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the following apostrophe to the late Bishop Berkley ?--the Emerald
Isle is, we ought to acquaint our readers, a series of apostrophes lo
Irish worthies, from Fin Macoul and Brian Borhoime, down to Mr.
Curran and the wretched Dermody.

* And Berkely, thou, in vision fair,
With all the spirits of the air,
Should'st come to see, beyond dispute,
Thy deathless page thyself refute ;
And, in it, own that thou could'st view

Matter and it immortal too.'-1.-33. The following invocation to Farquhar, on the comedy of the Recruiting Serjeant, which was finished in his last illness, is a fine specimen of the grandiloquence in which Mr. Phillips delights to envelop the commonest ideas.

• Swan of the stage ! whose dying moan

Such dulcet numbers poured along,
That Death grew captive at the tone,

And stayed his dart to hear THE SONG!'-1.-36. The song! what song ? Serjeant Kite's is the only one we recollect in the piece; which, for a dying moan,' is comical enough.

Every one remembers Cooke the actor. He was remarkable for playing one or two parts with considerable force and skill, but his general character, even as a player, was certainly not very pre-eminent. He had, however, it seems, the good fortune to be an Irishman, and accordingly hear in what numbers Mr. Phillips lauds him.

• Lord of the soul ! magician of the beart!
Pure child of nature ! fosterchild of art!
How all the passions in succession rise,
Heave in thy soul and lightep in thine eyes!
Beguiled by thee, old Time, with aspect blythe,' &c. &c.

1.-39. and so forth for six lines more, with which we will not afflict our readers. We shall conclude our poetical extracts with the description of a traitor, which will remind our readers of some of the most splendid passages of Lord Nugent's Portugal.

the traitor's impious soul
Blasphemes at grace and banishes control;
It loaths all nurture but the fruit of crime ;
It counts, by guilty deeds, the course of time,
Sees hell itself, but as the idiot's rod,

Deifies guilt and mortgages its God!'-1.-67. We shall now give a few instances of the nonsense on stilts, which Mr. Phillips believes in his conscience to be English prose; and however he may differ from us in his opinion of their merits,

we venture to assert that he will not accuse us of having selected the worst passages.

Magna est veritas et prevalebit is a trite proverb, and no very complicated idea; yet this simple sentence is in Mr. Phillips's version bloated out to the following size.

• Truth is omnipotent, and must prevail ; it forces its way with the fire and the precision of the morning sun-beam. Vapours may surround, prejudices may impede the infancy of its progress; but the very resistance, that would check, only condenses and concentrates it, until at length it goes forth in the fulness of its meridian, all life, and light, and lustre-the whole amphitheatre of Nature glowing in its smile, and her minutest objects gilt and glittering in the grandeur of its eternity.'III.-20. Goldsmith had compared his Parish Priest

• To some tall cliff that lists its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ;
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,

Eternal sunshine settles on its head.'
This is one of the most simple and sublime passages in English
poetry: Mr. Phillips-who, by the way, is as great a plagiarist as
Sir Fretful, and somewhat in his manner-thus adopts it as his own.

• The hand that holds the chalice should be pure, and the priests of the temple of Religion should be spotless as the vestments of her ministry. Rank only degrades, wealth only impoverishes, and ornaments only disfigure ber; ber sacred porch becomes the more sublime from its simpli. eity, and should be seated on an eminence, inaccessible to human passions—even like the summit of some Alpine WONDER, crowned with the sunshine of the firmament, which the vain and feverish tempest of human infirmities breaks through harmless and unheeded.'III.-34.

In this same style of travestie, Mr. Phillips renders either unino telligible or ridiculous every thing he touches. He censures Mr• Graitan because,' as he elegantly expresses it,' an Irish native has lost its raciness in an English atmosphere.'-11.-15. When he alludes to Monseignor Quarantotti's letter, he will not condescend to mention it but as · the rescript of Italian audacity.' When the Duke of Wellington invades France, we are told that an Irish hero strikes the harp to victory upon the summit of the Pyrenees.'—p. 35. And when he would say that Mr. Grattan is an ornament to his country, it is expressed that he poured over the ruins of his country the elixir of his immortality –111.35.

When some judicious persons at Liverpool toast the health of this wild ranter, he modestly and intelligibly describes the effect which this great event will have in Ireland

• Oh! yes, I do foresee when she (Ireland) shall bear with what courtesy her most pretentionless advocate (Mr. Phillips) has been

for ever

treated, how the same wind that wafts her the intelligence, will revive that flame within ber, which the blood of ages has not been able to extinguish. It may be a delusive hope, but I am glad to grasp at any phantom that fits across the solitude of that country's desolation!!! V.-2.

There is, it seems, a certain Irishman of the name of Casey resident in Liverpool, and, we presume, he was one of the promoters of the before mentioned toast; for Mr. Phillips, after a magnificent description of this worthy gentleman, exclaims, in an agony of patriotism, Alas, Ireland has little now to console her except the consciousness of having produced such men'-as Mr. Casey of Liverpool !

We reserve for the last example of Mr. Phillips's style, two pas. sages which, we are informed by Mr. Phillips himself or his editor, (if indeed Mr. Phillips be not his own editor,) were received with enthusiastic applauses. The first is meant to be a satire on bigotry, and the other a panegyric on Mr. Grattan

• But oh! there will never be a time with Bigotry——she has no head, and cannot think—she bas no heart, and cannot feel-when she moves, it is in wrath-when she pauses, it is amid ruin-her prayers are curses, her God is a dæmon—her communion is deathber vengeance is eternity -her decalogue is written in the blood of her victims; and if she stoops for a moment from her infernal flight, it is upon some kindred rock to whet ber vulture-fang for keener rapine, and replume her wing for a more sanguinary desolation !—III.-22.

When the screech-owl of intolerance was yelling, and the night of bigotry was brooding on the land, he came forth with the heart of a hero! and the tongue of an angel ! till, at bis bidding, the spectre vanished; the colour of our fields revived, and Ireland, poor Ireland, &c. &c.-111.-14.

Such—to speak figuratively of this great figure-maker—such are the tumid and empty bladders upon which the reputation of Mr. Phillips is trying to become buoyant. We believe our readers will, by this time, think that we have fully justified our opinion of the style of this Dublin Demosthenes.

But we have something more than mere errors of style to object to Mr. Phillips; we shall say little of the want of professional ability which his two pleadings exhibit, because he so little intends them to be considered as legal arguments, that there is but one passage in the statement of two legal cases in which there is the slightest allusion to the law, and that allusion only serves to show the advocate's ignorance of, and contempt for, the more serious parts of the profession he was exercising.

• Do not suppose I am endeavouring to influence you by the power of DECLAMATION. I am laying down to you the British law, as liberally expounded and solemnly adjudged. I speak the language of the English

Lord Eldon, a Judge of great experience and greater learning-(Mr. Phillips here cited several cases as decided by Lord Eldon)-Such, Gentlemen, is the language of Lord Eldon. I speak also on the authority of our own Lord Avonmore-a Judge who illuminated the Bench by his genius, endeared it by bis suavity, and dignified it by bis bold uncompromising probity!!! one of those rare men, wbo bid ihe thrones of law beneath the brightest Howers of literature, and as it were with the band of an enchanter, changed a wilderness into a garden !YV.-17.

No, declamation is not the weapon of Mr. Phillips !-one thing, indeed, we learn from all this, that Mr. Phillips's countrymen appreciate his legal talents at their true worth-We may be sure that he has published every frantic speech he ever made ; and they are but two, and both on subjects in which the want of legal education and professional acquirement would be least observed; and accordingly we may say—to borrow a happy expression of Louis the XVIth's, relative to one of his chaplains who had preached a flowery sermon on all things but religion--that if Mr. Phillips in his pleadings had only said

a word or two about law, he would have spoken of every thing.

But we have done with the advocate, blessing our stars that lawyers in this country are not of the same breed, and hoping (as indeed we are inclined to believe) that even in Ireland none but the lawyers of the Catholic Board, and one or two adventurers who assume that title as a 'nom de guerre,' are capable of such a union of ignorance and confidence, of inanity and pretension. We have indeed to observe, for the honour of Ireland, that all these rodomontades are printed in England, and we believe that few, if any of them, have been heard of in the place of their supposed nativity:

We now come to Mr. Phillips in the character upon which, of all others, it is evident he piques himself most, namely, that of a PATRIOT.

Mr. Phillips's first political pretension is honesty; he is, if you will take his own word for it, a model of integrity and decision, a pattern for all the young men of the empire who will be warmed into emulation by Mr. Casey's Liverpool dinner. Lest our readers should doubt the modesty of this blushing Hibernian, we shall give his own words—a course which is always the safest, and, with so profuse a talker as Mr. Phillips, the most decisive and convincing.

• I hope, however, the benefit of this day will not be confined to the humble individual (Phillips, scilicet) you have so honoured; I hope it will cheer on the young aspirants after virtuous fame in both our countries, by proving to them, that however, for the moment, envy, of ignorance, or corruption, may depreciate them, there is a reward in store for THE MAN (Phillips) WHO THINKS WITH INTEGRITY AND ARTS WITH DECISION,'-V.-16.

Again, he assures his partial friends who were crowding around him, that no act of his shall ever raise a blush at the recollection of their early encouragement.'—page 16.

But it is not the easy virtues of profession alone to which Mr. Phillips lays claim-he boasts, in a quotation, solemnly prepared for the occasion, that he is ready even to suffer for his country :

• For thee, fair freedom, welcome all the past,

For thee, my country, welcome e'en THE LAST !' Notwithstanding the present thriving appearance of Mr. Philips's patriotism, he seems to have now and then had some slight misgivings as to the constancy of his virtue, and to anticipate the possibility of backslidings from this high way of honour, and with the most ingenuous naïveté he communicates his doubts to the Catholic Board.

“May I not be one of the myriads who, in the name of patriotism, and for the purposes of plunder, have swindled away your heart, that they might gamble with it afterwards at the political hazard table! May I not pretend a youth of virtue, that I may purchase with its fame an age of rich apostacy !-Cast your view around the political horizonCan you discover no one whose eye once gazed on glory, and whose voice once rung for liberty--no one, who, LIKE ME, once glowed with the energies of an assumed sincerity, and saw, or seemed to see, no God but Country, now toiling in the drudgeries of oppression, and shrouded in the pall of an official miscreancy! Trust no man's professionsardent as I am-honest through every fibre as I feel myself-I repel your confidence, though perhaps unnecessarily, for I am humble, and below corruption-I am valueless, and not worth temptation~I am poor, and cannot afford to part with all I have-ME CHARACTER.–Such are my sensations now-what they may be hereafter, I pretend not; but should I ever bazard descending into the sycophant or slave, I beseech thee, Heaven, that the first hour of crime may be the last of life, and that the worm may batten on the bloom of my youth, before my friends, if I have one, shall have cause to curse the mention of my memory.'II.-11, 12

Mr. Phillips's first publication, in the still earlier bloom of his youth, was, as our readers have seen, a poem called the Emerald Isle. It was dedicated, by permission, to His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, “Ireland's Hope and England's Ornament. The poem did not belie the promise of the dedication ; it is a perfect stream of praise, a shower of roses on every person who is named in it, from alpha to omega. This alone was enough to excite some little suspicion of the author's sincerity; but it became conviction on finding that, whenever in any of his succeeding pamphlets written in altered times and different circumstances, he has occasion to VOL. XVI, NO. XXXI.

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