noble Arab should, all the virtues of man. | show that we think better of them than they This is Goldsmith's deserted village in El deserve-disapprobation and suspicion draw Hejaz. But the Arab, with equal simplicity forth the worst traits of character and conduct. and pathos, has a fire, a force of language, and a depth of feeling, which the Irishman, admirable as his verse is, could never rival. As the author of the Peninsular War well remarks, women in troublesome times, throwing off their accustomed feebleness and frivolity, become helpmates meet for man. The same is true of pastoral life. Here, between the extremes of fierceness and sensibility, the weaker sex, remedying its great want, power, raises itself by courage, physical as well as moral. In the early days of El Islam, if history be credible, Arabia had a race of heroines. Within the last century, Ghaliyah, the wife of a Wahhabi chief, opposed Mohammed Ali himself in many a bloody field. A few years ago, when Ibn Asm, popularly called Ibn Rumi, chief of the Zubayd clan about Rabigh, was treacherously slain by the Turkish general, Kurdi Usman, his sister, a fair young girl, determined to revenge him. She fixed upon the "Arafat-day" of pilgrimage for the accomplishment of her designs, disguised herself in male attire, drew her handkerchief in the form of "lisam" over the lower part of her face, and with lighted match awaited her enemy. The Turk, however, was not present, and the girl was arrested, to win for herself a local reputation equal to the maid of Salamanca. Thus it is that the Arab has learned to swear that great oath "by the honour of my women." From ancient periods of the Arab's history we find him practising "knight-errantry,” the wildest form of chivalry. "The Songs of Antar,'" says the author of the Crescent and the Cross, "show little of the true chivalric spirit." What thinks the reader of sentiments like these? "This valiant man," remarks Antar, (who was "ever interested for the weaker sex,") "hath defended the honour of women." We read in another place, "Mercy, my lord, is the noblest quality of the noble." Again, "It is the most ignominious of deeds to take free-born women prisoners.” "Bear not malice, O Shibub!" quoth the hero, "for of malice good never came." Is there no true greatness in this sentiment?" Birth is the boast of the fainéant; noble is the youth who beareth every ill, who clotheth himself in mail during the noon-tide heat, and who wandereth through the outer darkness of night." And why does the "knight of knights" love Ibla? Because "she is blooming as the sun at dawn, with hair black as the midnight shades, with Paradise in her eye, her bosom an enchantment, and a form waving like the tamarisk when the soft winds blow from the hills of Nejd?" Yes, but his chest expands also with the thoughts of her "faith, purity, and affection,”—it is her moral as well as her material excellence that makes her the hero's hope, and hearing, and sight." Briefly, in Antar I discern "A love exalted high By all the glow of chivalry;" The Bedouins are not without a certain Platonic affection, which they call "Hawa (or Ishk) uzri,"-pardonable love. They draw the fine line between amant and amoreux: and I lament to see so many intelligent trathis is derided by the townspeople, little sus- vellers misjudging the Arab after a superficial pecting how much such a custom says in experience of a few debased Syrians or Sinafavour of the wild men. In the cities, how-ites. The true children of Antar have not ever, it could not prevail. Arabs, like other "ceased to be gentlemen." Orientals, hold that, in such matters, man is saved, not by faith, but by want of faith. They have also a saying not unlike ours "She partly is to blame who has been tried, He comes too near who comes to be denied." The evil of this system is that they, like certain southerns, pensano sempre al malealways suspect, which may be worldly wise, and also always show their suspicions, which is assuredly foolish. For thus they demoralize their women, who might be kept in the way of right by self-respect and a sense of duty. To raise our fellow-creatures we have only to In the days of ignorance, it was the custom for Bedouins, when tormented by the tender passion, which seems to have attached them in the form of "possession," for long years to sigh and wail and wander, doing the most truculent deeds to melt the obdurate fair. When Arabia islamized, the practice changed its element for proselytism. The Fourth Caliph is fabled to have travelled far, redressing the injured, punishing the injurer, preaching to the infidel, and especially protecting women-the chief end and aim of knighthood. The Caliph El Mutasem heard in the assembly of his courtiers that a woman of Sayyid Travellers complain that the wild men have ceased to sing. This is true if "poet" be limited to a few authors whose existence everywhere depends upon the accidents of patronage or political occurrences. A far stronger evidence of poetic feeling is afforded by the phraseology of the Arab, and the highly imaginative turn of his commonest expressions. Destitute of the poetic taste, as we define it, he certainly is: as in the Milesian, wit and fancy, vivacity and passion, are too strong for reason and judgment, the reins which guide Apollo's car. And although the Bedouins no longer boast a Lebid or a Maisunah, yet they are passionately fond of their ancient bards. A man skilful in reading "El Mutanabbi" and the "Suspended Poems" would be received by them with the honours paid by civilization to the travelling millionnaire. And their elders have a goodly store of ancient and modern war songs, legends, and love ditties, which all enjoy. family had been taken prisoner by a "Greek | excels. "I am known to the night, and the wild, and the steed, To the guest, and the sword, to the paper and reed?"" The poet, in reply, lay down to sleep on Tigris' bank, in a place haunted by thieves, and, disdaining flight, lost his life during the hours of darkness. It is the existence of this chivalry among the "Children of Antar" which makes the society of Bedouins ("damned saints," perchance, and "honourable villains,") so delightful to the traveller who, like the late Haji Wali (Dr. Wallin), understands and is understood by them. Nothing more naïve than his lamentations at finding himself in the "loathsome company of Persians," or among Arab townpeople, whose "filthy and cowardly minds" he contrasts with the "high and chivalrous spirit of the true Sons of the Desert." Your guide will protect you with blade and spear, even against his kindred, and he expects you to do the same for him. You may give a man the lie, but you must lose no time in baring your sword. If, involved in dispute with overwhelming numbers, you address some elder, "Dakhilak ya Shaykh!"-(I am) thy protected, O Sir, and he will espouse your quarrel, and, indeed, with greater heat and energy than if it were his own. But why multiply instances? The language of love and war and all excitement is poetry, and here, again, the Bedouin I cannot well explain the effect of Arab poetry to one who has not visited the desert. of the sound, there is a dreaminess of idea Apart from the pomp of words, and the music and a haze thrown over the object, infinitely attractive, but indescribable. Description, indeed, would rob the song of indistinctness, its essence. To borrow a simile from a sister art. The Arab poet sets before the mental eye the dim grand outlines of a picture,which must be filled up by the reader, guided only by a few glorious touches, powerfully standing out, and the sentiment which the scene is intended to express;-whereas, we Europeans and moderns, by stippling and minute touches, produce a miniature on a large scale so objective as to exhaust rather than to arouse reflection. As the poet is a creator, the Arab's is poetry, the European's versical description. The language, "like a faithful wife, following the mind and giving birth to its offspring," and, free from that luggage of particles" which clogs our modern tongues, leaves a mysterious vagueness between the relation of word to word, which materially assists the sentiment, not the sense, of the poem. When verbs and nouns have—each 66 itely, there is in the Semitic dialect a copious- | witty in French and philosophic in German. ness of rhyme which leaves the poet almost Truly spake Mohammed el Damiri, “Wisdom unfettered to choose the desired expression. hath alighted upon three things-the brain of Hence it is that a stranger speaking Arabic the Franks, the hands of the Chinese, and the becomes poetical as naturally as he would be tongues of the Arabs.” JAMES RODERICK O'FLANAGAN. bright lively style, and shows no falling off either in the author's memory or powers of never again return; those who have personal experience of them are fast passing away, and only such works as The Irish Bar remain, increasing in value year by year as links between the present and the wild, eccentric, but highly picturesque past in Irish life. His latest book, The Munster Circuit (1880), has been favourably reviewed in The Times; and the author is now engaged in preparing for the press a work entitled Anecdotes and Sketches of Prelates and Priests of every Denomination.] HARRY DEANE GRADY. (FROM "THE IRISH BAR.") [James Roderick O'Flanagan is the son of Captain O'Flanagan, and was born in Fermoy barracks, September 1st, 1814. He re-graphic description. The times depicted can ceived his early education in the principal school of his native town. After a lengthened tour on the Continent he published his first work, Impressions at Home and Abroad, 1837. In the following year he began practising as a barrister, and for many succeeding years his talents were known and appreciated on the Munster circuit. In 1845 Mr. O'Flanagan | began contributing a series of important articles to the Dublin University Magazine on "Irish Rivers." For several years he was a constant writer in various leading Irish periodicals, and was editor of the Irish National Magazine. In 1861 The History of Dundalk appeared. It is a work of great local interest, and was written in conjunction with the late John D'Alton. The Bar Life of O'Connell, published in 1866, was well received by the public; the author wrote from personal knowledge of his subject, and his narrative thus possesses a strong and living interest. A sporting novel, Brian O'Ryan, was his next work, followed by his most valuable contribution to Irish literature, The Lives of the Lord Chancellors of Ireland (1870). These volumes embrace a period extending from the reign of Henry III. to the reign of Queen Victoria. The political and religious aspect of affairs is touched upon without bias or prejudice of any kind. The author advocates throughout what every true lover of his country would approve, "the abandoning of sectarian and political differences, and remembering their common country." The opening chapter of the first volume introduces the reader to the legal forms and tribunals of the Irish, previous to the introduction of the English laws. It is deeply interesting, and portrays to the thoughtful reader the character and history of the race more truly than many a lengthened volume. Mr. O'Flanagan's late work, The Irish Bar (1878-9), is written in a VOL. IV. Among the most eminent Irish Nisi Prius lawyers of the earlier portion of the present century, was Harry Deane Grady. He was a native of the county of Limerick, and was fitted by nature as well as by profession for the bar. In stature he was short and stout, with a face indicative of shrewd wit and caustic humour. His voice was loud, and he possessed a robust sort of phraseology which smacked more of the fortiter in modo than suaviter in re. He had been elected one of the members for Limerick in the Irish House of Commons, and soon became one of the government's staunch supporters. When remonstrated with on going against the wishes of his constituents who were opposed to the Union, he very resolutely declared his ideas to be strongly in favour of that project, and hinted the government had made it worth his while to vote for that measure. "What!" cried his indignant remonstrator, "do you mean to sell your country?" 1 By permission of Messrs. Sampson Low & Co. 70 "Thank God," cried this pure patriot, "that | then much frequented by highway-robbers. I have a country to sell." He was very coarse in his expressions, and when reminded that he owed his position to his constituents, he said, "I care nothing for my constituents, I get nothing good from them. Begad if I only shake hands with them they give me the itch." His bullying, bustling, browbeating manner was of great use in Nisi Prius cases, when rough work was to be done, and no one at the bar could perform any sort of bullying better than Harry Deane Grady. His great delight was to encounter a really intelligent, but assumedly obtuse Irish witness, when a trial of skill would take place, the astute counsel endeavouring to extract much in favour of his client, and the witness resolved to reveal but little. Grady would give the witness his own way at first, pretend to credit his statement, nay, encourage him with such words as actly," "just so," and thus leading the witness to suppose he had gained the victory, and triumphed over "the counsellor," but all this time Grady was ingeniously weaving a net in which to ensnare his victim, and having obtained the requisite admissions, suddenly changed his tactics, and obliged the baffled witness to admit his story was a pure invention. ex Grady exercised much influence in court by what he termed "his jury eye." His right eye was constantly used in winking at the jury when he wished them to note some particular answer from an adverse witness. Appearing in court one morning in rather depressed" spirits, which, for one of his usual joyous temperament, was very unusual, a sympathizing friend said, While changing horses in Fermoy, a few miles at the south side of the Kilworth mountains, both gentlemen made the disagreeable discovery that though they had pistols, they had no powder, and their balls, therefore, were useless. While Grady and O'Connell were regretting not having looked to their weapons before leaving Cork, the clatter of horses' hoofs and the martial sound of dragoons, with their long swords, saddles, and bridles attracted their attention. "Hallo," cried O'Connell, "we're in luck. Here is the escort of the judges, and we may be able to get a supply from them." "That's very likely," said Grady, as the corporal and four of the privates came from the stable, where they had left their chargers, and tramped as troopers do tramp into the hotel. "I'll go at once, and see what I can get," said Harry as he passed into the hall. He walked up to the corporal, and in his blunt way said, "Soldier, will you sell me some powder?" The corporal stood on his dignity. He eyed his interrogator very superciliously, as he replied, "I do not sell powder, sir." "Then perhaps you'd tell me where I could get some. Or you might buy it for me!" "I am here on duty, and, besides, I do not know this place, sir,” replied the dragoon. Grady, somewhat crestfallen, returned to his companion, who overheard what passed through the open door. "The dragoon is a sulky fellow," he said, he would neither sell or buy for me!" "Harry," replied Dan O'Connell, "you offended him by calling him a soldier, when he is a corporal. I'll try my hand." O'Con"Harry, are you unwell? You are not as nell then went to the hall, and observed to lively as usual." “How can I, my dear fellow?" he answered. "What's the matter with you?" "My jury eye is out of order," was the reply. But Harry Deane Grady's rough manner was not always successful. O'Connell could be rough when occasion required, but no one could be smoother, or use the blarney with more tact, when it was the fitter instrument to ensure success. The following anecdote illustrates the difference between these two eminent barristers in a very complete manner. Shortly after joining the Munster Circuit, O'Connell was travelling with Harry Deane Grady. They shared in the expense of a chaise, and were posting from Cork to Dublin. Their route lay over the Kilworth mountains, the dragoon, who was looking rather ruefully at the downpour of rain then falling,— "This is heavy rain, sergeant. 'Tis too bad, the judges do not get the yeomen or militia to escort them, without requiring the service of the regular troops." "True enough, sir. It is harassing duty such weather as this, but duty must be done." "I hear a bad account of the road before me-these Kilworth mountains are said to harbour robbers. My pistols are useless, for, unfortunately, I left Cork without procuring a supply of powder; could you procure me some and you'd oblige me?" "I shall be most happy to let you have what I hope may suffice for you, sir," replied the corporal, opening his cartouch-box. O'Connell produced his pistols, and the bore exactly corresponded with the cartridges of the dragoon. "Take half-a-dozen cartridges, sir," said the man, "and I'm glad to be able to oblige you." "A glass of spirits and water will do you no harm this wet day," said O'Connell, and the dragoon drank his health, ere he resumed the saddle. "Dan," cried Grady, when O'Connell displayed his plentiful store of ammunition, "you'll do-blarney for ever." The course Harry Deane Grady had taken in supporting the Union caused him to be much censured by several influential persons in Limerick, who were opposed to that measure. They were resolved to express their | disapproval, and having convened a meeting of the Limerick electors, deputed three to wait upon the place-hunting member. They consisted of a Protestant bishop, suspected of democratic leanings, Dr. Cheyne, an eminent physician, and General Burgoyne, who had served in China. Harry listened very patiently while they denounced his conduct in very severe terms, accusing him of injuring his country, deserting his duty, and betraying his constituents. These very serious charges were met by Harry with a bold denial. "I did none of these crimes, my lord and gentlemen," he said. "I was opposed to the Union at first, but as soon as it was rightly explained to me,' I saw it was the greatest boon this country could receive, and I am satis fied my constituents will approve of my vote when I bring the case to their full knowledge." "No, indeed!" was the response; "they all declare you have betrayed them." "Nonsense, gentlemen -- rank nonsense," cried the indomitable place-man; "you come between me and my constituents, and induce them to condemn me, on the ipse dixit of a republican parson, a quack doctor, and a battered old mandarin."-As the deputation felt Harry was getting personal they bowed and withdrew. When it suited his purpose to abuse he spared no one. During a trial at the Limerick assizes his first cousin was a witness for the party opposed to his clients, and Harry crossexamined him in a most unsparing and savage way. He did not rest there. When addressing the jury, in alluding to the evidence of this witness, he said, "This case is supported by evidence as disgraceful as ever came before a judge or jury; the plaintiff, not content with the most outrageous statement, supports it by placing this wretched creature on the table, for whom I can find no fitter appellation than his miserable jackal.” The gentleman thus publicly vituperated was of very haughty demeanour, and we can well imagine his feelings on being thus held up to public view by his own first cousin. During the day, after leaving court, he saw Harry in one of the principal streets of Limerick, appearing with outstretched hand. When within a short distance, "My dear John,” cried Harry, “I'm heartily glad to see you." "I wonder, sir," replied his cousin coldly, "you dare address me, after the gross insult you inflicted upon me this morning." He was about passing, when the cool counsel said, "Oh, never mind that, John; that's my trade, you know. I'll dine with you to-day.” "If you go to my house I'll take care not to dine at home," was the reply. "All the better," responded Harry; "in that case, I shall have Mary (his cousin's wife) all to myself." Harry Deane Grady's daughters were very lovely and most accomplished girls, and made brilliant marriages. Indeed, so many peers were attracted by their fascinations to his residence at Dublin, it was called "The House of Lords." One daughter became Lady Muskerry, another Lady Masserene, another Lady Roche. He had a beautiful place near Stillorgan, and lived to an old age. WILLIAM CONNOR MAGEE, D.D. [Irishmen of whatever creed cannot but feel gratified to know that thousands are willing to wait patiently for hours at St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, or some other of our great churches, to hear the eloquence of a fellow 1 He was appointed a commissioner of revenue, with £1200 a year. countryman, who is one of the greatest pulpit orators of the day. Dr. Magee, the Bishop of Peterborough, is at present beyond all question the most popular preacher in the Church of England, and has a reputation to which there has been nothing like rivalry since the death of Dr. Wilberforce. |