CESAR OTWAY. BORN 1768- DIED 1842. [This author commenced to write late in life, and for the purpose of advancing the circulation of The Christian Examiner, in which he took a deep interest. His graphic and pleasant sketches of tours in different parts of Ireland, which appeared in its pages, were so much admired that he was induced to follow them up, and thus added books of permanent interest and value to his country's literature. He was born in Tipperary, 1768, and although his ancestors had been English settlers, yet he was in feeling and sympathy a thorough Irishman. He was intended for the Church, and graduated in Dublin University, subsequently taking holy orders. For many years he remained curate of a remote country parish, but ultimately was appointed assistant chaplain to the Magdalen Asylum in Dublin, and to an office of minor importance in St. Patrick's Cathedral. His sermons attracted attention for their directness of appeal and originality yet simplicity of thought. In 1825, in conjunction with Dr. Singer, Mr. Otway started the first religious magazine published in Ireland in connection with the then Established Church. It was entitled The Christian Examiner, and besides the lighter sketches by Mr. Otway which appeared in its pages, he contributed numerous articles on biography and history, and a number on controversial subjects. Sketches in Ireland, Descriptive and Interesting, was published in Dublin in 1827, under his usual initials of "O. C.," and took its place at once as a popular book. The Dublin Penny Journal for the year 1832 was conducted by Dr. Petrie and Mr. Otway. Of this volume the Dublin University Magazine says: "Without containing one line that would mark the religious or political partialities of the writers, it contains more matter illustrative of the history and antiquities of Ireland than any previous publication." In 1839 his Tour in Connaught appeared, followed by Sketches in Erris and Tyrawley, 1841. In later life he suffered much from a rheumatic affection, of which he died, March 16, 1842. | You are not indeed to expect much of method or system in his sketches. But he had a higher and rarer gift. He was possessed by what he saw and felt. His imagination seemed to revel in the sublimities he described; his sentences became breathing pictures, better, because more suggestive, than painting itself. With him it is not (as so often with trained essayists) words striving to look like thoughts, but thoughts impatient for words, and rushing upon bold and picturesque metaphors to give themselves utterance."] We proceeded to Glen Veagh, and at length reached it after a very deep descent. We were delighted with the beautiful water winding far between immense mountains, and apparently without end, losing itself in gloom and solitariness amidst the distant gorges and defiles of the hills. On the right-hand side of the lake the mountain rises like a steep wall out of the water, lofty and precipitous, for a thousand feet; and this cliff is the secure eyrie of the eagle and jerfalcon. On the other side the shore was lofty also, and mountainous; but still there was room for the oak and the birch, the rowan and alder, to strike their roots amongst the rock, and clothe the ravines and hollows with ornamental copse wood. The lake was studded with wet woody islands, out of which rose perpendicular columns of smoke, which told full well that in this solitary secluded spot the illicit distiller was at his tempting and hazardous work. . . My pleasant and most companionable friend told me an anecdote in which this lake was concerned, which may be worth relating, as illustrative of the peculiar position in which the whole north-west of Ireland was placed a few years ago by the operation of the excise laws. I shall relate it as nearly as possible in his own For some years Mr. Otway was the centre words, only premising that he has a peculiar of the young literature of the Irish capital. unction in telling a story which I have been Of his character as a writer Professor Butler unable to appropriate: - One morning in says: "Among all the panegyrists of Irish July, as I was dressing myself to walk out natural beauty, none has ever approached him. | before breakfast, I heard a noise at my back 66 door, and observed one of my people remonstrating with a man who was anxiously pressing into the house. I went down and met the man, whose demi-genteel dress and peculiar cut marked him to be a gauger. "O, for mercy's sake," cried the man when he saw me, "let me into your house; lock me up somewhere; hide me, save me, or my life is lost." So I brought him in, begged of him to sit down, and offering him some refreshments, requested him to recover his courage and come to himself, for there was no danger. While I was speaking an immense crowd came up to the house and surrounded it; and one man, more forward than the rest, came up to the door and demanded admission. On my speaking to him out of the window, and inquiring what his business was, he replied, "We find you have got Mr. the gauger, in your house; you must deliver him up to us, we want him." "What do you want him for?" "Oh, doctor, that's no business for you to meddle in; we want him, and must have him." "Indeed that I cannot allow; he is under my roof, he has come, claiming my hospitality, and I must and will afford it to him." Doctor, there are two words to that bargain; you ought to have consulted us before you promised; but to be plain with you, we really respect you very much; you are a quiet and a good man, and mind your own business, and we should make the man sore and sorry that would touch the hair of your head. But you must give us the gauger; to be at a word with you, doctor, we must tear open, or tear down your house, or get him." What was I to do? what could I do?-Nothing. I had not a gun or pistol in my house; "so," says I, “boys, you must, it seems, do as you like, and mind I protest against what you are about; but since you must have your own way, as you are Irishmen, I demand fair play at your hands. The man had ten minutes' law of you when he came to my house; let him have the same law still; let him not be the worse of the shelter he has taken here; do you, therefore, return to the hill at the rear of the house, and I will let him out at the hall door, and let him have his ten minutes' law." I thought that in those ten minutes, as he was young and healthy, he would reach the river Lennan, about a quarter of a mile off, in front of the house, and swimming over it, escape. So they all agreed that the proposal was a fair one; at any rate, they promised to abide by it; and the man seeing the necessity of the case, consented to leave the house; I enlarged him at the hall door, the pursuers, all true to their pledged honour, stood on a hill about two hundred yards in the rear of the house; a hanging lawn sloped down towards a small river that in all places at that season of the year was fordable-about a quarter of a mile further off still, in front of the house, the larger river Lennan ran deep and broad between high and rocky banks. The gauger started off like a buck, and as a hunted deer he ran his best, for he ran for his life. He passed the little river in excellent style, and just as he had ascended its further bank and was rising the hilly ridge that divided the smaller from the broader stream, his pursuers broke loose, all highland men, tall, loose, agile, young; with breath and sinews strong to breast a mountain; men who, many a time and oft, over bog and brae, had run from the gauger, and now they were after him with fast foot and full cry. From the hall door the whole hunt could be seen--they helter-skelter down the lawn rushing-he toiling up the opposite hill, and straining to crown its summit; at length he got out of sight, he passed the ridge and rushed down to the Lennan; here, out of breath, without time to strip, without time to choose a convenient place, he took the soil in the sporting phrase, and made his plunge. At all times a bad swimmer-now out of breath, encumbered with his clothes, the water rushing dark, deep, and rapid amidst surrounding rocks, through whirls, and currents, and drowning holes the poor man struggled for life; in another minute he would have sunk for ever, when his pursuers came up, and two or three of the most active and best swimmers rushed in and saved him from a watery grave. The whole party immediately got about him, they rolled him about until they got the water out of his stomach, wiped him with their frieze coats; twenty warm hands were employed rubbing him into warmth, they did everything humanity could suggest to bring him to himself. Reader, please to recollect that we are not describing the feats or fortunes of Captain Rock or his myrmidons; we are not about to detail the minutiae of a cold-blooded, long calculated murder; we are not describing the actions of men who are more careful of the life of a pig than of a human creature. No; the Donegal mountaineers had a deed to do, but not of death; they were about a deliberate work, but not of murder. The moment the gauger was restored to himself, and in order to contribute to it an ample dose of the poteen that he had persecuted was poured down his throat, they proceeded to tie a bandage over | taineers. A lawless act it surely was, but his eyes, and they mounted him on a rahery taking into view that it was an act big with or mountain pony, and off they set with their consequences affecting their future ruin or captive towards the mountains. For a whole prosperity, it might almost be pardonable. day they paraded him up and down, through Amidst the numerous parliamentary enactglens and defiles, and over mountain sides, and ments that the revenue department of the at length, towards the close of a summer's country caused to be passed in order to repress evening, they brought him to the solitary and the system of illicit distillation in Ireland, one secluded Glen Veagh; here they embarked was a law as contrary to the spirit of the Brithim in a curragh or wicker boat, and after ish legislation as to the common principles of rowing him up and down for some hours in equity and conventional right—a law punishthe lake they landed him in a little island ing the innocent in substitution for the guilty. where was a hut that had often served as This law made the townland in which the shelter for the fowler as he watched his aim still was found, or any part of the process of at the wild water-birds of the lake, and still distillation detected, liable to a heavy fine, to oftener as the still-house for the manufacture be levied indiscriminately on all its landof irrepressible unconquerable poteen; and holders. The consequence of this law was, here under the care of two trusty men was he that the whole north of Ireland was involved left, the bandage carefully kept on his eyes, in one common confiscation. It was the fiscal and well fed on trout, grouse, hares, and triumph of gaugers and informers over the chickens; plenty of poteen mixed with the landlords and proprietors of the country. They pure water of the lake was his portion to were reaping their harvest of ruin, under a drink; and for six weeks was he thus kept bonus offered for avarice, treachery, and percooped in the dark like a fattening fowl; and jury. Acting on this anti-social system the at the expiration of that time his keepers one gauger of the district in question had informamorning took him under the arm, and desired tions to the amount of £7000 against the rehim to accompany them; then brought him to spective townlands of which it was composed. a boat, rowed him up and down, wafted him These informations were to be passed or otherfrom island to island, conveyed him on shore; wise at the approaching assizes, and there was mounted him on the pony, brought him as no doubt but that the gauger could substanbefore for the length of a day here and there, tiate them according to the existing law-and through glen and mountain, and towards the thus effect the total ruin of the people. close of the night the liberated gauger finds himself alone on the highroad to Letterkenny. The poor man returned that night to his family, who had given him over as either murdered or gone to America. But he stood not as a grim ghost at the door, but as fat and sleek, and as happy as ever. Under these circumstances the plot for the seizure and abduction of the revenue-officer was laid. It was known that on a certain day about a month prior to the assizes he was to pass through the district on his way to the coast. It was known that he kept those informations about his person, and therefore they waylaid him, and succeeded in keeping him out of sight until the assizes were over; and shortly after this imprudent and uncon Now wherefore all this trouble? why all these pains to catch a gauger, fatten him, and let him loose? Oh, it was of much and important consequence to these poor moun-stitutional law was repealed. SIR AUBREY DE VERE. BORN 1788-DIED 1846. [Sir Aubrey de Vere, author of the historical drama Mary Tudor, is perhaps best known and loved among the people as a good landlord, who resided on his estate and found pleasure in doing his duty to his tenants and dependants. He was born at Curragh Chase in county Limerick on the 28th of August, 1788, received his education at Harrow, and when very young married Mary, a sister of Lord Monteagle. Unlike many poets, he wrote little till he had reached the age of thirty. His first work was a dramatic poem entitled Julian the Apostate, which appeared in 1822. He next published The Duke of Mercia, a historical drama in verse; A Lamentation for Ireland, and other poems; followed in 1842 by A Song of Faith, Devout Exercises and Sonnets, which he dedicated to Wordsworth. We are told by his son that the "sonnet was with him to the last a favourite form of com position. This taste was fostered by the mag nificent sonnets of Wordsworth, whose genius he had early hailed, and whose friendship he regarded as one of the chief honours of his later life." His last, and by many considered his best work is Mary Tudor, published after his death in 1847, and written during the last year of his life in intervals of severe illness. Sir Aubrey died as he had lived, peacefully in the arms of his family at Curragh Chase, on the 28th July, 1846. The publication of Tennyson's Queen Mary attracted renewed attention to the Mary Tudor of Sir Aubrey de Vere, and his treatment of the subject will be found to bear favourable comparison with that of the poetlaureate. Love for his native land breathes through every line of his Lamentation for Ireland, and his sonnets, such as "The Shannon," "Lismore," "The Soldiers of Sarsfield," and many others, are redolent of the same feeling. Wordsworth regarded his sonnets as among the most perfect of our age. Mr. Hayes, in his Ballads of Ireland, says: "He was distinguished for his literary attainments and for his poetic genius. . . He depicts the tragic passions with power and truthfulness. His poems and songs are instinct with grace and feeling."] EXTRACT FROM "MARY TUDOR." Richmond Place, Queen's Chamber. QUEEN asleep on a couch, with MARGARET DOUGLAS near her. Enter CARDINAL and OXFORD. Oxford. Much to our woful country. Heaven avert it! Cardinal. To suit one creature, universal laws Are not revoked. Swift be thy homeward voyage, O Mary, to the haven of thy rest! The providential current, followed out, Will lead thee onward to the pleasant sea; From cataract and rock devolving smoothly Which, seeming to dispart, links all together. To the great symbol of eternity; Oxford. Think you, my lord, King Philip will come back? Cardinal. I fear me not. Orford. Nor guess a cause? He loves her not. Alas! he knows her not, Cardinal. No! he does not love! Oxford. His natural condition is distrust: His ear needs but some venomous tongue to sting it, And he shall be as dangerous as the abyss Whose smoke makes dark the sun! Cardinal. Alas! alas! Why look you sad? Cardinal. I came to lighten sorrow. Cardinal. The King is well, but comes not. Queen. Oh me! when I look back on what I have been; The strange vicissitudes that marked my way; Which weighs a heart down that hath earned despair. You stare at me as one of sense deprived, Cardinal. I fear I task your friendly aid, my Or a sleep-walker crouching o'er a gulf. When all your thoughts were to this heart laid | Therein to call your royal sister Queen, open: And then to comfort yours was joy to mine. What, under better guidance, I had been. Master the spirit; blind forebodings mock us: And his affianced wife. Queen. O heavy day! The old wound bleeds afresh. Spare me, good Paget. How wills your grace to deal with these? Smite their necks— I see disaster couched within thine eye. The skirts of that dark pall which swathes my Speak on-speak out. fortunes. Cardinal. This from a Christian? Enter LORD WENTWORTH, Governor of Calais. Queen. Hold! if I read aright Wentworth. Woe's me! my charge is lost. Queen. What, man-art mad? unsay thy tidings, Calais, the brightest gem of Harry's crown! Wentworth. Hear a little further. The King hath triumphed nobly at Saint Quentin. Queen. And this, sir, you call comfort: In the aisles of Notre Dame. O shame! where The destriers that swept the field of Spurs! and left Lord Howard. The Scot hath passed the border, and my battle horses! name With thoughts of strife. Queen. God is the God of battles! And rides forth in the vanward of his chosen. I will go forth like Miriam, and hymn To horse-I cry aloud! Oxford. (Aside.) Obstruct her not. This passion must have way. Already, mark you, Cardinal. Fearful 'tis to witness This conflict of fierce wrath with corporal weak ness Thus devils rebuked, rend, ere they leave, their victims. Queen. I am very faint. Bring me a cup of water. The sceptre to a man!--More grief-more shame? Time was-but it is gone: Time is-swift passing: Enter LORD PAGET. Paget. My liege, scarce had the late King's Been captured, when another knave sprang up, Who straight made proclamation, by the style Time comes-but no reality for me! I have reigned-I am lost! Let me die! That nerved you at the first. Queen. Dear Reginald! We both are bound for death: which first I know not. I shall not see the end: but what that end |