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ma of the Catholic church; therefore the Catholics naturally conceive that the same things are innocent and meritorious in the one question, which these lawyers pronounced to be so in the other. If " agitation" be a proper means for obtaining one thing, it unquestionably is for obtaining another.

The Catholics never durst act as they are now acting, they never durst name the objects they are now pursuing, until they received the sanction of the Whigs and Liberal Tories. To the latter, both their ungovernable conduct and treasonable intentions are clearly owing.

The Catholic Association was avowedly the parent of the English ones which are spreading in every direction, for the attainment of destructive innovation and change, by licentiousness and turbulence.

Here radical change must also be adopted. In the first place, leading questions which produce bad feelings, ought to be set at rest. That of Reform is on the point of being disposed of, and every thing is in favour of an immediate settlement of the Tithe one. In the second place, no new questions of a similar kind ought to be raised. And in the third place, all such associations, Irish and British, should be put under legal prohibition. If leading public men inflame the passions of the people against national institutions, place the subject above the ruler, and shield with the authority of both Parliament and the Cabinet, guilt, contempt of law, defiance of constituted authorities, and ungovernable clubs, vain will be the attempt to save Ireland and the empire.

It has long been the fashion for both the Ministry and the Legislature to discountenance and insult the loyal part of the Irish people. The atrocious abuse, which, from the different sides of Parliament, was perpetually cast on the Orangemen, and all who were sufficiently well affected to oppose Catholic criminality, cannot have been forgotten. Irish attachment to the constitution, and fidelity to England, were denounced and treated as crimes; while Ministers and Members of Parliament pretended to call for religious peace and union, they held up the anti-Catholics to Catholic hatred and vengeance

as monsters of iniquity; the latter were not only thus defamed, but excluded from public trusts and emoluments. The marvel is, that the Orangemen were not made, to a man, the enemies of England by the treatment they met with. They have now glorious revenge. The very public men and newspaper scribes, who covered them with scurrility, almost supplicate them to resume their former conduct. Lord Plunkett courts them; and even Lord Brougham's newspapers exult over the information, that the Orangemen will again take the field against the Catholics.

If Ireland is to be retained, attachment to England must no more be subjected to ban and punishment; it must be created and nurtured by the usual means of favour and reward. It is clearly one of the highest duties of Government to keep up and strengthen in every way the English party. We say not, that Protestants only ought to be favoured; let all well-disposed Catholics be favoured equally; but confine the favour, and dispense it bountifully, to good feelings and conduct.

It is asserted, that the Marquis of Anglesey is yet anxious to extinguish religious distinctions and strife between Protestant and Catholic, by making the former the friend of the latter. He cannot, we think, be guilty of the egregious folly. Let the Orangemen and lower orders of Protestants be reconciled with the Catholics, and what will follow? They will be made Catholics and Repealers. The religious strife is the great bond of religious and civil fidelity. Is it this strife on the part of the Protestants which prompts the present conduct of the Catholics? Are the traitors moved by animosity, provoked by Orangemen, to call for the Repeal? O'Connell is covering even the Orangemen with his blandishments; while he is labouring to make the Protestants his brethren and followers, the Lord Lieutenant, as it is said, is playing into his hands, by attempting to remove the principal thing which prevents them from becoming so. At the very best, the extinction of Protestant party feeling would free the Catholics from opponents, and strip the Government of moral support: that it would not in the least amend

the spirit and conduct of the former, is manifest to all men. At present, the Protestants are united on the right side of things; but let Government again raise the absurd cry of Peace and Union, and they will once more be arrayed against each other in favour of Catholic treason.

Who must place these restrictions on public men, in office and out of it? The reflecting and patriotic part of the community, if it desire to escape irretrievable ruin. Let all men who love their country-all who value their own interests, put far from them party and personal feelings; and examine dispassionately the fruits of the liberal system of Government, and the situation in which they are placed.

The liberal doctrines were not only to give abundance to the labouring classes, but to fill these and other classes with knowledge and the best feelings. These classes have been sunk into unexampled penury, and filled with the most erroneous and dangerous opinions. The same opinions have been very largely adopted by the middle classes. The wholesome party-war between Whig and Tory, has been changed into a revolutionary one between the democracy and aristocracy. The Whigs no more lead the bulk of the community than the Tories. Earl Grey and Lord Brougham may protest against the ballot and radical reform, or defend the aristocracy; but they are scorned by their liberal pupils. While the control of both parties of public men is wholly cast off in favour of revolutionary objects, the country is covered with lawless combinations, and clubs for the attainment of these objects. The Whigs and Liberals are themselves proclaiming that the empire is in great danger from the bad feelings of the English population.

Catholic emancipation has produced a very violent, however necessary, abridgment of privilege and liberty to the Catholics themselves: it has greatly injured their condition. Ireland could have been governed with much less despotic means before it was granted, than she can

now.

To the danger of revolution in England, it has been added that of Irish rebellion for the sake of independence.

Demonstration flashes from every side, that a few steps farther will be the loss of every thing-will be the certain downfall of the empire; yet the parents of the tremendous peril insist on proceeding: the same principles are to be acted on, the same instruction is to be disseminated, and the same men are still to dictate and govern.

Let those who have a stake in the public weal, look at these matters and do their duty: let them especially consider how the English clubs -clamour against Church property -projected change of the corn law -and war against the aristocracyare calculated to operate on the feelings and interests of Ireland.

The intelligent part of the Irish Protestants must be well aware, that their religious existence is now struck at-that the independence of their country would be the extermination of its Protestantism; and this will keep them on the right side, if they be not disunited by folly in the government. How long the humbler part of them can be depended on, is a question which cannot be looked at without apprehension: it is manifest to all, that every effort should be made to attach them to proper feelings.

The Catholics may assure themselves, that there is no Englishman who desires to profit at their cost, or who is not willing to make a sacrifice for their legitimate benefit. For many years the people of England have been as anxious as any Irishman to remove, regardless of their own loss, the penury and misery of Ireland. And they may assure themselves farther, that England, however divided and misled she may be in other respects, sees and feels as she ought on the Repeal; that she regards it as a matter of vitality-a blow at, not a limb, but the heart, and will never consent to it, so long as she has blood to shed and a weapon to contend with.

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PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN.

CHAP. VIII.

The Martyr-Philosopher.

It has been my lot to witness many dreadful death-beds. I am not overstating the truth, when I assert that nearly eight out of every ten that have come under my personal observation -of course excluding children-have more or less partaken of this character. I know only one way of accounting for it, and some may accuse me of cant for adverting to it,-men will not LIVE as if they were to die. They are content to let that event come upon them" like a thief in the night." They grapple with their final foe, not merely unprepared, but absolutely incapacitated for the strug gle, and then wonder and wail at their being overcome and "trodden under foot." I have, in some of the foregoing chapters, attempted to sketch three or four dreary scenes of this description, my pencil trembling in my hand the while; and could I but command colours dark enough, it is yet in my power to pourtray others far more appalling than any that have gone before-cases of those who have left life "clad in horror's hideous robe"-whose sun has gone down in darkness-if I may be pardoned for quoting the fearful language of a very unfashionable book! Now, however, for a while at least, let the storm pass away; the accumulated clouds of guilt, despair, madness, disperse; and the lightning of the fiercer passions cease to shed its disastrous glare over our minds. Let us rejoice beneath the serened heavens; let us seek sunnier spots-by turning to the more peaceful pages of humanity. Let me attempt to lay before the reader a short account of one whose exit was eminently calm, tranquil, and dignified; who did not skulk into his grave with shame and fear, but laid down life with honour: leaving behind him the influence of his greatness and goodness, like the

evening sun-who smiles sadly on the sweet scenes he is quitting, and a holy lustre glows long on the features of nature

"Quiet as a nun "Breathless with adoration."+

Even were I disposed, I could not gratify the reader with any thing like a fair sketch of the early days of Mr E. I have often lamented, that, knowing as I did the simplicity and frankness of his disposition, I did not once avail myself of several opportunities which fell in my way of becoming acquainted with the leading particulars of his life. Now, however, as is generally the case, I can but deplore my negligence, when remedying it is impossible. All that I have it now in my power to record, is some particulars of his latter days. Interesting I know they will be considered: may they prove instructive. I hope the few records I have here preserved, will shew how a mind long disciplined by philosophy, and strengthened by religious principle, may triumph over the assault of evils and misfortunes combined against its expiring energies. It is fitting, I say, the world should hear how nobly E

surmounted such a sudden influx of disasters as have seldom before burst overwhelmingly upon a death-bed.

And should this chapter of my diary chance to be seen by any of his relatives and early friends, I hope the reception it shall meet with from the public may stimulate them to give the world some fuller particulars of Mr E's valuable, if not very varied, life. More than seven years have elapsed since his death; and, as yet, the only intimation the public has had of the event, has been in the dreary corner of the public

* One of my patients, whom a long course of profligacy had brought to a painful and premature death-bed, once quoted this striking and scriptural expression when within less than an hour of his end, and with a thrill of horror.

† Wordsworth, I believe.

prints allotted to "Deaths,"-and a brief enumeration in one of the quarterly journals of some of his leading contributions to science. The world at large, however, scarce know that he ever lived-or, at least, how he lived or died; but how often is such the fate of modest merit!

My first acquaintance with Mr E commenced accidentally, not long before his death, at one of the evening meetings of a learned society of which we were both members. The first glimpse I caught of him interested me much, and inspired me with a kind of reverence for him. He came into the room within a few minutes of the chair's being taken, and walked quietly and slowly, with a kind of stooping gait, to one of the benches near the fire-place, where he sat down, without taking off his great-coat, and crossing his gloved hands on the knob of a high walkingstick, he rested his chin on them, and in that attitude continued throughout the evening. He removed his hat when the chairman made his appearance; and I never saw a finer head in my life. The crown was quite bald, but the base was fringed round as it were, with a little soft, glossy, silver-hued hair, which, in the distance, looked like a faint halo. His forehead was of noble proportions; and, in short, there was an expression of serene intelligence in his features, blended with meekness and dignity, which quite enchanted me. "Pray, who is that gentleman ?" I enquired of my friend Dr D-, who was sitting beside me. "Do you mean that elderly thin man sitting near the fire-place, with a greatcoat on ?""The same."-" Oh, it is Mr E―, one of the very ablest men in the room, though he talks the least," whispered my friend; " and a man who comes the nearest to my beau ideal of a philosopher, of any man I ever knew or heard of in the present day!"

Why, he does not seem very well known here," said I, observing that he neither spoke to, nor was spoken to by any of the members present. "Ah, poor Mr E is breaking up, I'm afraid, and that very fast," replied my friend, with a sigh. "He comes but seldom to our evening meetings, and is not ambitious of making many acquaintances." I inti

mated an eager desire to be introduced to him. "Oh, nothing easier," replied my friend," for I know him more familiarly than any one present, and he is, besides, simple as a child in his manners, even to eccentricity, and the most amiable man in the world. I'll introduce you when the meeting's over." While we were thus whispering together, the subject of our conversation suddenly rose from his seat, and with some trepidation of manner, addressed a few words to the chair, in correction of some assertions which he interrupted a member in advancing. It was something, if I recollect right, about the atomic theory, and was received with marked deference by the president, and general" Hear! hears!" from the members. He then resumed his seat, in which he was presently followed by the speaker whom he had evidently discomfited; his eyes glistened, and his cheeks were flushed with the effort he had made, and he did not rise again till the conclusion of the sitting. We then made our way to him, and my friend introduced me. He received me politely and frankly. He complained, in a weak voice, that the walk thither had quite exhausted him-that his health was failing him, &c.

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"Why, Mr Ewell," said my friend.

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you look very

Ay, perhaps I do, but you know how little faith is to be put in the hale looks of an old and weak man. Age generally puts a good face on bad matters, even to the last," he added, with a smile and a shake of the head.

"A sad night!" he exclaimed, on hearing the wind howling drearily without, for we were standing by a window at the north-east corner of the large building; and a March wind swept cruelly by, telling bitter things to the old and feeble who had to face it. "Allow me to recommend that you wrap up your neck and breast well," said I.

"I intend it, indeed," he replied, as he was folding up a large silk handkerchief. "One must guard one's candle with one's hand, or

Death will blow it out in a moment. That's the sort of treatment we old people get from him; no ceremony

he waits for one at a bleak corner, and puffs out one's expiring light

with a breath, and then hastens on to the more vigorous torch of youth." "Have you a coach?" enquired Dr D "A coach! I shall walk it in less than twenty minutes," said Mr E, buttoning his coat up to the chin.

"Allow me to offer you both a seat in mine," said I; "it is at the door, and I am driving towards your neighbourhood." He and Dr D accepted the offer, and in a few minutes time we entered, and drove off. We soon set down the latter, who lived close by; and then my new philosophical friend and I were left together. Our conversation turned, for a while, on the evening's discussion at the society; and, in a very few words, remarkably well chosen, he pointed out what he considered to have been errors committed by Sir · and Dr ——, the principal speakers. I was not more charmed by the lucidness of his views, than by the unaffected diffidence with which they were expressed.

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"Well," said he, after a little pause in our conversation, “ carriage motion is mighty pleasant, it reduces one into a feeling of indolence! These delicious soft-yielding cushioned backs and seats, they would make a man loath to use his legs again! Yet I never kept a carriage in my life, though I have often wanted one, and could easily have afforded it once." I asked him why? He replied, "It was not because he feared childish accusations of ostentation, nor yet in order to save money, but because he thought it becoming to a rational being to be content with the natural means God has given him, both as to matter of necessity and pleasure. It was an insult," he said, " to nature, while she was in full vigour, and had exhibited little or no deficiency in her functions-to hurry to art. For my own part," said he, "I have always found a quiet but exquisite satisfaction, in continuing independent of her assistance, though at the cost of some occasional inconvenience: it gives you a consciousness of relying incessantly on Him who made you, and sustains you in being. Do you recollect the solemn saying of Johnson to Garrick, on seeing the immense levies the latter had

made on the resources of ostentatious, ornamental art? 'Davie, Davie, these are the things that make a death-bed terrible!'" I said something about Diogenes. "Ah," he replied quickly, "the other extreme! He accused nature of su perfluity, redundancy. A proper subordination of externals to her use, is part of her province; else why is she placed among so many materials, and with such facilities of using them? My principle, if such it may be called, is, that art may minister to nature, but not pamper and surfeit her with superfluities.

"You would laugh, perhaps, to come to my house, and see the extent to which I have carried my principles into practice. I, yes, Í, whose life has been devoted, among other things, to the discovery of mechanical contrivances! You, accustomed, perhaps, to the elegant redundancies of these times, may consider my house and furniture absurdly plain and naked-a tree stripped of its leaves when the birds are left to lodge on the bare branches! But I want little, and do not want that little long.' But stop, here is my house! Come-a laugh, you know, is good before bed-will you have it now? Come, see a curiosity-a Diogenes, but no Cynic!" Had the reader seen the modesty, the cheerfulness, the calmness of manner with which Mr E-, from time to time, joined in the conversation, of which the above is the substance, and been aware of the weight due to his sentiments, or those of one who had actually LIVED UP to them all his life, and earned a very high character in the philosophical world-if he be aware how often old age and pedantry, grounded on a small reputation, are blended in repulsive union, he might not consider the trouble I have taken thrown away in recording this my first conversation with Mr E. He was, indeed, an instance of "philosophy teaching by example;" a sort of character to be sought out for in life, as one at whose feet we may safely sit down and learn. I could not accept of Mr E's invitation that evening, as I had a patient to see a little farther on; but I promised him an early call. All my way home my mind

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