the more harassing vexations of the law. They were not very fastidious in the matter of church accommodation, much less church ornament; for any place was better than the tumble-down lofts and brokenroofed attics to which fear had driven them for the performance of public worship. The "Little Friary" of the Cork Capuchins was indeed a very rudimentary attempt at ecclesiastical building. It was not much bigger than a respectable barn, and but for the galleries might have passed for one. Yet it served its purpose; it had its day, and was not unknown to fame. For half a century it was celebrated far and near as “Father O'Leary's Chapel ;" and for a subsequent generation it enjoyed, if not a better merited, at least a more widespread notoriety, as the church to which the worldrenowned "Apostle of Temperance" was attached, and where, with that simple, natural, unembellished eloquence for which he was remarkable, he moved to tears and won to the love of God and the practice of virtue, the crowds who flocked to hear him. The Little Friary is associated with the earliest recollections of our boyhood-its deep-toned importunate bell worthy of a cathedral spire, still rings in our ears, we have still in our mind's eye the thronging crowds, in Sabbath costume, pouring down the narrow lanes that lead to the humble temple—we take our place in one of the galleries, from which we might almost shake hands with the occupants of the one opposite the little organ, from an elevated loft, where it is scarcely seen through a wooden railing, sends forth its mellow music, while a band of vigorous choristers sing in concert; and when the chanting ceases in the intervals of Mass, and the multitude are rapt in the solemn silence of worship, there is about the whole scene a quiet homeliness, a close mingling of aspirations, that suggests the idea of a family group assembled in domestic prayer, rather than a congrega

tion kneeling before a public altar. And then the "Apostle," with that noble face and stately form which were so peculiarly his own, ascends the pulpit, while the hundreds pack themselves closely around it, every eye fixed on the white-robed minister of the Gospel, every heart receiving into its profoundest depths the words of reproach and correction, the words of encouragement and hope, the words of peace and comfort that flow from his lips with an earnestness and fervour bidding defiance to all the rules of rhetoricians, but effecting more than the most studied severity of rhetorical art could accomplish for purposes of persuasion. Years since then have rolled away-many and chequered; and many a loved actor has passed from the stage of public life; the Little Friary, too, is no more; it has become a carpenter's workshop, and the clatter of the hammer and the grating of the saw are now the sounds most frequently heard within those walls, which once echoed to the thunders of O'Leary, and the impassioned eloquence of Mathew.

The Little Friary, little known in the dawn of its existence, soon burst from its obscurity by the magic of O'Leary's name. His sermons became the topic of the day, and attracted listeners of every religious denomination. Controversial discourses were much in vogue in those days, and O'Leary was a controversialist of the first order. But his mind was cast in an ample mould; and arrogance, and self-sufficiency, and blind bigotry, the traditional stumbling-blocks of controversialists, were no features of his character. He argued honestly and unsophistically, with good temper, a kindness of nature, and a broad spirit of toleration-qualities which, if they did not always bring conviction to the minds of his opponents, at least conciliated their good-will, and won their unaffected admiration. The penal code was yet unrepealed, and this public, though very pardonable

violation of the law on the part of the worthy friar, no longer a secret to the authorities, could have been. punished with all legal severity; but such was the respectability of his character, and such the esteem in which he was held by men of all classes of the community, that he was permitted, without molestation, to proceed in the discharge of his clerical functions. The dawn of more enlightened times was gradually opening on Ireland-the futility of religious persecution was at length becoming apparent; and candid observers were forced to confess, that men like O'Leary, however strongly they might smell of the Pope, while advocating principles of pure religion, concord amongst themselves, peace to all men, and loyalty to the constitution, effected more good by their teachings than could possibly be obtained by their ostracism from society. A trifling occasion soon gave rise to a series of publications, by which Father Arthur O'Leary established his fame as a powerful advocate in the sacred cause of religion and Christian peace, and which enabled his fellowcitizens to appreciate, at their just value, the virtues and abilities of the humble follower of St. Francis.

A Scotch physician, named Blair, had been for some years residing in Cork, and by his talents, industry, and shrewdness had accumulated a handsome fortune, and attracted a good share of public attention and respect. The most striking memorial of his importance that remains to us of the present day, is the remarkable and eccentric structure called "Blair's Castle," built by him, which tops the hill at Sunday's Well, one of the prettiest and most picturesque environs of the city. It would have been well for Blair, and the victims of his wrongheadedness, if he had been mindful of the ne sutor ultra crepidam of Horace, and devoted more of his time to the study of Galen than of Voltaire. But the philosophy of Ferney had become

the fashion of the day, like periwigs and ruffles; and few scholars deemed themselves thoroughly equipped in literary costume, unless their conversation and writings were turned according to the most approved mode of the prevailing scepticism. The Scotch physician appeared upon the scene as the champion of religious free-thinking. He produced a pamphlet, entitled "Thoughts on Nature and Religion," in which, under the pretext of vindicating the conduct of Servetus in his controversy with Calvin, he attacked several articles of the Christian creed, with impudent boldness of assertion, a cunning insinuation of infidel principles, and a tissue of the grossest blasphemy. The work was, unhappily, recommended by its singular ability, great attractiveness, and not a little comicality. Readers can be always found who will peruse with delight works which, by diminishing the apprehensions of divine judgment, smoothen the pathway to pleasure. The fool saith in his heart there is no God, and he grasps with eagerness at straws that show the current of such comfortable unbelief. So it was with the pamphlet of Blair. It had a wide circulation and a disastrous influence. The middle classes devoured it; the young and gay cits of the day saw in it a confirmation by argument of the pet theories of their theology; while old sinners sneered a more satirical sneer of guilty self-complacency, and shrugged their shoulders with a shrug more than usually sceptic. Cork was not then the Athens of Ireland. There were in the "beautiful citie" little literary ability, and a good deal of religious indifference. Blair's book stood long without a refutation. A scurrilous rhymster, said to be a clergyman of the Established Church, rushed at it with the comic valour of Quixote, but could not pierce the rhinoceros cuticle of the pamphleteer. A minister of an Anabaptist congregation undertook the task, but his

production was even more sceptical than that which he pretended to answer.

Meanwhile, O'Leary's friends were urging him to come forward in the cause of religion, and by the vigor of his reasoning, and the depth of his knowledge, to expose the wretched sophistry that was working so much mischief in their midst. But as, in the state of the laws already described, a Catholic clergyman was only tolerated rather than warranted to live in the country, he deemed it injudicious to make so public a manifestation of his presence, at least without receiving some assurance that his doing so would not involve him in any personal danger. To put this point beyond dispute, he waited on the Protestant bishop of the diocese, the Right Reverend Doctor Mann, and solicited his lordship's permission to enter the lists with the obnoxious vindicator of Servetus. The interview of the two ecclesiastics is described as memorable. O'Leary, with his tall, awkward, coarse figure, his graceless attire, but exhaustless store of wit, and unremitting vivacity of fancy-the bishop, a blunt, homely man, with the humility of a curate, and the bonhommie of a philanthropist—both, apparently, surprised, that men who agreed on so much, could differ on anything. The permission solicited by O'Leary was cordially granted; and a few weeks after appeared the first of a series of letters, the productions of his pen, by which it was universally acknowledged, the blundering sophistry of Blair was unmasked, his phantasies dispelled, his atheism exposed; while the wit, and logic, and literary merit of O'Leary, as well as his broad, honest spirit of toleration, commended him to the esteem, admiration, and gratitude of the citizens of Cork, and the general reading public of Ireland.

The first letter opens with the following magnificent exordium :