been adopted, we were both determined on going out with the expedition, in which case instead of planning revolutions in our own country, we might be now perhaps carrying on a political war (for which I think we had both talents) on the coast of Spanish America. This adventure is an additional proof of the romantic spirit I have mentioned in the beginning of my memoirs as a trait in our family; and indeed my friend Russell was in that respect completely one of ourselves. The minister's refusal did not sweeten us much towards him. I renewed the vow I had once more made, to make him, if I could, repent of it, in which Russell heartily concurred. Perhaps the minister may yet have reason to wish he had let us off quietly to the South Seas. I should be glad to have an opportunity to remind him of his old correspondent; and if ever I find one, I shall not overlook it. I dare say he has utterly forgotten the circumstance, but I have not. Every thing, however, is for the best,' as Pangloss says, in this best of all possible worlds.' If I had gone to the Sandwich Islands in 1790, I should not be to-day chef de brigade in the service of the French Republic, not to mention what I may be in my own country if our expedition thither succeed. But to return. Shortly after this disappointment, Russell, who had for two years revelled in the ease and dignity of ensign's half-pay, amounting to twenty-eight pounds a-year, which he had earned before he was twenty-one by broiling in the East Indies for five years, was unexpectedly promoted by favour of the commander-in-chief to an ensigncy on full pay in the 64th regiment of foot, then quartered in the town of Belfast. He put himself in consequence in better array, and prepared to join. I remember the last day he dined with us at Irish-town, when he came (to use his own quotation) all clinquant, all in gold.' We set him to cook part of his own dinner in a very fine suit of laced regimentals. I love to recall these scenes. We parted with the sincerest regret on both sides. He set off for Belfast, and shortly after we returned to Dublin for the winter-my wife's health being perfectly re-established, as she manifested by being in due time brought to bed of our eldest boy, whom we called William after my brother.

"This winter I endeavoured to institute a kind of political club, from which I expected great things. It consisted of seven or eight members, eminent for their talents and patriotism, and who had already more or less distinguished themselves by their literary productions. They were J-S fellow of Trinity College; Doctor William Drennan, author of the celebrated letters signed Orellana; J P—, author of the still more justly celebrated letters of Owen Roe O'Neal; Peter Burrowes, a barrister, a man of a most powerful and comprehensive mind; W- J- a lawyer also of respectable talents; WS-, fellow of Trinity College, a man the extent and variety of whose knowledge is only to be exceeded by the number and intensity of his virtues; Russell, a corresponding member, and myself. As our political opinions at that time agreed in most essential points, however they have since differed, and as this little club most certainly comprised a great proportion of information, talent and integrity, it might naturally be expected that some distinguished politicians should be the result. Yet, I know not how it was, we did not draw all together. Our meetings degenerated into downright ordinary suppers. We became a mere oyster-club, and at length a misunderstanding, or rather a rooted dislike to each other, which manifested itself between Drennan and P, who were completely Cæsar and Pompey with regard to literary empire, joined to the retreat of J S to his living in the North, and the little good we saw resulting from our association, induced us to drop off one by one; and thus, after three or four months sickly existence, our club departed this life, leaving behind it a puny offspring of about a dozen essays on different subjects, all, as may be supposed, tolerable, but not one of any distinguished excellence. I am satisfied any one of the members by devoting a week of his time to a wellchosen subject would have produced a work of ten times more value than their whole club were able to shew from their joint labours during its exist

ence. This experiment satisfied me that men of genius, to be of use, must not be collected in numbers. They do not work well in the aggregate; and indeed even in ordinary conversation. I have observed that too many wits spoil the discourse. The dullest entertainment at which I ever remember to have assisted, was one framed expressly to bring together near twenty persons, every one more or less distinguished for splendid talents, or great convivial qualities. We sat and prosed together in great solemnity, endeavouring by a rapid circulation of the bottle to animate the discourse; but it would not do; every one was clad in a suit of intellectual armour, in which he found himself secure, it is true, but ill at his ease; and we all rejoiced at the moment when we were permitted to run home, and get into our robes-dechambre and slippers. Any two of the men present would have been the delight and entertainment of a well-chosen society, but all together was as Wolseley says 'too much honour.'

I

"In recording the names of the members of the club, I find I have omitted a man, whom as well for his talents as his principles I esteem as much as any, and far more than most of them. I mean Thomas Addis Emmett, a barrister. He is a man completely after my own heart, of a great and comprehensive mind, of the warmest and sincerest affection for his friends, and of a firm and steady adherence to his principles, to which he has sacrificed much, as I know, and would, I am sure, if necessary, sacrifice his life. His opinions and mine square exactly. In classing the men I most esteem, would place him beside Russell at the head of the list; because with regard to them both the most ardent feelings of my heart coincide exactly with the most severe decisions of my judgment. There are men whom I regard as much as it is possible, I am sure; for example, if there be on earth such a thing as sincere friendship, I feel it for W Ś for Peter Burrowes. They are men whose talents I admire, whose virtues for George Knox, and I reverence, and whose and affectionate as it is, is certainly not of the same species with that which I love; but the regard I feel for them, sincere persons I entertain for Russell and Emmett. Between us three there has been from the very commencement of our acquaintance a coincidence of sentiment and harmony of feeling on points which we all conscientiously consider as of the last importance, which binds us in the closest ties to each other. We have unvaryingly been devoted to the pursuit of the same object by the same means. We have had a fellowship in our labours, a society in our dangers. Our hopes, our fears, our wishes, our friends, and our enemies, have been the same. When all this is considered, and the talents and principles of the men taken into the account, it will not be wondered at if I esteem Russell and Emmett as the first of my friends. If ever an opportunity offers, as circumstances at present seem likely to bring me forward, I think their country will ratify my choice. With regard to Burrowes and Knox, whom I do most sincerely and affectionately love, their political opinions differ fundamentally from mine; and, perhaps, it is for the credit of us all three, that, with such an irreconcileable difference of sentiment, we have all along preserved a mutual regard and esteem for each other, and at least I am sure I feel it particularly honourable to myself; for there are, perhaps, no two men in the world about whose good opinion I am more solicitous; nor shall I ever forget the steady and unvarying friendship I experienced from them both when my situation was to all human appearances utterly desperate, and when others, with at least as little reason to desert me, shunned ine as if I had the red spots of the plague out upon me. But of that hereafter. With regard to N, his political sentiments approach nearer to mine than those of either Knox or Burrowes. I mention this, for in these days of unbounded discussion politics, unfortunately, enter into every thing, even into our private friendships. We, however, differ on many material points, and we differ on principles which do honour to N's heart. With an acute feeling of the degradation of his country, and a just and generous indignation against her oppressors, the tenderness and humanity of his nature is such, that he

recoils from any measures to be attempted for her emancipation which may terminate in blood. In this respect I have not the virtue to imitate him. I must observe that, with this perhaps extravagant anxiety for the lives of others, I am sure, in any cause which satisfied his conscience, no man would be more prodigal of his own life. But what he would highly, that would he holily;' and I am afraid that in the present state of affairs, that is a thing utterly impossible. I love N most sincerely, and I am sure it will not hurt the self-love of any one of the friends I have recorded when I say, in the full force of the phrase, I look upon N as the very best man I have ever known. Now that I am upon the subject I must observe, that in the choice of my friends I have all my life been extremely fortunate. I hope I am duly sensible of the infinite value of their esteem, and I take the greatest pride in being able to say that I have preserved that esteem, even of those from whom I most materially differed on points of the last importance, and on occasions of peculiar difficulty, and this too without any sacrifice of consistency or principle on either side-a circumstance which, however, redounds still more to their credit than to mine. But to return to my history from this long digression, on which, however, I dwell with affection, exiled as I am from the inestimable friends I have mentioned, and from others whom I regard not less, of whom I am about to speak. It is a consolation to my soul to dwell upon their merits, and the sincere and animated affection I feel for them. God knows whether we shall ever meet; or, if we do, how many of us may survive the contest in which we are by all appearance about to embark. If it be my lot for one to fall, I leave behind me this small testimony of my regard for them, written under circumstances which I think may warrant its sincerity."

We shall scarcely apologise for the length of the preceding extract. As the mere loquacity of friendship, were the writer a common person, the subject might be of little interest to the general reader. But in the present case it is otherwise. All the accounts that have reached us of Wolfe Tone confirm his own representations of himself as a man of ardent and generous emotions. The list of friends whom he fondly enumerates, are, in this respect, so many witnesses to character. We cannot question his private titles to their regard, while of his claims to general respect for his abilities he has left abundant proofs. In this point of view it becomes a matter of political instruction, to have our attention directed to, and seriously detained upon the merits of the laws and institutions which could have exasperated a person of so many virtues and talents (and how many resembling him in character partook of his example and his fate!) into enthusiastic and inveterate hostility. He has himself presented us with a vivid sketch of the system of government upon which he grounds his justification. It is an important passage in these memoirs, and not the less as coming from an avowed enemy, who frankly and minutely discloses the views and motives and means with which an obscure political adventurer, by the mere force of his talents and indignation, could have contributed so mainly to the production of a formidable civil war. Under this aspect the political confessions of Theobald Wolfe Tone have unfortunately a continuing interest and application, which those who best know the present state of Ireland will be the first to admit.

"The French Revolution had now been about twelve months in its progress. At its commencement, as the first emotions are generally honest, every one was in its favour; but after some time the probable consequences to monarchy and aristocracy began to be seen, and the partisans of both to retrench considerably in their admiration. At length Mr. Burke's famous

invective appeared, and this in due season produced Pain's reply, which he called "The Rights of Man." This controversy, and the gigantic events which gave rise to it, changed in an instant the politics of Ireland. Two years before, the nation was in a lethargy. The puny efforts of the Whig Club, miserable and defective as their system was, were the only appearance of any thing like exertion; and he was looked upon as extravagant who thought of a parliamentary reform, against which, by-the-by, all parties equally set their faces. I have already mentioned that, in those days of apathy and depression, I made an unsuccessful blow at the supremacy of England by my pamphlet on the expected rupture with Spain, and I have also fairly mentioned that I found nobody who ventured to second my attempt, or paid the least attention to the doctrine I endeavoured to disseminate. But the rapid succession of events, and, above all, the explosion which had taken place in France, and blown into the elements a despotism rooted for fourteen centuries, had thoroughly aroused all Europe, and the eyes of every man in every quarter were turned anxiously on the French National Assembly. In England, Burke had the triumph completely to decide the public, fascinated by an eloquent publication, which flattered so many of their prejudices, and animated by their unconquerable hatred of France, which no change of circumstances could alter. The whole English nation, it may be said, retracted from their first decision in favour of the glorious and successful efforts of the French people. They sickened at the of the approaching liberty and happiness of that mighty people. They calculated as merchants the probable effects which the energy of regencrated France might have on their commerce. They rejoiced when they saw the combination of despots formed to restore the ancient system, and, perhaps, to dismember the monarchy; and they waited with impatience for an occasion which, happily for humanity, they soon found, when they might with some appearance of decency engage in person in the infamous contest. But matters were quite different in Ireland-an oppressed, insulted, and plundered nation. As we all knew experimentally what it was to be enslaved, we sympathized most sincerely with the French people, and watched their progress to freedom with the utmost anxiety. We had not, like England, a prejudice rooted in our nature against France. As the revolution advanced, and as events expanded themselves, the public spirit of Ireland rose with a rapid acceleration. The fears and animosities of the aristocracy rose in the same, or in a still higher proportion. In a little time the French revolution became the test of every man's creed, and the nation was fairly divided into two great parties, the Aristocrats and the Democrats, (epithets borrowed from France,) who have since been measuring each other's strength, and carrying on a kind of smothered war, which the course of events, it is highly probable, may soon call into energy and action. It is needless, I believe, to say that I was a democrat from the very commencement; and as all the retainers of government, including the sages and judges of the law, were of course on the other side, this gave the coup-de-grace to any expectation, if any such I had, of my succeeding at the bar, for I soon became pretty notorious. But, in fact, I had for some time renounced all hope, and I may say all desire of succeeding in a profession which I always disliked, and which the political prostitution of its members (though otherwise men of high honour and great personal worth,) had taught me sincerely to despise. I therefore seldom went near the Four-Courts; nor did 1 adopt any of the means, and least of all the study of the law, which are successfully adopted by those young men whose object it is to rise in their profession.

"As I came about this period rather more forward than I had hitherto done, it is necessary for the understanding of my history, to take a rapid survey of the state of parties in Ireland; that is to say, of the members of the Established religion-the Dissenters-and the Catholics.

"The first party, whom, for distinction-sake, I call the Protestants, though

not above the tenth of the population, were in the possession of the whole of the government, and of five-sixths of the landed property of the nation. They were, and had been for above a century, in quiet possession of the church, the law, the revenue, the army, the navy, the magistracy, the corporations; in a word, of the whole patronage of Ireland. With properties, whose titles were founded on massacre and plunder, and being, as it were, but a colony of foreign usurpers in the land, they saw no security for their persons and estates but in a close connexion with England, who profited of their fears, and, as the price of her protection, exacted the implicit surrender of the commerce and the liberties of Ireland. Different events, particularly the revolution in America, had enabled and emboldened the other two parties, of whom I am about to speak, to hurry the Protestants into measures highly disagreeable to England, and beneficial to their country, but in which, from accidental circumstances, they durst not refuse to concur. The spirit of the corps, however, remained unchanged, as they have manifested on every occasion since, which chance offered them. This party, therefore, so powerful by their property and influence, were implicitly devoted to England, which they esteemed necessary for the security of their existence. They adopted, in consequence, the sentiments and the language of the British Cabinet. They dreaded and abhorred the principles of the French Revolution, and were, in one word, an aristocracy in the fullest and most odious extent of the term.

"The Dissenters, who formed the second party, were at least twice as numerous as the first. Like them, they were a colony of foreigners in their origin; but being mostly engaged in trade and manufactures, with a few overgrown landed properties among them, they did not, like them, feel that a slavish dependence on England was essential to their very existence. Strong in their numbers and in their courage, they felt that they were able to defend themselves, and they soon ceased to consider themselves as any other than Irishmen. It was the Dissenters who composed the flower of the famous volunteer army of 1782, which extorted from the English minister the restoration of what is affected to be called the Constitution of Ireland. It was they who first promoted and continued the demand of a parliamentary reform, in which, however, they were baffled by the superior address and chicanery of the aristocracy; and it was they, finally, who were the first to stand forward in the most decided and unqualified manner in support of the principles of the French Revolution.

"The Catholics, who comprised the third party, were above two-thirds of the nation, and formed, perhaps, a still greater proportion. They embraced the entire peasantry of three provinces. They constituted a considerable portion of the mercantile interest; but from the tyranny of the penal laws, enacted at different times against them, they possessed but a very small portion of the landed property, perhaps not a fifth part of the whole. It is not my intention here to give a detail of that execrable and infamous code, framed with the art and the malice of demons, to plunder and degrade and bru talize the Catholics. Suffice it to say, that there was no injustice, no disgrace, no disqualification, moral, political, or religious, civil or inilitary, that was not heaped upon them. It is with difficulty that I restrain myself from entering into the abominable detail; but it is the less necessary, as it is to be found in so many publications of the day. This horrible system, pursued for above a century with unrelenting acrimony and perseverance, had wrought its full effects, and had, in fact, reduced the great body of the Catholic peasantry of Ireland to a situation, morally and physically speaking, below that of the beasts of the field. The spirit of their few remaining gentry was broken, and their minds degraded. It was only in the class of their merchants and traders, and a few members of the medical profession, who had smuggled an education in despite of the penal code, that any thing like political sensation existed. Such was pretty nearly the situation of the three great parties at the commencement of the French Revolution; and certainly a much more gloviny prospect could not well present itself to the eyes of any friend of