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heard and saw the poor old man on that occasion; and, finally, a speech full of kind hearty praise from the ever-eloquent and ever-genial Chief Justice Whiteside, brought the proceedings to a close.

The favours now shown to Armstrong where favours were least expected, were very gratifying to him. His poems in manuscript, and several of his essays, were sought for, and circulated among the most cultivated intellects, and were everywhere joyfully greeted; and the hopes they continued to awaken found clear utterance in many letters, of which the following, as coming from an author of repute but recently passed from amongst us, has for me at the present moment the deepest interest :-"It has given me," writes Mr. S******, "true pleasure to peruse them, not only for the subjects dealt with, but from the evidence they afforded me that there is a writer of prose and verse springing up amongst us who may fill up a gap, for some time too evident, in the roll of our native genius." His Address, soon afterwards printed, was taken by Professor Craik and read out to his classes, and, as he wrote, "eagerly received." It was mentioned by him to Sir Arthur Helps, to whom a copy was afterwards sent, at his request, to be acknowledged in most cordial words. Another gentleman, distinguished in literary circles, to whom Sir Joseph Napier introduced it in London, begged to be allowed to retain it, in order that

he might show it to Sir Henry Taylor; and it was not long before Sir Henry himself wrote, heartily reciprocating the eulogiums it contained. It was reviewed in London with marked appreciation, and its public recognition there was followed by letters to the author from accomplished hands, seeking information as to where and how copies of it were to be obtained.

Meantime, he was busy with new lyrics and revisions, and exerting himself to expand and develop the Society which had honoured him by placing him at its head.

CHAPTER XX. 1864, ÆT. 23-.

Indisposition. Retirement at Kingstown.-Letter CVII. : Sighings for the South.-Kind Friends.—Reviewing commenced.

THE

HE winter of 1864-5 set in at Dublin with great severity damp and cold, foggy and raw. Day after day arose sunless, followed by night after night of comfortless mist and chill. On one of these miserable nights, Armstrong, returning from dinner at Mr. Whiteside's, walked slowly back towards College, in conversation with some acquaintances, guests of the same genial host, with whom a half-hour's chat was too delightful to be rejected. He had neglected to muffle himself, and did not observe how greatly he was exposed to the bitter air. To that night-walk he traced the origin of a heavy cold which made itself felt a little later on. He presided at the meetings of the Philosophical Society until the commencement of the Christmas recess; but when the 15th of December, the last night of meeting, came, he seemed unaccountably flushed and nervous; and he rejoiced in being able to adjourn the proceedings till the following January; and hastened down to his father's residence at the sea-side, for clearer air, and rest, and nursing.

He had often declared his belief that he could not survive a very heavy attack of cold on the chest ;

and, strange to say, since the deplorable accident of 1860, he had never had cause to complain of anything of the kind. For four years he had enjoyed, with the exception of some slight temporary checks, almost unbroken health, and he was now the picture of manly vigour and activity. When the cold fastened upon him a slight attack of bronchitis-it seemed as if he would cast it off lightly and rapidly. of his friends were laid up also, some of them with much more alarming symptoms; everybody was suffering more or less from the abominable rawness of the weather; and the death-rate was running high. That he should suffer a little was to be expected; and his ailment was regarded as a trivial matter.

Most

But days went on, and he sat in the house at Kingstown, looking over a grey, sunless sea; still unable to venture out. Before Christmas had come, his illness had shown so little evidence of abatement, that those who knew him intimately began to grow seriously anxious about him; and on the 30th of December, in reply to a letter alluding to a proposal of literary engagements from London, he took up his pen and wrote as follows:

LETTER CVII. (To G. A. C.)" Kingstown, 30 December, 1864.-My dear George,—Many thanks for your communication about *****, and for your kind wishes for my recovery. However, I am still perfectly incapable of excitement, action, or movement. I have really been most seriously and even

dangerously ill. Congestion of the left lung-the

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"Of course if I can get the employment I will take it. But I am awfully weak and I'm afraid I'll never be fit for much work and I don't know what's to become of me and I wish I was a fruitseller in Naples-I do, with all my soul! Hang conventionalities !

"A warm climate and comparative idleness is the only thing for me-of that I am religiously persuaded. A hard literary life would kill me in a year. A clerical life would kill me in six months. O for heat and dolce far niente! . . . Yours sadly, EDMUND J. Armstrong."

The literary work which he had been asked to undertake was that of a contributor to a highclass weekly London review, of broad and congenial principles, which embraced among its supporters men whose characters he deeply respected, and to the permanent staff of which Sir Joseph Napier and Sir Frederick Pollock desired, with much kindness, to attach him. A letter from Sir Joseph Napier, soon afterwards received, was followed by his acquiescence; and, a book being sent him immediately by the editor for review, he set himself, ill though he was, to read and criticise it; and he speedily completed a critique, concluding it, at Sir Frederick Pollock's friendly suggestion, with some fresh supplementary remarks on the Essay.

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