ber hearing an anecdote of him, with which we shall head two or three furnished by Mr. England, with whom we should not have quarrelled if he had introduced a few more.

At a review in Hyde Park, O'Leary had stopped to speak to the Prince of Wales, when an Aid du Camp came up with his horse's head so close over the reverend Father's shoulder, that the foam from his mouth was communicated to the Friar's muzzle. Indig nant at the accident at such a moment, O'Leary wheeled round, and with his nervous grasp of the bridle threw the animal on his haunches, and his rider almost upon the ground, exclaiming, "I shaved this morning already, Sir, and I won't be lathered again by you.' Our author says, amongst other traits of humour that distinguished his residence in England, his acquaintance with the well known Daniel Danser, of penurious notoriety, is not the least remarkable. The retired habits and low cautious avarice which characterised that strange man,rendered an introduction to him difficult, and an intimacy of any continuance a matter almost out of the range of possibility. The obstacles to both were overcome by O'Leary. During a visit which he made in the neighbourhood where Danser resided, he found means to gain admittance into the ruined dwelling where the miser passed his life. Some strange communication, which he contrived to have conveyed to the object of his search, got him admittance to a filthy apartment, where the haggard lord of the mansion anxiously awaited his arrival. O'Leary introduced himself as a relative of the Danser family, and in a most amusing strain of brilliant and delightful detail of the origin of the name, and the exploits of the early founders of the race from David, who danced before the Israelites, he traced the progress of their descent to the collateral branches, the Welsh jumpers, then contemporaries of dancing notoriety. His wit triumphed for a moment the sallow brow of avarice became illumined by the indications of a delighted mind, and Danser had courage enough to invite his visitor to partake of a glass

cure for his refreshment. A cordial shake of hands was the return made for O'Leary's polite refusal of so expensive a compliment; and he came from the house followed by its strange tenant, who, to the amusement of O'Leary, and the astonishment of the only other person who witnessed the scene, solicited the favour of another visit.

"At one of the meetings of the English catholic board, whilst O'Leary was addressing the chairman, the late Lord Petre, it was suggested by the noble president that the speaker was entering on topics not calculated to promote the unanimity of the assembly. O'Leary, however, persevered; on which Lord Petre interrupted him, adding, Mr. O'Leary, I regret much to see that you are out of order.' The reply was equally quick and characteristic-I thank you for your anxiety, my lord; but I assure you I never was in better health in my life.' archness of manner with which these words were uttered was triumphant, and every unpleasant feeling was lost in the mirth which was necessarily excited."

The

The wag was himself sometimes played upon.

"The angry themes of religious disputation were, through life, sedulously avoided by O'Leary. He never published any thing professedly controversial. His sermons, as has already been noticed, frequently turned on points of religious belief; and, in some of his writings, his vindication of many of the doctrines and practices of the catholic church was equally learned and successful. Once, however, notwithstanding his declared aversion to polemics, he was led into its thorny way. The circumstance was as follows:Some time before he quitted Cork, he received a letter, through the post of fice; the writer of which, in terms expressive of the utmost anxiety, stated that he was a clergyman of the established church, on whose mind impressions favourable to the catholic creed had been made by some sermons of O'Leary's ;-he was an enemy, he said, to angry controversy; but as a ray of light had broken in on his mind,

glare. Over them the dusky woods formed a most romantic gloom, only the tall trunks of the front rank were distinctly visible, and these seemed so many members of a lofty colonnade. The illuminated camp lay on a declivity, and exposed a scene that suggested to my mind the moon-light gambols of beings known to us only through the fictions of credulous ages. The greatest turmoil prevailed within the fence, where the inmates were leaping and hobbling together with upward looks and extended arms. Around this busy mass, the crowd formed a thicker ring than the famous Macedonian phalanx [whose ring was a square, Mr. Flint]; and among them, a mixture of the exercised were interspersed. Most faces were turned inward to gaze on the grand exhibition, the rear ranks on tiptoe, to see over those in front of them, and not a few mounted on the log-seats, to have a more commanding view of the show. People were constantly passing out and into the ring in brisk motion, so that the white drapery of females and the darker apparel of the men were alternately vanishing and reappearing in the most elegant confusion. The sublimity of the music served to give an enchanting effect to the whole. My mind involuntarily reverted to the leading feature of the tale of Alloway Kirk.

Warlocks and witches in a dance; Where Tam o' Shanter

Stood like one bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd. Late in the evening a man detached himself from the crowd, walking rapidly back and forward, and crying aloud. His vociferations were of this kind: I have been a great sinner, and was on the way to be damned; but am converted now, thank God-glory, glory!" He turned round on his heel occasionally, giving a loud whoop. A gentleman with whom I am well acquainted, told me that he had a conversation with a female who had just recovered from the debility of the day. She could give no other account of her sensations than that she felt so good, that she could press her very enemy to her bosom. [Fie, Mr. Flint.]

At half past two P.M. I got into a tent, stretched myself on the ground, and was soon lulled asleep by the music. About five I was awakened by the unceasing melody. At seven, preaching was resumed; and a lawyer residing in the neighbourhood gave a sermon of a legal character. [We could wish this sort of sermon explained, for the sake of its novelty.]

At nine the meeting adjourned to breakfast. A multitude of small fires being previously struck up, an extensive cooking process commenced, and the smell of bacon tainted the air. 1 took this opportunity of reconnoitring the evacuated field. The little inclosure, so often mentioned, is by the religious called Altar, and some scoffers are wicked enough to call it Pen, from its similarity to the structures in which hogs are confined. Its area was covered over with straw, in some parts more wetted than the litter of a stable. If it could be ascertained that all this moisture was from the tears of the penitent, the fact would be a surprising one. [Fie again, naughty but facetious Mr. Flint.] Waving all inquiry into this phenomenon, however, the incident now recorded may be held forth as a very suitable counterpart to a wonderful story recorded by the Methodist oracle Lorenzo Dow, of a heavy shower drenching a neighbourhood, while a small speck, including a camp meeting, was passed over and left entirely dry. In Lorenzo's case, the rain fell all round the camp, but in that noticed by me, the moisture was in the very centre.

· Females seem to be more susceptible of the impressions than men are. A quality, perhaps, that is to be imputed to the greater sensibility of their feelings.

The awakenings in Kentucky that were some years ago hailed by the religious magazines of your country as the workings of the Divine Spirit, must have been those that occurred at camp meetings of Methodists. These assemblages are now said to be on the decline in Kentucky; and when meetings were held on a grand scale there, many disorders were committed by immoral persons, tending to the great scandal of religion, and occasioning the precaution

he yielded to a conscientious impulse to seek further and fuller information on some articles of the catholic creed, than the course of his early education had permitted or enabled him to acquire. His name he forbore to reveal. O'Leary, who was ever alive to the claims of duty as well as humanity, replied in a manner perfectly satisfactory to his anonymous correspondent. Other doubts were expressed and dissipated; and, through a series of eight or ten long letters, every point of difference between the catholic and protestant churches was urged, on the one hand, with the utmost force, and refuted by the other, in the ablest and most convincing manner. The triumphant controvertist had, in the joy of his heart, whispered the important secret, (a discovery of which subjected him, by the laws then in force, to transportation or death,) to a few ecclesiastical confidants; amongst whom was his bosom friend, the late Rev. Lawrence Callanan, a Franciscan friar, of Cork. Their congratulations and approbation were not wanting to urge forward the champion of orthodoxy. His arguments bore all before them: even the obstacles arising from family and legal motives were disregarded by the enthusiastic convert; and he besought O'Leary to name a time and place at which he might lift the mysterious visor, by which he had, hitherto, been concealed; and, above all, have an opportunity afforded to him to express his sentiments of gratitude and veneration to his friend and teacher.

"The appointed hour arrived :— O'Leary arranged his orthodox wig; put on his Sunday suit of sables, and sallied forth in all the collected gravity of a man fully conscious of the novelty and responsibility of the matter in which he was engaged. He arrived at the appointed place of meeting some minutes after the fixed time-was told that a respectable clergyman awaited his arrival in an adjoining parlour thither he goes, and finds seated at a table, with the entire correspondence before him, his brother friar Callanan. The joke in O'Leary's opinion was carried too far, and the subject was too serious to be trifled with; and it re

quired the sacrifice of the correspondence, and the interference of mutual friends to effect a reconciliation. Any allusion to the matter afterwards he looked upon to be personally offensive; and it may be doubted whether his friendship for Mr. Callanan ever entirely recovered from the wound inflicted on it by this circumstance."

The following, relating to the time of Lord George Gordon's riots, is deserving of being classed with the above.

These

"An Italian, who had come to London for purposes of trade, and whose notions of an English mob were not much tempered by common sense or experience, was anxious, during the heat of the riots, to get safe to his lodging from a distant party of the city; but as he feared lest his being a catholic and his ignorance of the English language should subject him to insult, if not to a chance of being knocked down, he prevailed with an acquaintance of his to teach him some vulgar and popular denunciation of popery. After some very successful repetitions of this pass word, he ventured into the streets. He had not, however, proceeded an hundred yards on his way, when he perceived eight or ten athletic fellows, armed with bludgeons, and apparently under the influence of intoxication, coming towards him. he guessed to be members of Lord G. Gordon's association; and, of course, he immediately took off his hat, waved it in the air, and vociferated, in a painful screech, Damn the pope and popery. His uncovered head was too tempting an object not to attract the leader of the party, (which consisted of Irish chairmen, who, taking courage from despair, and who, fully charged with gin, had sallied forth, the devoted champions of Pope and popery ;) a blow of a cudgel felled the recreant to the earth, which was quickly followed by others, at every effort of Damnation,' till their victim was rescued from his assailants by an Irish gentleman, to whom he was fortunately known; and whose influence with his infuriate countrymen probably saved the life of his Italian friend."

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But to return to our subject. O'Leary was with Dr. Hussey attach

ed to the Spanish Embassy in London, and during the last years of his life preached at the chapel in Sutton-Street, Soho Square, whither curiosity as well as admiration attracted many hearers. He also latterly received a pension, from the liberality of Government, of £200 a year.

"One circumstance (says his biographer) remarkable during his residence in London, was, that in the midst of the distractions by which he was occupied, he still retained the love of religious solitude, which he had early imbibed in the exercises of the cloister; and he frequently, towards the close of his life, deeply and earnestly regretted his having ever quitted the peaceful retreats of piety and learning. If the circumstances in which he was placed would have permitted such a line of conduct, there is reason to believe that, notwithstanding his social attractions and disposition, his wishes led him to end his life in retirement:-but such a choice was denied to him; and he had no alternative but that of occasional retreat for the purposes of personal sanctification."

His early feelings, habits, and religion, led him to be a strenuous hater of the French revolution. He pitied the unfortunate emigrants, and frequently exercised his pen to plead their cause; and in a pithy description of a visit

which he paid to France, depicted the effects of the change that had taken place by saying, that "there was not now one gentleman left in the whole country." A pamphlet against perjury, suggested by the shocking disregard to oaths at the Westminster election, was never published; and the last production of his pen was a memorial in behalf of the Fathers of La Trappe, then fugitives on the face of the earth. On the day after his arrival in London from France he died, 8th January, 1802, aged 72, and was buried in St. Pancras Church-yard.

We shall not prolong this paper with any remarks. Mr. England, as we have hinted, occasionally speaks rather coarsely of those from whom he differs in opinion; in other respects he has performed his task satisfactorily enough. He signalizes the year 1774 as the first dawn of relaxation towards the Catholics, by the passing of the Act whereby they were admitted to certify their allegiance to the King; and he mentions that Dr. Egan, at Clonmell (who died in 1797,)" was the first catholic clergyman in Ireland, since the Revolution, who was permitted to assist criminals under sentence of death, previously to their execution."

These are about all the benefits we are told of—they seem to be written in water; the injuries in brass.