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for it. The acknowledged evil in Ireland is, that the population has increased beyond the demand for labour, and that the excess is rapidly hurried by consequent idleness and starvation into the class of those who are incapable of labour-but few who know this country will doubt that there is room for the employment of even a greater number of inhabitants in profitable labour. But the strongest argument against the supplying, even if it were possible for the government to do so, this surplus of population with materials to work upon, is the expectation that where ten were employed, they would increase and multiply until, perhaps, forty or fifty were produced as candidates for employment, and so an indefinite increase to population, and consequent miserv, be fostered by the very laws in tended to diminish it. This argument proceeds upon the principle, that poverty is the only check to population. But if we find, on referring to statistical returns, that, in fact, those countries and those districts in our own country that are poorest, are also those where the most rapid increase of population takes place-if we analyse upon this fact, and trace the reason of it to the unwillingness in any one who has a station in life, an habitual enjoyment of comfort, to hazard, by a blind rushing into expense which he has no certainty of being able to bear, and to the proverbial recklessness of those who have nothing to lose, we shall probably arrive at the conclusion, that the first step towards checking population ought to be the bettering the condition of the inferior classes. Where the landlord will do this he can do it; where he will not, the government cannot make him do so. They cannot interfere with his rights in property, but they can set him an example, and until the face of the country is greatly changed, the government has a prospect of work enough for many generations of the present, or even an increased surplus of population. There are certai. works which are now, and from the nature can only be undertaken by the public-there are others which have not as yet, but might probably in future be so carried on with a prospect of advantage to the country. To begin with those, in the execution of which the public is already engaged

Roads and Inland Navigation. Although these may be carried on at the public expense, and by public assessment, the execution is intrusted to private contractors. The late alteration in the grand jury laws has, indeed, remedied some few of the defects consequent upon the ignorance and malversations of contractors; but the condition of those employed upon this work remains the same. The contract is got under a system of mutual under-bidding, and of course the great object of the contractor is to get the work done at a minimum of expense; the wages given are generally even below the rates of this country, and the roads are often the last resource of struggling industry. Where there is a great competition for labour another evil ensues; the landlord gives his interest in getting road-work together with his land, thus receiving for it higher than the market value, and actually selling his interest to the poor, and at their expense diverting into his own pocket the funds of the public. Now, if the public work was done under government surveillance, insuring to the labourer a remunerating price for his labour-that is, sufficient for him to support his family and have something to lay by-this would fix the standard of wages in the country; and if care was taken to arrange it so that the wages might be in proportion to the work done, a motive and character would be given to industry, the advantages of which are really under the present system of day labour almost unknown. The works not hitherto undertaken by the public, but which might probably be undertaken with advantage, are such as roads in extensive unpeopled districts susceptible of cultivation, as Cunnemara, Erris, and the mountainous parts of Donegal, Cork, and Kerry— extensive drainages affecting districts which are in the hands of different proprietors --the lowering of flood waters, such as the Shannon, &c., and converting others to the purposes of inland carriage. If such works could be carried on under the direction of scientific engineers, with the suggestions and concurrent assistance of local committees, probably the riches and resources of the country would be greatly increased, much actual pauperism absorbed, and

1835.] Chapters of College Romance.- Chapter III.-The Sizar.

much future pauperism checked ;* while a stimulus to private exertion would be found in the example of public improvement, and a much higher tone given to the character of the labouring peasant. The source of funds for the carrying on of these objects might be either incorporated, or move parallel and upon similar principles with those suggested for the support of the helpless poor With these suggestions it may be well now to stop. They are given for the consideration of those

31

who are deeply interested in the ques-
tion. When the evidence, taken by
the commissioners, is laid before the
public, the cost of such undertakings
may be accurately calculated. These
observations have been only directed
to guide the thoughts of the public into
some defined channel, and to establish,
if possible, some certain principles
upon which future calculations may be
made.
C.

*This is a subject upon which precedents would be highly instructive. There are at present from 500 to 1000 labourers in daily employment upon the government roads in Pobble O'Keefe. The person who is employed under Mr. Griffith to superintend this great body of labourers, stated to the writer of this note, that he had employed even a greater number upon the government roads in Tipperary for ten years, and that by the time the roads were finished, the hands were so completely absorbed in the cultivation of reclaimed land, that he thinks it would now be difficult to get a work of this kind executed in the vicinity, and that he has no doubt of the same result being produced at Pobble O'Keefe. Mr. Griffith's very interesting report upon the establishment of King William's Town, and the civilization which followed the opening of new roads into the surrounding district, ought to be read by every one who is interested in the improvement of the country.

CHAPTERS OF COLLEGE ROMANCE, BY E. S. O'BRIEN, ESQ. A. M.-CHAPTER III.

THE SIZAR-ARTHUR JOHNS.

Haud facile emergunt quorum virtutibus obstat
Res angusta domi.

READER! When I commenced this series of tales of true, and yet what many have called strange, romance, I said that I would endeavour to diversify my pages like the chequered scenes of life, with alternations of sadness and of mirth. And such was my intention. I had noted in these tablets from which I draw my memoranda, many incidents at which I once had laughed, as well as many at which I might have wept. But years have passed away since they were realities, and now they have mingled with the shadowy and the dreamy past, and all that once was bright of colouring, or joyous in hue, is overca. by the sombre sadness of the dreary recollections of sorrow and guilt. I have walked with the young, and I have seen them gay and thoughtless, and their merriment seemed glad; but, alas! I have

lived to see the same hearts that smiled and laughed, torn, and withered, and blighted-and the bosoms in which, but a little while ago, they beat with gladness, laid in the cold, and dark, and cheerless grave; and when I look back, all the recollection of what once they were are around that grave like festoons of flowers, mocking by their gaiety the dreariness of death. Had I written my chapters as the events which I remember occurred, I might then have given to them a more joyous tinge; and still, when I look back to the lives of those who were my companions, and fancy all is dark and gloomy in their history, I cannot but remember that when that history was fact, I did not think so-and then I endeavoured to recall the scenes at which I laughed with them, and the occasions of our merriment-but no! even these seem

dismal now, and the mist of bygone years hangs heavy even on that which was most cheerful to behold. Thus I have stood at the base of the mountain, and I have looked upon its glens and its crags and its ravines-and the verdant heath covered its sides, and the wild deer bounded there, and seemed joyous in its native breeze-and the shepherd's cot was laughing in its sheltered nook-and the grotesque cliff peered in some fantastic shape above it-and the painter might have pourtrayed upon his canvass many forms of life and joy. But I went a little away, and I looked back from afar upon the hills, and I could see no more forms or features of joy-no cottage glittering in the sunbeam-no deer bounding, full of life; all was lost in the sombre outline of the dark mountain-all was faded into the indistinctness of the dim, and distant, and melancholy blue.

Then, reader! if you be one of those who love those gay pictures that distort the miseries of life into merriment more hideous than the deepest scenes of sorrow and woe, I fear that in my chapters you will find but little to gratify your taste. I tell you, frankly, I have nothing that is gay to set before, you I do not desire to make you laugh. Is there not enough in what is forced upon you every day to excite your laughter? Go and laugh at the politician labouring and disquieting himself in vain-go and laugh at dulness seated in high places, and stupidity blundering successfully into the distinction that should belong to intellect. There are unconscious harle quins enough in that world which it has been said long ago is but a stage. Laugh, then, if you will, at all that passes before you; at the crowd bow ing down in unmeaning adoration to some knave who calls himself a patriot; at the great man who struggles for his own aggrandizement, and calls it principle--laugh at all the follies of mankind; but blame me not if I cannot join you, and when you have laughed your fill, turn to my page-it may be, that there is something in life at which even you might be induced to sigh.

I have headed my chapter" The Sizar." That word is an expressive one--let no votary of fashion throw down, with supercilious contempt, the page on which it is recorded, that Arthur Johns was a

sizar, as if that appendage rendered his name an unfitting subject for romance. It proves but that he was poor, and that he was talented--and though these be both damning--equally damning disqualifications for becoming the favourite of the frivolous and the gay circles of unmeaning fashion, yet surely poverty cannot check the enthusiastic impulse of the human heart, or dry up the springs of human feeling, and it is with these, reader, that Romance has to do-but we shall see. If my friend was poor, there was nothing dishonourable in his poverty-he was not one of the great ones of the earth-he was of humble, very humble origin, but this did not disgrace him; he never was ashamed of it when living, and now that his ashes are cold in that grave where the poor man and the rich man repose alike, I surely do not dishonor his memory in recording it.

He was gifted with rare and great endowments that singularly burst from all the difficulties that were cast around him by the humbleness of his birth. Of his early days-I mean those which preceded his entrance into the University, for, alas! he never lived to number any but his early days-I knew but little; nothing, indeed, but what I learned from himself. Born of poor but respectable parents, he was intended for a mechanical trade. For nearly two years he actually worked at that humble occupation which yet the Saviour of the world did not disdain to engage in. The association is recalled to my mind by a remark which I often heard poor Arthur make. He told me that he used to feel, when standing beside his carpenter's bench, that it was an honor to him to be permitted to follow that occupation which his Redeemer had followed in the days when he was obedient to his father. He said that he often cherished the hope that he had something within him fitted for far different pursuits; "but when," he used to say, "my proud spirit wandered to ambitious speculations that made me sometimes despise my calling, I thought of who was the carpenter of Nazareth, and I used to put away from me vain thoughts."

That he did not, however, wholly repress all hopes of raising himself from the station of a mechanic, is evident from the fact, that in the evenings, after

he returned home from his day's work, he taught himself the rudiments of Latin. Without help or encouragement from any one, he for some time prosecuted his studies with the most industrious diligence-in those hours which, after his day's confinement, were almost necessary for amusement. He said himself. that the only motive of which he was conscious, was a thirst for information; but as my narrative progresses, my reader will, perhaps, agree with me, that a vague and undefined hope mingled with this feeling, and urged him, perhaps unconsciously, to exertion, of which an object that he then scarcely acknowledged to himself was the aim.

Fortunately I used the word mechanically-it might have been better other wise; I might rather say unfortunately he soon met with friends who did every thing that benevolence and prudence could suggest to second his exertions, and direct his efforts. The clergyman of his parish was one to whom his parishioners looked up as to a father, and one who looked upon all his parishioners as his family. Dr. Wail having accidentally become acquainted with young Johns' proficiency in Latin, sent for him to the parsonage, and examined him as to what progress he had made. Being struck equally by his talents and his demeanour, he took a deep interest in the lad; he lent him books, and directed and assisted his studies, and when he considered him fit for the University, the generous man defrayed the expenses of his en

trance.

At the University he did not disappoint the expectations which his benefactor had formed. At the largest entrance which had occurred for some time he bore away first place, and returned home the pride of his parents and the wonder of the village. The most flattering anticipations were formed of his future greatness-his father and mother thought that no one like him ever had been heard of, and all the neighbours used to wonder how the carpenter's lad, whom they had seen working so steady and so quiet, could have "beaten all the gentlemen's sons in the college at the learning."

Arthur's high spirit could not bear to be under pecuniary obligations, even to the pastor, whom he revered; and at VOL. VI.

his own most urgent request, an arrangement was entered into, by which he was to repay the money that Dr. Wail had given him on going to Dublin, by giving daily instructions to the younger children at the parsonage. Dr. Wail, however, insisted on such terms that three months' tuition not only repaid what he had advanced, but left him a few guineas to bear the expenses of his journey to Dublin at the first examination.

At this examination he was again eminently successful. He obtained the classical premium, with the most flattering encomiums from his examiner, and returned again to his humble home as unassuming as ever, to prosecute his studies after this fresh encouragement with renewed ardour.

It was at this period that I first became acquainted with him. I had met one of Dr. Wail's sons in college, and having had an opportunity of showing him some trifling civility, I received a most kind and pressing invitation to the parsonage. I availed myself of it at a time when many things had inclined to put me out of temper with the world and myself; and when I thought, and thought rightly, that I would not be the worse of the calm of spirit which with me is always a certain consequence of being an inmate of a good man's house.

From the first moment that I saw Arthur Johns, I felt an indescribable and indefinable interest in him. I had not been long at the parsonage until I heard his name and so much of his history as I have detailed. The circumstances under which our first meeting took place, were calculated to make an impression at least upon my mind. I had been taking an evening stroll with young Wail. Passing through the fields, we overtook a plain looking young man, decently attired in rather a worn suit of black, occupied in disengaging a cow from the stake to which she had been “tethered,” or tied. Wail pointed him out to me, and told me that this was young Johns. Every evening," said he, he comes here to drive home his father's cow; he is not spoiled by his college honours: he is just as humble and unassuming as ever.'

66

66

We entered into conversation with him, and even in the few minutes that he talked with us, I could not help

D

34

Chapters of College Romance.

being struck by the simplicity and
quaintness of his manner, and yet the
justness and strength of his remarks.
His dress, I have already said, was
plain; he wore his hair combed down
over his forehead, after the manner of
the Methodists, in which connection
his father had occasionally officiated
as a class leader or local preacher,
a circumstance from which Arthur's
character derived much of that stern
piety of deportment which was its chief
The occupation in which we
found him, so characteristic of that hu-
mility which prevented him from being
raised by his distinctions above minis-
tering to his parent's comparatively
lowly condition, spoke more to my mind
for his amiability of disposition than
all the praises which I had heard la-
vished on him at the parsonage.

grace.

The more I knew of him the more I felt that he was no common spirit, and I looked forward with confidence to the time when he would prove this to the world. There is something deeply interesting in watching the progress of genius, of which the world knows not. We experience more than a sympathy in the struggles of the spirit, which we feel assured, is yet one day destined to sway the minds of men-we find a personal interest in the progress of those powers in which we feel, if I may so speak, that, like the first discoverers of unknown land, we have acquired a property, because their existence is known We have a pride to few but ourselves. in being the first to appreciate the intellect to which the world will one day bend, and we look forward with proud anticipation to its future triumphs, as if, in some sense, they were to be

our own.

My intimacy with him soon increased
into friendship. He made me the de-
positary of his difficulties and anxieties,
and sought from me that advice which
my greater age and superior knowledge
of the world enabled me sometimes to
But I must not
give him with effect.
dwell too long upon all the little inci-
dents which might, perhaps, be very
uninteresting to my readers, however,
my fond affection may magnify them
into importance. I remained two months
at the parsonage, enjoying the society
of good Dr. Wail and his amiable fa-
mily, and every day improving my
acquaintance with Arthur Johns.

I

[July

left them in the end of April, and I was
accompanied to Dublin by my young,
but, even then, my dear friend, who
came to pass his second examination
at the University.

At this examination he was not suc-
cessful. This is ground upon which,
perhaps, I had better tread lightly-
my former statement of what was true,
of that which actually occurred at one
examination, has given offence, and
men have said that my object was to
depreciate the University, and indulge
I simply told what had hap-
a malignant sneer at the expense of her
fellows.
pened. The fellows of college are, I
need hardly say, a body of men for
whom, as a body, I entertain the deep-
est respect: there are many men among
them whose characters and whose learn-
ing would do honor to the proudest
station in which intellectual distinction
could place a human being; but there
were I know nothing of them now—
there were men among them whom I
despised; there were men whom I have
seen manifest a littleness of soul, and a
pettiness of spirit, that no chance eleva-
fit, could redeem from the most unqua-
tion to a place for which they were un-
lified contempt. I know not how matters
"the race was
may be now, but certainly when I knew
college examinations,

not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong," and though in general the adjudication of honours was honourably impartial, yet where all was left to an individual, there were exceptions to the rule-and in my intercourse with college, I have known more than one instance in which caprice deprived, or favouritism defrauded, industrious merit of its just reward.

Arthur bore his disappointment with the equanimity that I expected. It was immediately after this examination that I advised him to become a candidate for the place of sizar. Few of my readers, perhaps, are unaware that the Dublin University, with that spirit of liberality which so favourably distinguishes her collegiate institutions, has allocated thirty sizarships to the support of poor students, who are unable to avail themselves, in any other way, of the advantages of an academic education. The places are filled up as vacancies occur, after an examination, at which all persons are privileged to present themselves, and the successful

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