in suspense while with eager curiosity we gaze | into a drawer, and while our statesman, with in his retirement upon the idolized hero of his party worship.

something like bustling activity, makes fresh notes in his betting-book, there is ushered in one of his dearest friends. It is Fitzpatrick, a dandy of the eighteenth century, an Irish humorist with some Parisian grace and something of a military carriage. He is prematurely haggard and careworn from the campaigns of pleasure, and his conversation, neither edifying nor instructive, is vastly amusing. And while the two friends are confidentially discussing of their common affairs, for they are deep in each other's secrets, pleasant noise of laughter is heard on the stairs, and the swarthy face of Fox is gladdened as his dear and sprightly Jack Townshend comes in along with the "Hare of many friends." What jokes! what mirth! what capital say

Lounging over his late breakfast sits one whose personal appearance alone would rivet the attention. His figure in robust manhood shows none of those traces of dissipation that we might have expected from the life of a roysterer. His swarthy complexion recalls to us his nickname "Niger;" and the thick and bushy eyebrows, with something of a saturnine aspect, strangely blended with the signs of a passionate temperament, remind us of his Stuart blood through the Lennox family. There is the "Charley Fox" of aristocratic Whig coteries-the "Fox" of history's page! With what an easy, indolent air he sips his chocolate, while he glances over some piece of French trash, in which rumours, bonings, sparkle, flash, and fly about that little mots, scandals about the Faubourg St. Germain, and pedantry from the pays Latin, are jumbled together in the fricassée style of French literature. There is a good natural look of affability about our statesman that conciliates good-will; and yet that compressed mouth and beetling brow, with its occasional heavy frown, tell of one whose temper can be wrathful, and whose soul can be impassioned with the fire of genius.

shabby drawing-room! It is brilliant with hues of fancy and humour. And Fox himself-with what an easy delighted air he enjoys the banter and good humour of his companions! The names of the gifted and the beautiful are mentioned, and he tears open his invitations to the various scenes of gaiety and joy where his presence is persuasively bidden in the autographs of the fashionable rulers of the age. Well, our statesman leads a pleasant life, and who would say that politics are a grave pursuit? Ay, or a great one?

A GAMBLING HELL OF THE OLDEN
TIMES.

The carelessness of the whole man as seen in his character is one of the most true and significant signs of his nature. Here is no formal bookcase with variorum classics and standard essayists. His books are as miscellaneous as his acquaintances, and, like his other friends, range from good to bad. A stray volume of Tacitus is beside the last Italian opera-the new Racing Calendar is carelessly tossed over his old Eton copy of Thucydides. His valet brings in more letters to him, in addition to the unopened pile already on the table, and we can see that the sight of all that he has to read daunts the man of ease. The variety of his life is attested by the superscriptions of his letters. Here is the formal clerky hand of a money-lending usurer. There is a trumpery letter from a tuft-hunting democrat, proud of writing "My dear sir" to the nephew of the Duke of Richmond. He takes up a long packet with "E. B." in the corner. It is a prolix MS., written in a tremulous hurried hand, with copious interlinea-gaming-house. tions. But the morning is too oppressive to begin with poring over politics, and that dirty vile scrawl on yon crumpled paper, with news about "Seagull" from the famed Sam Chifney, arrests his eyes. The political MS. is crumpled

The summer morning has dawned, and the early market-gardeners are coming into town. The eastern sky is streaked with the rising sun, and the cool air is refreshing after the heated supper-room. For the ten-thousandth time the contrast between the calm beauty of nature and the stir and noise of feverish passing life comes upon us, and the heart is touched. But as we are passing down this narrow street leading from Jermyn Street, what noise is that! Ha! there is a riot in yonder house, and the door is suddenly opened, and a couple of fellows looking like bandits in servants' livery kick out into the street, amid profuse imprecations, a cheating blackleg. Yes, it is a

Ascend the stairs, walk into the second-floor chamber, and look upon the horrid scene.

Yon Jew from Amsterdam is a gamester noted through Europe. Near him is an Irish peer, staking the remains of his rack-rents.

yet. Thurlow has come to talk about the Irish chancellorship, for Lord Lifford has resigned at last, and Fitzgibbon wants to get it. In a few minutes he departs, and Pitt is forced to select from his crowded antechamber what persons he will see. The first he names is "Bob Smith"-Phoebus! what a name! He is quite a pet of the great statesman, and like most of his favourites he comes from the city -a banker, still residing east of Temple-Bar, but shortly to emerge into a splendid mansion in the Green Park, and wear the sparkling coronet of "Carrington." And next he sees the Irish Fitzgibbon-small in stature, but great in audacity of design-a provincial Thurlow, as towering in arrogance as his English prototype-yet Pitt likes his clear intellect and his ready comprehension of the minister's imperializing views. Then come the throng

There sits Lord Egremont, who thinks the whole set around a pack of pickpockets; that fine young man with frenzy in his face, flushed with feverish rage, is a prince of the blood royal-the Duke of York. And there is Fitzpatrick, exhausted in body and excited in mind-and, oh, shame!-there is that Fox on whose burning words the senate lately hung enraptured! There is that Fox from whose lips we heard the words of virtue, the precepts of the purest morality, and the flattering accents of enthusiastic philanthropy; see him now, half maddened with the auri sacra fames. See the gnawing misery in his haggard features, and hear him-but no! We cannot look on. The hero of our idolatry has fallen to a man. Our dream of a philanthropic demigod vanishes. We will not wait to see the ruined gambler stagger home to his lodgings where we found him last noon; our feelings are re-ing deputations from the city-West Indian volted. We have for a moment no patience with a whining sentimentalist who would cry, "Alas! poor human nature!”

WILLIAM PITT.

planters raising an alarm about Wilberforce's plans for abolition, and East Indian merchants with talk about shipping, voyaging, cargoes, excise, Eastern possessions, and all the perplexed business matter on which Pitt's mind rejoices to exercise itself. He is quite happy listening to all their statements: his intuitively logical intellect grasps the relations of their facts to that scheme of commercial empire which is ever and anon recurring to his great teeming brain. Yet he listens without emotion while he is told of the city project of yesterday to purchase him an annuity of three thousand a year in case he should be driven from power.

A SPEECH OF MR. GLADSTONE.

And now he is again at the Treasury. He gives a look at his office-book, and observes the number of interviews with all manner of people that he has appointed for this day. While looking over it he utters a regret that he has not Pretyman still for private secretary; and while he is making a note in comes William Grenville with a hurried letter from Dr. Willis, from Windsor, written in a more sanguine mood about the king; and their colloquy is interrupted by Dundas, who talks at once of more "ratting" amongst their supporters, but says the Scotch members will be faithful. It was two hours past midnight, and the "I wish we could say the same of 'more im- house was eager to divide. If the orator who portant people,'" said Pitt; "for example, had just sat down had spoken under circumThurlow." The word has scarcely left his lips stances calculated to dishearten, the orator when the chancellor is announced, and Dundas who had arisen had the difficulties to contend mutters a Scotch saying in which "the deil" with of an audience at once excited and jaded, is all that is heard, and soon after Pitt is and the advanced period of the debate. Discloseted with one who looks black and bold regarding the signs of impatience in his hearers, enough to make us think again of Dundas's Mr. Gladstone rapidly and artfully wound proverb. He is indeed "the black-browed himself into the ear of the Commons. Roused phantom" that he was described by Burke, himself by the great effort of his adversary, and Pitt thinks of Fox's witty saying that he strained his powers to the uttermost, and "there never was any man so wise as Thurlow became grand with natural passion. For two 'looked."" But calmly and proudly Pitt looks hours he enchained the attention of that audidown upon the arch-schemer, while the deep ence, and with masterly art he vindicated the intriguer tries to hide his heart from that policy of Free-trade, and inveighed against the penetrating gaze. Protectionists. Nor was there any other deWell, they have not broken with each other bater than Mr. Gladstone who possessed the

union of financial knowledge, readiness of | were two men, who had in the last and crown

logic, and rare parliamentary eloquence requisite for replying to Mr. Disraeli on that eventful night. This was the greatest success as a speaker ever attained by him, and was in itself enough to stamp his name in the annals of parliament. It was indeed a curious circumstance, that on that night both Protectionists and Free-traders were satisfied with the efforts made by the two parliamentary debaters who had wound up the prolonged struggle with so splendid a display of personal prowess. Here

ing debate of a parliamentary campaign, publicly carried the palm of superior eloquence from a host of emulous rivals. One was the son of a Liverpool merchant who had risen from being a small shopkeeper-the other had fought his own way to reputation and power by pen and tongue. Neither belonged to the "great families" of England, neither had the prestige of traditions and territorial sway. Each owed his political power and his personal ascendency in the senate to his own genius.

JAMES WILLS, D.D.

BORN 1790-DIED 1868.

similar collections of Scottish and English biographies, which it resembles in plan and appearance, and by which it was suggested. For the honour of our national spirit we hope, though the book be published in Ireland, and though it records the lives and fortunes of Irishmen, that, at least among his own countrymen, Mr. Wills may not find the curse of Swift upon him-to be an Irishman and a man of genius." The book Dr. Wills did not live to complete, and the half-finished task was taken up and ably continued by Mr. Free

[This poet and biographer was born in co. Roscommon, on Jan. 1, 1790. In 1809 he entered Trinity College, Dublin, from whence, after passing through the usual course, he was sent to London in order to study law in the Middle Temple. Subsequently, however, he changed his intention, and entered the Church. Being instituted to a sinecure vicarage, he resided for some time in Dublin, and contributed many papers to Blackwood's Magazine. In 1822 he became editor of the Dublin University Magazine. He also wrote frequently in The Dublin Penny Journal, and in conjunc-man Wills. In 1855 Dr. Wills was appointed tion with the Rev. Cæsar Otway started The Irish Quarterly Review. In 1838 he resigned the editorship of The University Magazine. The work with which his name is most intimately associated is The Irish Nation, its History and Biography. It contains 513 biographies of the greatest Irishmen, and is arranged in political, ecclesiastical, literary, and scientific divisions, the history of the nation being to a great extent embodied in the biographies. Each division is prefixed by an illustrative dissertation. Lord-chancellor Ball says of this magnificent production that "calm judgment, subtle analysis of the motives, and the external developments of every age, a philosophical freedom from passion and prejudice, rarely attained and still more rarely combined with a firm adherence to right principles, are especially observable." The Dublin University Magazine thus speaks of it:-"A better or more interesting work of the kind, we are bound to say, has not for years issued from the press. It would be an insult to the author to attempt any comparison between its merits and the

Donnellan lecturer to the Dublin University, in which capacity he attracted great notice by his course of lectures on The Antecedent Probabilities of Christianity. Another work of Dr. Wills appeared, by Maturin's request, under Maturin's name. This was the poem The Universe, to which Moore, among others, gave high praise. His papers on The Spontaneous Association of Ideas, read before the Royal Irish Academy, show his wonderful powers of metaphysical analysis. Dr. Wills resided for some years in the parish of Kilmacow, near Waterford; but in 1860 the living of Attanagh was given to him, and here he lived until his death in November, 1868.

We feel bound to acknowledge that the great work of Dr. and Mr. F. Wills has been of much assistance to us in compiling these volumes. It is distinguished from most volumes on Irish subjects by an evident attempt to deal impartially with all classes and men. With permission of the publishers, Messrs. A. Fullarton & Co. of Edinburgh, we give an extract from an early part of the work.]

THE LAST DAYS OF RED HUGH.

(FROM 'THE IRISH NATION.")

which the Irish biographer, with the exaggeration of party feeling, and a very excusable ignorance of the fact, states as 4000 men.

O'Donnell was waiting near Holy Cross, in Tipperary, for the Earl of Tyrone; his camp was strongly fortified by the strong fastnesses of wood and bog, which he had secured by plashing on every side: so that no immediate assault was practicable by the English party. These in the meantime were strengthened by a regiment of foot and a few horse under Sir Christopher St. Lawrence. It was not the object of O'Donnell to risk a premature conflict with this detached body before he could effect a junction with his allies; and he very wisely determined to avoid an encounter. It was still less desirable to be cooped up within his entrenchments. He escaped by a combination of good fortune with that skill in marches which throughout appears to have been a conspicuous part of his tactics. The nearest available way through which his army could pass was twenty miles distant, near the abbey of Ownhy. This way was intercepted by the English. The only passage besides, lay through the heights and passes of the mountain Slewphelim; these were rendered impracticable by recent rains that flooded the numerous bogs and marshes which obstructed the mountain and rendered the acclivity in every part miry and slippery, so that no army could pass with

It was in the month of October that events occurred, which at first promising a favourable turn to the affairs of O'Donnell, ended in their total ruin. A Spanish fleet arrived in the harbour of Kinsale; this event broke up all minor plans, and brought the two great leaders of the Irish, O'Donnell and O'Neill, with their whole forces, to meet and join their allies. It also caused a powerful concentration of the English under the lord-deputy and president, to the amount of 7600 men. The Spaniards were 4000, under the command of Don Juan D'Aguila. The Irish force cannot, with any tolerable certainty, be stated, but may be reasonably rated at many thousands. All circumstances had for a considerable time favoured the military improvement of the Irish. They had, according to the statements of the Irish biographer, received arms for upwards of 20,000 men, besides the large supplies taken in plunder, and not numerically stated. A great part of the money sent over from England came by the same course of traffic into their hands, and the English possessed resources far inferior to those they thus obtained. It was, indeed, to meet the disadvantage arising from the Irish being thus enabled to purchase all they wanted in Spain, that the Eng-out leaving their entire matériel behind them. lish cabinet adopted the unsafe expedient of a debased coinage, by which the currency might be confined to the country.

As this great struggle, which terminated the insurrection of O'Donnell, O'Neill, and the other chiefs who were leagued with them, at this period belongs more appropriately to the life of Tyrone, in which we have had occasion to bring forward in detail a fuller view of various concurrent events, we shall here confine ourselves as nearly as we can to those particular incidents in which O'Donnell was more immediately a party.

The Spanish took possession of Kinsale and Rin Corran, being the main places of strength on either side of the harbour of Kinsale. They were deprived of Rin Corran, and Kinsale was closely besieged by the lord-deputy. On the 7th of November the lord-deputy, having intelligence that O'Donnell was approaching, as was also Tyrone, called a council, in which it was agreed to send the lord-president Carew and Sir Charles Wilmot with their regiments, amounting to a thousand men, with two hundred and fifty horse, to meet O'Donnell-a force VOL. III.

A sudden frost consolidated the marshy surface; and O'Donnell, at once seizing the occasion, led his troops over a path entirely impervious on the preceding nightfall. The English lay about four miles from the Irish camp, and ere long were apprised of the enemy's movement; and about four hours before dawn they began to pursue, still hoping to intercept O'Donnell before he could reach the pass. They reached the abbey by eleven in the forencon, and heard that he had been there before them, and had hastened on to a house of the Countess of Kildare, called Crom, his whole march being thirty-two miles. The president pushed on to Kilmallock; but before he could reach Crom, O'Donnell had departed with all his men to Conneloghe. The president on this concluded the pursuit hopeless, and returned to Kinsale. O'Donnell, following a circuitous and difficult path, at last joined the Spaniards at Castlehaven.1

Between the English and the Spanish in Kinsale many fierce encounters had taken

1 Sir W. Betham.

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