flight from one commercial fellow to another, who has no more business with it than I have with-any thing that I have too much of already, and don't know what to do with-say common sense and modesty."-р. 122. But it will be a relief to turn for awhile from those gloomy scenes. All his efforts were not doomed to disappointment. By slow degrees, and after failures which would have struck down many a stronger mind, he obtain And this, while he was writing to his sick ed a footing as a contributor to the periodical brother at home, fearful lest they should think literature of the day. It is much to be reof suspecting that he was in want. "At gretted that nothing approaching to an au present let me distinctly say, that I am not in want of money, and the furthest inconvenience which I apprehend, is the being obliged for some time to remain in statu quo"! His brother's account of him during those days of bitterness is most affecting. "Notwithstanding all I have stated, it may appear extraordinary, that when his affairs began to wear such a gloomy aspect, he did not explain the state of them clearly and plainly to his brother, who would have been shocked at the thought of his allowing matters to run to such an extremity; and I believe he would readily have done so, if it had not been for the unfortunate occurrence of that illness to which he alludes in his letters, aud which he was sensible would in a professional person have a natural tendency to lead to embarrassment. All the circumstances I have mentioned; the depth and earnestness with which he felt his vocation; his observation, that his partial success had been due to himself alone, and his delicacy about trespassing further on his brother; his many distressing efforts to obtain employment, together with the wasting anxiety which such a state of things naturally engendered in a mind like his seem to have made him adhere only the more strongly to his early determination, and when his difficulties thickened, and his necessities became more urgent, induced him to push those feelings to an extremity; to shrink entirely within himself; and to reject even the commonest offices of friendship; those little favors which it delights to bestow; which are often the very tests of its truth, and without the exersise of which on proper occasions its professions would be worthless, and itself a mere shade that follows wealth or fame. It is perhaps one of the characteristics of all minds endowed with much sensibility, and with a high feeling of independence, to have this sensibility exalted, and to become quick and irritable beyond what is rational, in cir thentic record of his contributions has been preserved. Their number must have been prodigious, and if we judge of their excellence from his other productions at the same period, they must be well worthy of being collected and republished as a sequel to the complete edition of his works. The account of his first connection with the News of Fashion is not uninteresting. "I am in statu quo with one exception, that is, that I have got an engagement on a paper (The News of Fashion) of which you've seen a number. I sent the editor a couple of essays or sketches of London life, or some trash of the kind, anonymously. He begged to know my name. I did not tell, but offered to continue them gratuitously. He wrote to say he would be glad to pay for them. I had no objection whatever, and he gives me a pound per pagefair enough. I am furnishing him now with a regular series, of which he has had six in number already. I generally get in from thirty shillings to two pounds per week in this way, which, if it continue, is pleasant enough, considering that it does not interfere with my other occupations. The gentleman, however, is confoundedly apt to slip a column or so in the reckoning, which is not agreeable. "This editor of the News has dealt handsomely enough too. He made out several articles which I had published anonymously in his paper, before I dreamed of asking him for an engagement, and paid me liberally for each of them. This I took as an inducement to make me do my best. It is pleasant, too, inasmuch as the rest of the paper is furnished by the first periodical hands of the day. By the way, he don't know me as it is. He sends the money to my address every week by a livery servant, who never says a word, but slips the note to a servant -touches his lips and mum! presto! off he is. All very romantic, isn't it? A good illustration cumstances such as those I am about to men- of a remark I made to you concerning patronage tion. We all remember the indignation with which Johnson in his poverty, flung away a pair of new shoes, which some unknown but kind friend, as related by Boswell, had left at his door. The difficulty which friendship has to overcome in these instances, is not so much to bestow the favor, which it is always willing to do cheerfully; but to bestow it in such a manner as not to rouse a very universal feeling, which is seldom dormant, and is at such times more than usually watchful. The careful consideration of this difficulty during the exercise of such favors, is perhaps one of the surest trials of its sincerity and depth."-pp. 126-7. in the literary world is this. I applied openly to this same gentleman about a year since through his publisher. He wouldn't have any thing to do with me. Latterly, however, he determined it seems, to find me out, though I gave a wrong name, and I was a little surprised one day to see here in my room a tall stout fellow with mustachio'd lips and braided coat, announcing himself as Mr. W-, after I had three or four times declined invitations to his country seat (wishing to keep incog.) I went there yesterday, and had a long chat with him. He has a perfect palace there, with Corinthian piazzas, garden, vines, and the Lord knows what besides; a magnificent apartment with low winthe notice of such a son. dows going to the garden, &c. On one side | over, it is so very rapid. Nothing can equal the a splendid double-action harp, for which he variety of colors the woods exhibit in the latter gave, as he says, three hundred gu guineas. On part of the year. They look very beautiful inanother, a grand piano-his wife a pleasing woman-no great shakes of a musician after all. We settled that he should give me £100 a year, paid weekly, according to what I sent. I have just been scribbling off now two hundred lines of an epistle to Liston on his return to London-poetry of course."-pp. 160-61. deed, though I suppose I shall not admire them so much this season as I did the last, they are so associated in my mind with the approach of winter, which I do not like, notwithstanding it is the season of amusement to all the people here, who are continually sleighing about, and go hundreds of miles to visit their friends. The place about us is pretty thickly inhabited by the It was not till his prospects began to Yankees, as they call the people of New Engbrighten somewhat, that he could bring him-land. They are decent and obliging, and self to write to his mother, who was still in seem to take an interest in showing us the easiAmerica. The following simple but charming letter from her in reply is not unworthy It must have been a balm to him in his trials; but his family and American friends were never able to obtain his address during his difficulties, and hence this is the first letter which he received from them after his removal to London. "Mrs. Griffin to her Son. "Fairy Lawn, Susquehanna County, "Dec. 26th, 1825. "MY EVER BELOVED GERALD-We were sitting with a little party of friends on Christmas eve, when your letter reached me, and a more welcome visitor, unless indeed it were the dear writer himself, could hardly have appeared amongst us. It was unlucky that I could not procure your address since you left Ireland. I did all that writing could do to obtain it, and yet failed. The sympathy of his family would have been some comfort to my poor Gerald under the adverse course which his probation as an author has subjected him to. It is an ordeal, however, which some of our greatest writers have been obliged to pass through. "I have, dear Gerald, travelled with you through your mortifying difficulties, and am proud of my son-proud of his integrity, talents, prudence, and above all, his appearing superior to that passion of common minds, revenge; though I must own, fully provoked to by ***'s conduct. I hope, however, they may soon have to seek you, not you them. Perhaps, after all, it may have been as well that we did not know at the time what you were to endure on your first outset. We should in that case have been advising you to come out here, which, perhaps, would have been turning your back on that fame and fortune, which I hope will one day reward your laudable perseverance and industry. When the very intention you mention of paying us a visit delights me so much, what should I feel if Providence should have in reserve for me the blessing of once again embracing my Gerald. "We have had one of the finest summers, and most delightful autumns you can imagine; the latter I like best here, the woodland seenery is so beautiful, tinged with a thousand dyes at that season: the air so still and so serene, that if you come to visit us, your muse will surely be inspired. It is very interesting to witness the progress of vegetation here, after the winter is MAY, 1844. 7 est mode of doing farming business, as theirs is in many things different from ours. They have an agreeable accent, and are very intelligent; but their peculiar application of words is sometimes very diverting. A man called here the other day, who was going to Chenango, a town about nine miles off. He told me that if I had got any little notions to send for, he would bring them for me with great pleasure. I have observed some others use the word in the same way since. May God bless my dearest Gerald, prays his fond mother, "ELLEN GRIFFIN." pp. 151-53. By degrees his circumstances improved, and he again began to mix a little in the society from which he had for a time withdrawn. It may not be uninteresting to have his opinions on a few of the literary characters of his day;-not the stars, for to them there are few allusions; but the minor luminaries, especially those whose walk, like his own at that time, lay chiefly in periodical literature. The following letter throws some curious light on certain matters, which the readers of Blackwood about the time to which it refers may possibly remember : Gerald Griffin to his Brother. "London, Nov. 10th, 1824. "MY DEAR WILLIAM, -Since my last I have visited Mr. J- several times. The last time, he wished me to dine with him, which I happened not to be able to do, and was very sorry for it, for his acquaintance is to me a matter of great importance, not only from the engine he wields - and a formidable one it is, being the most widely circulated journal in Europe-but also because he is acquainted with all the principal literary characters of the day, and a very pleasant kind of man. He was talking of Maginn, who writes a good deal for Blackwood, and spoke in high terms of his talents: nevertheless, though he is his friend, he confessed he did not think him a very considerate critic, and thought there was something unfeeling in his persecution of Barry Cornwall, who, by the way, is an acquaintance of my Spanish friend. You may have seen those letters to Bryan Proctor, in Blackwood's Magazine. Barry Cornwall is, he says, one of the mildest, modestest young fellows he ever knew, and does any thing but assume. Maginn, however, imagines that those he attacks think as little of the affair as him self, which is by no means the case. The other reading as if he would devour it-completely day, he attacked Campbell's Ritter Bann most absorbed-absent and drinking it in like mortal happily, and at the same time cuttingly, and poison. The instant he observed any body near afterwards wanted J to get up a dinner, and him, however, he would throw it by, and begin bring Campbell and him together. J- beg- to talk of some indifferent matter. The book ged leave to decline. He is a singular looking displays great genius, but unfortunately it af being, Dr. Maginn. A young man about twentysix years of age, with grey hair, and one of the most talented eyes, when he lets it speak out, I ever beheld. Banim, who is his bosom crony, says, he considers him the most extraordinary man he ever knew. He attacked Banim, too, forded one or two passages capable of being twisted to the purpose of a malignant wretch of a reviewer, such as Gifford is, with much effect." -p. 190. Apropos of reviewers, we must enter our protest against the following being taken as a specimen of the style in which we perform our work of "critical dissection." "He was often highly amused at receiving from the editor of some periodical, three volumes before they were acquainted, but that's all for got long since. Hazlitt praised Banim in the London Magazine, and of course rendered it imperative on Blackwood to abuse him. Have you seen Campbell's late poems, any of them? I have been told that the volume of his, which of a newly published novel, accompanied by a is coming out shortly, Theodric, &c., is very request that he would not cut the leaves. This, poor indeed-lamentably so. Campbell is the which he at first conceived so very ridiculous, most finical, exact kind of fellow in the whole and so apparently impossible with any justice world. As an instance, I have heard that he to the author, he eventually found was almost a was asked to write a little poem some time since matter of necessity with many of the publicafor the occasion of Burns' monument, which was tions sent to him. They were of so trashy a then in agitation, and in which my informant description, that no one of ordinary taste could possibly get through even the first few chapters. His usual plan was to glance through the early part of a work, so as to obtain some notion of the plot; a peep here and there in the second volume gave him an idea of the skill with which it was developed, and a slight consideration of the latter end of the third, or slaughter-house, as he used to call the concluding part of a disastrous story, or fifth act of a tragedy, satisfied him both as to the genius of the author, and the merits of the performance. He, no doubt, made a more intimate acquaintance with his subject, when his first hasty supervision gave him reason to believe it was written by a person of more than ordinary talent; and did not appear to feel conscious of having done any injustice during the short period he was engaged as a professional critic."-pp. 205-6. took great interest. Campbell consented, but directed that proofs should be sent to him to the country, and before the poem appeared, had actually sent five or six messengers back and forward, to and from town, with revisions of commas and semicolons!! There is a young writer here, Miss Landon, the authoress of The Improvisatrice, a poem which has made some noise lately, who has been brought out by J and to be sure he does praise her. She sent some pieces to the Literary Gazette, a few years since, and through that journal (without intending any insinuations as to desert), has made herself popular enough to run through a few editions. J has asked me to meet Alaric Watts, at his house, when the latter comes to town, which he intends shortly. Watts is a very sweet writer in his own way, and rather a favorite. I have got, a few days since, a note from my friend Banim, to know what has beIt would be an act of gross injustice to come of me? and he adds, as a spur, that Dr. our worthy friends of the printing desk, to Maginn has just been with him, and said that Mr. suppress Griffin's humorous panegyric of J- expressed himself highly pleased with the their almost preternatural sagacity in disseries I am at present furnishing him. I dined the covering the meaning of a manuscript to all other day-at least, about a month since with else illegible. him and a friend of his, an artist of the name of Foster (to whom, if you recollect, Madame de "You tax me with my illegible writing; but Genlis dedicated one of her works, and express- 1 fear I cannot amend it, for I must not stay to es her gratitude for his assistance in some of shape my letters, and I have, I believe, got a her literary labors). He is one of the most de- bad habit from the facility with which the printlightful, facetious fellows I ever saw. My dearers here make it out. I verily believe, if I shut William, ever affectionately yours, "GERALD GRIEFIN." - pp. 180-2. Perhaps, for the honor of our craft, we should gloss over this indignant allusion to poor Keats, the victim of a malignant reviewer. "Keats, you must know was in love, and the lady whom he was to have married, had he survived Gifford's (the butcher) review, attended him to the last. She is a beautiful young creature, but now wasted away to a skeleton, and will follow him shortly, I believe. She and her sister say they have oft found him, on suddenly entering the room, with that review in his hand, my eyes, or flung the pen at the paper, so as to make any kind of mark, the London printers would know what I intended to say. They always send me back my manuscript with my printed proofs for correction, and I actually have repeatedly been unable to make out what I had written, until I had referred to the same articles in print. What a dull, mechanical, imperfect mode of communication this is though, of writing, and reading, and speaking! Why cannot we invent some more rapid and vivid means of transferring our ideas? Why cannot we commune in spirit, or by intelligence? I suppose I must give myself a lady's reason in reply. It is because we can't. Well! we shall do better in character as a novelist of the very highest Heaven."-pp. 155-156. order. The success of this work induced him to But it is time to return to the history. turn his thoughts to an historical novel, Once established, as we have seen, in per- founded on some story in our national hismanent, though humble and ill-requited occu- tory. He commenced this work, The Invapation, his after success, though purchased sion, with a hard struggle, was eventually secure. in 1828; but, in his anxiety to become His letters, through this later period of his fully conversant with the manners and char acters of the time, he deferred its completion till 1832, issuing, in the meantime, a new literary life, are full of interest; particularly a correspondence which arose out of a mis- series of Tales of the Munster Festivals. understanding with his friend Banim, and His literary occupations continued for sevwhich, though removed by a short explanation, was for a long time a source of great uneasiness to Griffin.. But we have already extracted so liberally, that we must content ourselves with a reference to them. Disappointed in his hopes from the drama,* and feeling that his precarious contributions to periodical literature were, at best, but a eral years longer without interruption. But, about this period, a change came over all his views and feelings, which deadened, if it did not destroy, the relish which he had formerly felt for those pursuits, and ended, a few years later, in his abandoning them altogether. The reflections of his biographer on this sub ject are very just, and extremely creditable to his feelings as a Catholic, no less than as a brother: but we shall transcribe, in preference, Gerald's own account of the change of his opinions, given in a letter addressed to his father, in 1833. frittering away of his energies, as well as of his time, he was induced to try his powers in a wider field of fiction; and, accordingly, without discontinuing his other labors (on which, indeed, he was dependent for his livelihood), he commenced the series of tales afterwards published under the title of Holland-tide. His application at this time was absolutely beyond all belief. After an early breakfast, he wrote without interruption till dinner, except that, before sitting down to table, he took a turn round the park: after a short walk in the evening, he resumed his pen, and continued his labors till late in the night. All this time, he was suffering from severe palpitation of the heart. In order to avoid the attack, which invariably awaited him if he retired early to bed, his practice was to recline on a sofa, or upon chairs, till the usual hour of visitation had passed, when (about two or three o'clock in the morning) he arose, undressed, and retired to bed for the brief remainder of the night. He arose invariably at five, and, after a cold showerbath, resumed his ordinary occupations. thousand faults I have a sincere desire to exe His first essay in regular fiction, in 1827, was entirely successful, and so complely established his character with the trade," that although he left London immediately after its publication, and returned to reside with his family, the very men who for years had been deaf to all his solicitations for the humblest literary employment, now vied with each other in their efforts to secure his services. The Tales of the Munster Festivals soon followed; and The Collegians, the most successful of his works, completely fixed his "I owe many letters to America, which I wish I had leisure to write, but at present I have more to do than my health will suffer me to discharge with the necessary expedition. There is one subject, however, my dear father, which I wish no longer to defer speaking of. I mean the desire which I have for a long time entertained of taking orders in the Church. God only knows whether I may ever live to carry the wish into execution. I have good reason to judge, however, that at least I do not act rashly in entering on the preparatory studies. They must take some time, and under the uncertainty in which one must always continue of this being truly a merciful vocation from God, I have the satisfaction of knowing that at all events there is nothing lost by my acting as if it were. My time is divided between my college course of study and my usual pursuits, and I have no doubt that the Almighty, who sees that with a cute his will, in his own time will not fail to make it known to me. To say nothing of the of faith, I do not know any station in arguments life in which a man can do so much good, both to others and himself, as in that of a Catholic priest, and it gave me great satisfaction to find that my dear friends in America were of the same mind with me on this point. Mary Anne says truly, that there need be no reserve upon such subjects, yet for a long time the idea gave me so much to think of, and debate about in my own mind, that I felt unwilling to say any thing about it. It could not have found a being more unwilling than myself, nor one more entirely reluctant to make the trifling sacrifices it required; but, thank God! I can shake my head at them all now, and look upon them as literally nothing. But enough, dear father, on that very serious subject, only let all my dear friends pray for me, that I may not be deceived. I feel a great se- | their faith, if I supposed they did not well know curity in the approval of so many friends, and how much indeed in the words of my poor mother (so like herself in their discretion and humility), which E W mentioned to me in his last letter. I dread myself so much, that I am unwilling to say all that I could wish, while I have yet advanced so short a way towards this great object, but I hope, before many months have gone by, to be able to talk as freely as dear Mary Anne can wish. How well our Saviour knew us, when he advised those who were about building a tower, to calculate beforehand, whether they should be able to finish it! Such flashes of thought as this are enough to startle one, and make him work a little harder than he might be inclined to do, if left to himself. My dear father, pray for me that I do not miscalculate-that I may be able to finish the tower which I have begun. "March 17th, 1833. The above was written, how far the claim of God was before all others, and that it would be to wrong his goodness and mercy, to delay entering on his service through an apprehension of worldly evils which he may never mean to send, and which he has it in his power to send, in spite of all our worldly precautions. But surely, all this is obvious, and it is trifling to dwell upon it. My dear sisters will forgive me for concluding this spiritless letter without writing to them. When I get home, I hope to say something more than asking them to pray for me; and that I hope will be within the next fortnight, for the book, though ready for press, is not to be published till next season. Ever my dear father's affectionate, "GERALD GRIFFIN." - pp. 352-54. This change in his views and opinions was neither sudden nor indeliberate. From a let my dear father, as you perceive, nearly three name is not given, it would appear that he months ago, and on looking it over now, it seems to me so lukewarm, so wavering and unworthy of one who had any reason to believe himself called to the service of God, that I am ashamed to send it. I have, however, no longer any doubt that it is my duty to devote myself to religion to the saving my own soul, and the souls of others. This letter alone, my dear father, may show you in some degree, that this is not a conviction hastily adopted; nor can I suppose it necessary to enter into any full explanation of all that has passed in my own mind on the subject, in order to save myself from any imputation of rashness, for giving up the affairs of time, and embracing those of eternity. To compare the two for an instant is enough. To say that Gerald the novel writer is, by the grace of God really satisfied to lay aside for ever all hope of that fame, for which he was once sacrificing health, and pleasure, and to offer himself as a laborer in the vineyard of Jesus ter to Banim, and another to a friend, whose had for a time yielded to doubts regarding religion, though they do not seem to have gone the length of positive unbelief. These, however, were soon dissipated; and perhaps the reaction may have carried him onward more generously, than if he had never wavered in his faith. However this may be, his first thought, as we find in the above and several similar letters, was to devote himself to the sacred ministry; and he actually commenced his preparation for entrance into St. Patrick's College, Maynooth, and continued regularly to devote a portion of each day to a revision of the entrance examination course of that college. The years which he spent among his family were among the happiest of their lives. Among the few friends whom his retiring habits permitted him to cultivate, was a family of the Society of Friends, who resided in his neighborhood. The letters which he addressed to them form a large section of his Christ-that literary reputation has become a worthless trifle to him, to whom it once was almost all-and that he feels a happiness in in the thought of giving all to God-is such a merciful favor, that all the fame and riches in the world published correspondence. They could not dwindle into nothing at the thought of it. But be judged, and indeed might possibly be mis this is talking of myself, and my own happiness alone. I am not to forget that there were other duties connected with my hopes in literature, which cannot equally be answered in this new vocation. It is true, my dear father, scarcely any circumstance connected with my success in those pursuits could have given me greater satisfaction, than the reflection that I was at the same time an instrument in the hands of God, for adding any thing to the temporal happiness of even a few; but, generally speaking, I fear the world is at the bottom of too great precaution on this point. If I serve God well, have I not his own promise, that he will not forsake my but apprehended, from a few specimens; they are almost necessary, as an illustration of the gayer shades of the writer's character, which they exhibit in a very pleasing light. But it is already time to draw to a close, and we have left the most important portion of his life untouched. There do not appear to be any data whence the time of his relinquishing the idea of the Church can be satisfactorily inferred. But the pleasure which he began to take, about the period of which we are writing, in instructing poor children, towards the project which he eventually realized, of devoting himself to the Institute of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. friends or me. I feel great pain in speaking on would seem to indicate that he already looked this subject, for I fear it may look as if I wanted try with worldly visitations. God knows such is sympathy for friends, whom God is pleased to not my feeling; and I trust I shall always be ready to do my duty when it is made clear to me-but I should wrong their affection, and * For a full account of this admirable institute, see "Dublin Review," vol. ix. p. 331, et seq. |