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freedom, and the consciousness of its posses- these are the virtues which qualify jurors to sion. Which will you prefer? Insult not the decide the rights of their fellow-men. Dedignity of manhood by supposing that con- serted by these, of what avail is the tribunal tentment of the heart can exist under des- of a jury? It is worthless as the human body potism. There may be degrees in its severity, when the living soul has fled. Prove to the and so degrees in the sufferings of its victims. accused, from whom, perchance, you widely Terrible the dangers which lurk beneath the differ in opinion—whose liberties and fortunes calm surface of despotic power. The move- are in your hands-that you are there not to ments of the oppressed will at times disturb persecute, but to save. Believe me, you will not the tyrant's tranquillity, and warn him, that secure the true interests of England by leaning their day of vengeance or of triumph may be too severely on your countrymen. They say to nigh. But in these happy countries the very their English brethren, and with truth-We safety of the state consists in freedom of dis- have been at your side whenever danger was to cussion. Partial evils in all systems of politi- be faced or honour won. The scorching sun of cal governments there must be; but their the east and the pestilence of the west, we have worst effects are obviated when their cause is endured to spread your commerce-to extend sought for, discovered, considered, discussed. your empire-to uphold your glory. The bones Milton has taught a great political truth, in of our countrymen whitened the fields of Porlanguage as instructive as his sublimest verse: tugal, of Spain, of France. Fighting your "For this is not the liberty which we can battles they fell-in a nobler cause they could hope, that no grievances ever should arise in not. We have helped to gather your imperishthe commonwealth-that let no man in this able laurels. We have helped to win your imworld expect; but when complaints are freely mortal triumphs. Now, in time of peace, we heard, deeply considered, and speedily re- ask you to restore that parliament you planted formed then is the utmost bound of civil here with your laws and language, uprooted liberty obtained that wise men look for." in a dismal period of our history, in the moSuffer the complaints of the Irish people to be ment of our terror, our divisions, our weakfreely heard. You want the power to have ness, it may be our crime. Re-establish the them speedily reformed. Their case to-day commons on the broad foundation of the may be yours to-morrow. Preserve the right people's choice-replace the peerage, the corinof free discussion as you would cling to life. thian pillars of the capitol, secured and adorned Combat error with argument, misrepresenta- with the strength and splendour of the crown tion by fact, falsehood with truth. "For who-and let the monarch of England, as in ages knows not," saith the same great writer, "that truth is strong-next to the Almighty? One needs no policies nor stratagems to make her victorious- these are the shifts error uses against her power."

If this demand for a native parliament rest on a delusion, dispel that delusion by the omnipotence of truth. Why do you lovewhy do other nations honour England? Are you are they dazzled by her naval or military glories, the splendour of her literature, her sublime discoveries in science, her boundless wealth, her almost incredible labours in every work of art and skill? No; you love her you cling to England because she has been for ages past the seat of free discussion, and therefore, the home of rational freedom, and the hope of oppressed men throughout the world. Under the laws of England it is our happiness to live. They breathe the spirit of liberty and reason. Emulate this day the great virtues of Englishmen their love of fairness their immovable independence, and the sense of justice rooted in their nature

past, rule a brilliant and united empire in solidity, magnificence, and power.

When the privileges of the English parliament were invaded, that people took the field, struck down the ministry, and dragged their sovereign to the block. We shall not imitate English precedent, while we struggle for a parliament. That institution you prize so highly, which fosters your wealth, adds to your prosperity, and guards your freedom, was ours for six hundred years. Restore the blessing and we shall be content. This prosecution is not essential for the maintenance of the authority and prerogative of the crown. Our gracious sovereign needs not state prosecutions to secure her prerogatives or preserve her power. She has the unbought loyalty of a chivalrous and gallant people. The arm of authority she requires not to raise. The glory of her gentle reign will be— she will have ruled, not by the sword, but by the affections; that the true source of her power has been, not in terrors of the law, but in the hearts of her people. Your patience

is exhausted.

If I have spoken suitably to the subject, I have spoken as I could have wished; but if, as you may think, deficiently, I have spoken as I could. Do you, from what has been said, and from the better arguments omitted, which may be well suggested by your manly understandings and your honest hearts, give a verdict consistent with justice, yet leaning to liberty-dictated by truth, yet

inclining to the side of the accused men, struggling against the weight, and power, and influence of the crown, and prejudice more overwhelming still-a verdict undesired by any party, but to be applauded by the impartial monitor within your breasts, becoming the high spirit of Irish gentlemen, and the intrepid guardians of the rights and liberties of a free people.

THOMAS D'ARCY M'GEE.

BORN 1825-DIED 1868.

[The history of the majority of the brilliant | An offer of a situation on the Freeman's men who took part in the insurrectionary Journal brought him back to Ireland; but he movement in 1848 is one of failure. Meagher was drowned, Williams died young and in poverty, Mitchel's brief triumph of a few days was the close of a bitter struggle through life against ever-recurring failure. Two of the '48 men, however, are conspicuous exceptions to the darker fate of their companions, for, in other countries, and amid happier surroundings, they attained to the high political position for which their talents fitted them; we mean, M'Gee and Duffy.

Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee was born on April 13, 1825. His ancestors on both the paternal and maternal sides were remarkable for their devotion to the national cause. His father was in the coast-guard service. When he was eight, young M'Gee was removed to Wexford, where he lost his mother-a gifted woman, well versed in Irish literature, and the first inspirer in her son of the sentiments which formed the basis of his character. When but seventeen he went to America, on a visit to an aunt in Providence, Rhode Island. The advent of the anniversary of American independence gave the lad an opportunity of displaying his great oratorical powers. His speech on the then absorbing subject of repeal proved highly successful, and in consequence he was offered employment on the Boston Pilot, which he accepted. Two years after the beginning of this connection he was advanced to the post of editor, an important position for one just nineteen years old. This, however, was not his only triumph; the fame of his speeches crossed the Atlantic, and, attracting the attention of O'Connell, were characterized by him as "the inspired utterances of a young exiled Irish boy in America."

soon abandoned that journal for the more congenial Nation, which, under the editorship of Gavan Duffy, was at this period preaching those extreme doctrines which gave rise to the Young Ireland school. M'Gee soon became involved in the political movements, and figured as one of the leaders of the revolutionary party, being elected secretary of the Confederation. He was imprisoned for a short time in consequence of a violent speech which he made in county Wicklow.

When the insurrection broke out he was travelling in Scotland, whither he had been sent on a mission to arouse his fellow-countrymen. Although a price was set upon his head, he could not resist the desire to see his wife, to whom he had just been married, and, protected by Dr. Maguire, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Derry, he paid her a visit, afterwards escaping in the disguise of a priest to America. He started in New York a paper called the Nation. His articles therein, being strongly condemnatory of the action of the Roman Catholic priesthood during 1848, brought him into collision with that body. He afterwards went to Boston, where he established the American Celt.

As time went on his views underwent great modification, and he regretted the articles which led him to wield his pen in controversy with Bishop Hughes of the diocese of New York. He changed his place of residence several times, and finally, in 1858, left the United States to settle down in Canada. He had not been long resident in Montreal when he was elected to the Canadian parliament, in the debates of which assembly he soon distinguished himself. In 1862 he was rewarded by

being chosen president of the executive council, afterwards holding the office of minister of agriculture.

His political views had by this time changed very considerably. He abandoned all the revolutionary doctrines of his youth, and became the loyal adherent of the British connection. He also gained notoriety by some imprudent and vehement attacks upon those of his countrymen who still persisted in revolutionary ways. In 1865 he visited Ireland as representative of Canada at the Dublin Industrial Exhibition, and, during a visit to his father's home at Wexford, he delivered a lecture in which he bitterly denounced the then rising portent of Fenianism. The result of this, naturally, was to make him still more obnoxious to the revolutionary party.

In 1867 he was again in Europe, this time as commissioner to the Paris Exhibition. He was busied at this period with the important work of confederating the various Canadian colonies a large and wise measure which was greatly due to his initiative. The raids which had been made on Canada provoked him to still more bitter attacks on the Fenians, and further estranged from him the sympathies of certain classes of his countrymen. A large

number of his fellow-citizens entertained for him, on the other hand, feelings of deep respect, and on St. Patrick's Day, 1868, this feeling found expression in one of the most successful banquets ever given in Canada to a public man. This, as we have said, was on March 17. On the night of April 7 following, M'Gee was assassinated by a man supposed to be connected with some revolutionary organization. He had spoken that very evening, and with his usual vigour, in the legislative assembly, and had only just parted from one of his colleagues. His assassin was captured and executed shortly afterwards. This tragic end evoked deep expressions of feeling; and his funeral was made the occasion of a great demonstration of public esteem.

The best known and most favourable results of M'Gee's literary activity are his poems-a volume of which was published after his death. Many of these are of a very high order of merit, full of passion and eloquence, tenderness and melody. He wrote besides an excellent History of Ireland, Lives of Irish Writers (published 1846), History of the Irish Settlers in North America (1851), Catholic History of North America (1854), and other works. His speeches are also marked by great vigour and eloquence.]

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DEATH OF THE HOMEWARD BOUND.

Paler and thinner the morning moon grew, Colder and sterner the rising wind blewThe pole-star had set in a forest of cloud, And the icicles crackled on spar and on shroud, When a voice from below we heard feebly cry, "Let me see-let me see-my own Land ere I die.

"Ah, dear sailor, say, have we sighted Cape Clear? Can you see any sign? Is the morning light near? You are young, my brave boy; thanks, thanks, for your hand,

Help me up, till I get a last glimpse of the landThank God, 'tis the sun that now reddens the sky, I shall see I shall see-my own Land ere I die. "Let me lean on your strength, I am feeble and old, And one half of my heart is already stone coldForty years work a change! when I first crossed

the sea

There were few on the deck that could grapple

with me;

But my prime and my youth in Ohio went by,
And I'm come back to see the old spot ere I die."

'Twas a feeble old man, and he stood on the deck,
His arm round a kindly young mariner's neck,
His ghastly gaze fixed on the tints of the east,
As a starvling might stare at the sound of a feast;-
The morn quickly rose, and revealed to his eye
The Land he had prayed to behold, and then die!
Green, green was the shore, though the year was
near done-

High and haughty the capes the white surf dash'd

upon

A grey ruined convent was down by the strand, And the sheep fed afar, on the hills of the land! "God be with you, dear Ireland," he gasped with a sigh,

"I have lived to behold you-I'm ready to die."

He sunk by the hour, and his pulse 'gan to fail,
As we swept by the headland of storied Kinsale-
Off Ardigna bay, it came slower and slower,
And his corpse was clay cold as we sighted Tramore.
At Passage we waked him, and now he doth lie,
In the lap of the Land, he beheld but to die.

HOME THOUGHTS.

If will had wings, how fast I'd flee
To the home of my heart o'er the seething sea!
If wishes were power-if words were spells,
I'd be this hour where my own love dwells.
My own love dwells in the storied land,
Where the Holy Wells sleep in yellow sand;

And the emerald lustre of Paradise beams

Over homes that cluster round singing streams.

I, sighing alas! exist alone

My youth is as grass on an unsunn'd stone,
Bright to the eye, but unfelt below-
As sunbeams that lie over Arctic snow.

My heart is a lamp that love must relight,
Or the world's fire-damp will quench it quite.
In the breast of my dear my life-tide springs-
Oh! I'd tarry none here, if will had wings.
For she never was weary of blessing me,
When morn rose dreary on thatch and tree;
She evermore chanted her song of faith,
When darkness daunted on hill and heath.

If will had wings, how fast I'd flee

To the home of my heart o'er the seething sea!
If wishes were power-if words were spells,
I'd be this hour where my own love dwells.

THE DEATH OF O'CAROLAN.1 There is an empty seat by many a board,

A guest is missed in hostelry and hallThere is a harp hung up in Alderford

That was in Ireland sweetest harp of all. The hand that made it speak, woe's me, is cold,

The darkened eyeballs roll inspired no more; The lips-the potent lips-gape like a mould, Where late the golden torrent floated o'er.

In vain the watchman looks from Mayo's towers For him whose presence filled all hearts with

mirth;

In vain the gathered guests outsit the hours,

The honoured chair is vacant by the hearth. From Castle-Archdall, Moneyglass, and Trim, The courteous messages go forth in vain, Kind words no longer have a joy for him Whose lowly lodge is in death's dark demesne. Kilronan Abbey is his castle now,

And there till doomsday peacefully he'll stay; In vain they weave new garlands for his brow, In vain they go to meet him by the way; In kindred company he does not tire,

The native dead and noble lie around, His life-long song has ceased, his wood and wire Rest, a sweet harp unstrung, in holy ground. Last of our ancient Minstrels! thou who lent A buoyant motive to a foundering raceWhose saving song, into their being blent,

Sustained them by its passion and its grace,God rest you! May your judgment dues be light, Dear Turlogh! and the purgatorial days Be few and short, till clothed in holy white, Your soul may come before the throne of rays.

1 For a notice of this bard, see vol. i. p. 156.

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