The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

How I grieve you're not with us!—pray, come, if you can,
Ere we're robb'd of this dear, oratorical man,
Who combines in himself all the multiple glory
Of Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist and Tory;—
(Choice mixture! like that from which, duly confounded,
The best sort of brass was, in old times, compounded)—
The sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly,
All fused down in brogue so deliciously oddly!
In short, he's a dear—and such audiences draws,
Such loud peals of laughter and shouts of applause,
As can't but do good to the Protestant cause.

337

Poor dear Irish Church!—he to-day sketch'd a view
Of her hist'ry and prospects, to me at least new,
And which (if it takes as it ought) must arouse
The whole Christian world her just rights to espouse.
As to reasoning—you know, dear, that's now of no use,
People still will their facts and dry figures produce,
As if saving the souls of a Protestant flock were
A thing to be managed “according to Cocker!”
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals hector
At paying some thousands a year to a Rector,
In places where Protestants never yet were,)
“Who knows but young Protestants may be born there?
And granting such accident, think, what a shame,
If they didn't find Rector and Clerk when they came!
It is clear that, without such a staff on full pay,
These little Church embryos must go astray;
And, while fools are computing what Parsons would cost,
Precious souls are meanwhile to the' Establishment lost!

338

In vain do we put the case sensibly thus;—
They'll still with their figures and facts make a fuss,
And ask “if, while all, choosing each his own road,
Journey on, as we can, tow'rds the Heav'nly Abode,
It is right that seven eights of the trav'llers should pay
For one eighth that goes quite a different way?”—
Just as if, foolish people, this wasn't, in reality,
A proof of the Church's extreme liberality,
That, though hating Pop'ry in other respects,
She to Catholic money in no way objects;
And so lib'ral her very best Saints, in this sense,
That they ev'n go to heav'n at the Cath'lic's expense.
But, though clear to our minds all these arguments be,
People cannot or will not their cogency see;
And, I grieve to confess, did the poor Irish Church
Stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left in the lurch.
It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy most sincere,
That I heard this nice Rev'rend O' something we've here,
Produce, from the depths of his knowledge and reading,
A view of that marvellous Church, far exceeding,

339

In novelty, force, and profoundness of thought,
All that Irving himself, in his glory, e'er taught.
Looking through the whole history, present and past,
Of the Irish Law Church, from the first to the last;
Considering how strange its original birth—
Such a thing having never before been on earth—
How oppos'd to the instinct, the law, and the force
Of nature and reason has been its whole course;
Through centuries encount'ring repugnance, resistance,
Scorn, hate, execration—yet still in existence!
Considering all this, the conclusion he draws
Is that Nature exempts this one Church from her laws—
That Reason, dumb-founder'd, gives up the dispute,
And before the portentous anom'ly stands mute;—
That, in short, 'tis a Miracle!—and, once begun,
And transmitted through ages, from father to son,
For the honour of miracles, ought to go on.
Never yet was conclusion so cogent and sound,
Or so fitted the Church's weak foes to confound.

340

For, observe, the more low all her merits they place,
The more they make out the miraculous case,
And the more all good Christians must deem it profane
To disturb such a prodigy's marvellous reign.
As for scriptural proofs, he quite plac'd beyond doubt
That the whole in the Apocalypse may be found out,
As clear and well-prov'd, he would venture to swear,
As any thing else has been ever found there:—
While the mode in which, bless the dear fellow, he deals
With that whole lot of vials and trumpets and seals,
And the ease with which vial on vial he strings,
Shows him quite a first-rate at all these sort of things.
So much for theology:—as for the' affairs
Of this temporal world—the light, drawing-room cares
And gay toils of the toilet, which, God knows, I seek,
From no love of such things, but in humbleness meek,
And to be, as the' Apostle was, “weak with the weak,”

341

Thou wilt find quite enough (till I'm somewhat less busy)
In the' extracts inclosed, my dear news-loving Lizzy.

EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY.

Thursday.

Last night, having nought more holy to do,
Wrote a letter to dear Sir Andrew Agnew,
About the “Do-nothing-on-Sunday-Club,”
Which we wish by some shorter name to dub:—
As the use of more vowels and consonants
Than a Christian, on Sunday, really wants,
Is a grievance that ought to be done away,
And the Alphabet left to rest, that day.

Sunday.

Sir Andrew's answer!—but, shocking to say,
Being franked unthinkingly yesterday,
To the horror of Agnews yet unborn,
It arriv'd on this blessed Sunday morn!!—
How shocking!—the postman's self cried “shame on't,”
Seeing the' immaculate Andrew's name on't!!

342

What will the Club do?—meet, no doubt.
'Tis a matter that touches the Class Devout,
And the friends of the Sabbath must speak out.

Tuesday.

Saw to-day, at the raffle—and saw it with pain—
That those stylish Fitzwigrams begin to dress plain.
Even gay little Sophy smart trimmings renounces—
She, who long has stood by me through all sorts of flounces,
And showed, by upholding the toilet's sweet rites,
That we, girls, may be Christians, without being frights.
This, I own, much alarms me; for though one's religious,
And strict and—all that, there's no need to be hideous;
And why a nice bonnet should stand in the way
Of one's going to heav'n, 'tisn't easy to say.

Then, there's Gimp, the poor thing—if her custom we drop,
Pray, what's to become of her soul and her shop?

343

If by saints like ourselves no more orders are given,
She'll lose all the interest she now takes in heaven;
And this nice little “fire-brand, pluck'd from the burning,”
May fall in again at the very next turning.

Wednesday.

Mem.—To write to the India-Mission Society;
And send £20—heavy tax upon piety!

Of all Indian lux'ries we now-a-days boast,
Making “Company's Christians ” perhaps costs the most.
And the worst of it is, that these converts full grown,
Having lived in our faith mostly die in their own ,
Praying hard, at the last, to some god who, they say,
When incarnate on earth, used to steal curds and whey.
Think, how horrid, my dear!—so that all's thrown away;

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And (what is still worse) for the rum and the rice
They consum'd, while believers, we saints pay the price.

Still 'tis cheering to find that we do save a few—
The Report gives six Christians for Cunnangcadoo;
Doorkotchum reckons seven, and four Trevandrum,
While but one and a half's left at Cooroopadum.
In this last-mention'd place 'tis the barbers enslave 'em,
For, once they turn Christians, no barber will shave 'em.

To atone for this rather small Heathen amount,
Some Papists, turn'd Christians , are tack'd to the' account.

345

And though, to catch Papists, one needn't go so far,
Such fish are worth hooking, wherever they are;
And now, when so great of such converts the lack is,
One Papist well caught is worth millions of Blackies.

Friday.

Last night had a dream so odd and funny,
I cannot resist recording it here.—
Methought that the Genius of Matrimony
Before me stood, with a joyous leer,
Leading a husband in each hand,
And both for me, which look'd rather queer;—
One I could perfectly understand,
But why there were two wasn't quite so clear.
'Twas meant, however, I soon could see,
To afford me a choice—a most excellent plan;
And—who should this brace of candidates be,
But Messrs. O'Mulligan and Magan:—

346

A thing, I suppose, unheard of till then,
To dream, at once, of two Irishmen!—
That handsome Magan, too, with wings on his shoulders
(For all this pass'd in the realms of the Blest,)
And quite a creature to dazzle beholders;
While even O'Mulligan, feather'd and drest
As an elderly cherub, was looking his best.
Ah Liz, you, who know me, scarce can doubt
As to which of the two I singled out.
But—awful to tell—when, all in dread
Of losing so bright a vision's charms,
I grasp'd at Magan, his image fled,
Like a mist, away, and I found but the head
Of O'Mulligan, wings and all, in my arms!
The Angel had flown to some nest divine,
And the elderly Cherub alone was mine!
Heigho!—it is certain that foolish Magan
Either can't or wo'n't see that he might be the man;
And, perhaps, dear—who knows?—if nought better befall
But—O'Mulligan may be the man, after all.

347

N.B.

Next week mean to have my first scriptural rout,
For the special discussion of matters devout;—
Like those soirées, at Pow'rscourt , so justly re-renown'd,
For the zeal with which doctrine and negus went round;

348

Those theology-routs which the pious Lord R---d---n,
That pink of Christianity, first set the mode in;
Where, blessed down-pouring! from tea until nine,
The subjects lay all in the Prophecy line;—
Then, supper—and then, if for topics hard driven,
From thence until bed-time to Satan was given;
While R---d---n, deep read in each topic and tome,
On all subjects (especially the last) was at home.

The title given by the natives to such of their countrymen as become converts.

Of such relapses we find innumerable instances in the accounts of the Missionaries.

The god Krishna, one of the incarnations of the god Vishnu. “One day (says the Bhagavata) Krishna's play-fellows complained to Tasuda that he had pilfered and ate their curds.”

“Roteen wants shaving; but the barber here will not do it. He is run away lest he should be compelled. He says he will not shave Yesoo Kreest's people.” —Bapt. Mission Society, vol. ii. p. 493.

In the Reports of the Missionaries, the Roman Catholics are almost always classed along with the Heathen. “I have extended my labours, (says James Venning, in a Report for 1831,) to the Heathen, Mahomedans, and Roman Catholics.” “The Heathen and Roman Catholics in this neighbourhood (says another missionary for the year 1832) are not indifferent, but withstand, rather than yield to, the force of truth.”

An account of these Powerscourt Conversaziones (under the direct presidency of Lord Roden), as well as a list of the subjects discussed at the different meetings, may be found in the Christian Herald for the month of December, 1832. The following is a specimen of the nature of the questions submitted to the company:—“Monday Evening, Six o'clock, September 24. 1832.—‘An examination into the quotations given in the New Testament from the Old, with their connection and explanation, viz.’ &c. &c.—Wednesday.—‘Should we expect a personal Antichrist? and to whom will he be revealed?’ &c. &c.—Friday.—‘What light does Scripture throw on present events, and their moral character? What is next to be looked for or expected?’” &c.

The rapid progress made at these tea-parties in settling points of Scripture, may be judged from a paragraph in the account given of one of their evenings, by the Christian Herald:—

“On Daniel a good deal of light was thrown, and there was some, I think not so much, perhaps, upon the Revelations; though particular parts of it were discussed with considerable accession of knowledge. There was some very interesting inquiry as to the quotation of the Old Testament in the New; particularly on the point, whether there was any ‘accomodation,’ or whether they were quoted according to the mind of the Spirit in the Old; this gave occasion to some very interesting developement of Scripture. The progress of the Antichristian powers was very fully discussed.”

“About eight o'clock the Lord began to pour down his spirit copiously upon us—for they had all by this time assembled in my room for the purpose of prayer. This downpouring continued till about ten o'clock.”—Letter from Mary Campbell to the Rev. John Campbell, of Row, (dated Fernicary, April 4. 1830,) giving an account of her “miraculous cure.”