. In 1807 Drennan, who by this time had retired from politics, returned to Belfast, where he founded the Belfast Magazine. In 1815 his lyrics were collected in a volume of Fugitive Pieces, a title which sufficiently expresses the occasional character of Drennan's verse, though it hardly does justice to the powerful influence which some at least of his poetry undoubtedly exerted on his countrymen. Erin. When Erin first rose from the dark swelling flood But when its soft tones seem to mourn and to weep, Alas! for poor Erin, that some are still seen The cause it is good, and the men they are true, Cæsar Otway (1780–1842), not the least gifted of the school of writers who in the second quarter of the nineteenth century adorned the Irish capital, was born in County Tipperary. After graduating at Trinity College, Dublin, in 1801, he took orders as a clergyman of the Church of Ireland, and passed the best years of his life as an unknown country curate. Appointed to the chaplaincy of the Magdalen Asylum, Otway came to Dublin, where in 1825 he started a religious magazine, The Christian Examiner. To the pages of this periodical-in which many of Carleton's Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry first appeared-Otway contributed a series of sketches of rural Ireland, in which he embodied the results of an intimate acquaintance with the less-known districts of Ireland, and of a thorough insight into the peculiarities of Irish life and character. Combining a distinct talent for descriptive writing with a warm appreciation of Irish scenery and remarkable antiquarian knowledge, these papers at once became popular. They were republished under the title of Sketches in Ireland 1827), and were followed, after a long interval, by A Tour in Connaught (1839) and Sketches in Erris and Tyrawly (1841). Though all three volumes were published anonymously their authorship was no secret, and Otway acquired a reputation which still endures in Ireland. He took part with Petrie in founding the well-known antiquarian magazine, the Dublin Penny Journal, and was a frequent contributor to the Dublin University Magazine. Though a strong Conservative in politics and a pronounced evangelical Churchman, Otway thoroughly understood Ireland and the Irish. His sketches of the peasantry are marked by a kindly humour and a generous sympathy; while his feeling for nature was as deep as it was happily expressed. His Sketches will always have a value as authentic pictures of the Ireland which vanished with the famine of 1847. The Poolnashanthana. We now ascended the hill a little higher, and came to a chasm that yawned unexpectedly at our feet. It was about fifty yards long and about ten wide; and down about eighty feet below you saw the sea as green and clear as an emerald, rising and heaving softly and harmoniously, and disclosing many fathoms deep all the magnificent and beauteously tinted vegetations that adorn the caverns of the ocean. Sunk in the middle of the fair plain, you cannot at first imagine how came the sea here; but by-and-by you see that it is open at both ends, that in fact the roof of a great sea cave, that has penetrated through this promontory, has fallen in; and you learn that you can enter at the north-east of the promontory, and passing along in a boat for nearly half-a-mile, can come out at its south-western side; and that this is a great skylight, by which the sun and air are admitted into the recesses and sonorous labyrinths of this great excavation. It is called Poolnashanthana. There are many of the kind on this coast, and I had already observed a fine one in the Mullet of Erris. But this one at Downpatrick Head is far and away the deepest, the largest, the grandest I have seen, and is certainly a great natural curiosity. At the bottom of this chasm there is a ledge of rock, perhaps the remains of the fallen-in roof, which is bare when the tide is out, and which, covered as it is with sea vegetations that never have been disturbed, presents a perch for the cormorant and a bed for the seal, and around which the lobster crawls and hunts its prey amid the translucent recesses. On a soft, sunny day, when all above and below is still, it is pleasant to wear away the lazy hour in looking down from above, and ponder on the beautiful contrasts of light and shade that this cavern presents; to see the riven rock painted by nature's own hand with ochres, red, brown, and yellow; lichens scarlet, white, orange -crystallisations of lime, iron, or silex, sparkling where a sunbeam brightened them. Down below, the starfish and medusa, floating in purple beauty and spreading out their efflorescent rays; while every now and then the quiet modulations of the incoming tide, as they sigh below, are broken in upon by the cooing of the sea-pigeon in its safe fastness, or the hoarse shriek of the caitiff cormorant, as it reposes after the success of its fishing in the calm deep. I would like to spend some of the few idle days my lot allows me in this busy world hanging over this Poolnashanthana, and in quiet loneliness admiring how beautiful and grand and good God is in His multitudinous creations. (From Sketches in Erris and Tyrawly.) Thomas Moore, one of the most accomplished poets, and certainly the most successful Irish man of letters of the nineteenth century, was born on the 28th May 1779 in Dublin, where his father was a grocer and wine-merchant of humble position. He was educated by Mr Whyte, then a well-known Dublin schoolmaster, and in 1794 entered Trinity College, Dublin, where he was one of the first to take advantage of the admission of Roman Catholics to the studies of the university. A natural leaning to popular views in politics led to a close friendship with Robert Emmet, which involved Moore in some trouble with the authorities of the college; but he was acquitted of complicity with the United Irish Society, and neither then nor later does Moore appear to have held views more advanced than those of the Whig leaders with whom he was to become so intimately associated. He retained, however, a cordial admiration for Emmet, and never lost an opportunity of testifying to the nobility of character possessed by his early friend. Moore early developed the talent for versification and the taste for music which he was to combine to such great advantage, and even from his entrance into college had contributed sundry verses to Dublin periodicals. As early as 1794, in his sixteenth year, he had published in the Anthologia Hibernica a paraphrase of the fifth ode of Anacreon; and by the time he had left college he had completed his translation of the verses attributed to that writer. In 1799, having taken his degree, he proceeded to London, to enter at the Middle Temple with a view to joining the Bar, taking with him his translations, which had received in manuscript the approval of competent |