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li'ilSm CharliLi He-r>rf 

BHOOKIANA. 

Vol. I. 



IT may br jnftlT >aid.that all the wrid 
BrfBlK.bvathc Ac piirpft Tpiril of lOicr 
pitty: di*T arr i^alrnlated id liH man c 
mtanaru aud dpjrrtiDa^tD lixoihe lum 
pFQ^vDl of nv-tivT rxpellenpc. to dm 
fEU at ■ dilhuce. n enlarp and fi 
hij ■DaLud tDibl^iipr bjin vidi jtLUimi 
celcftiol idcHi tlint bear hita f^Lr abo 
Inunan itan, t_ J>TJ^'-att. 




Zojv^n ojv. 

IVtiiird Edi Bicbud Phillips, Ti.S^Fanli OncvhYard 



adcw 

3'7'J/ 



FMEFACE* 



THE ancients have left us soniie 
fragments which may be ranked under 
the title of Ana. The moderns took 
the hint^ and if they did not im« 
prove on the plan^ they at least en* . 
larged it. Be that as it may, them 
was a period when productions of 
this kind were read with so much avi«> 
dity, that they were even ibund in 
the studies of the learned. 

As variety was the professed ob^ 
ject of this species of writings those 
who proposed to furnish it> roamed 
with the freedom of the bee, beyond 
the bounds of criticism ; they claimed 
this license ; it was granted^ and it is 

VOL- I. b 



ii PR£FAC£* 

hoped the critics of our days will not 
be found less indulgent* 

As these collections generally ap^ 
pear after the death of the learned, 
whose detached sayings, unstudied 
phrases» and spontaneous remarks, 
they are supposed to contain, they 
are of course considered as the depo- 
sitories of many particulars which the 
modesty of the deceased, interest, and 
many other circumstances, would de** 
tain from the public eye during his life^ 
It is not, therefore, matter of surprize 
that they should be read with avidity^ 
especially us the great man is exhi- 
bited in his undress, and in his native 
airs, with his friends, coiirespondents^, 
acquaintances, &c. The negleot into 
which books of Ana have faUen, espe- 
cially on the continent, is justly aU 
tributed by the Abb6 d'Olivet *, to 

* HifU dc r Aciui* Fran^. p. 17Q. 



PREFACE. ill 

the ribaldry, and unmerited censures 
on the living and the dead^ with which 
they are filled. Whatever complaints 
may be preferred against the Brook- 
lANA, it is presumed that the one just 
j^pecified will not be found in the num- 
ber: and the collector^' in his own 
justification, has deemed it necessary 
to give a short account of the most 
celebrated books in this line, in order 
to shew that he has not taken any li- 
berties of which editors on the same 
walk liave not availed themselves; 
he should not think himself, however, 
justified on this account alone, if he 
did not hope the following would af* 
ford some amusement 



b2 



ir TRBFACK. 



SCALIGERANA. 

This work, which abounds with very severe 
strictures oa the ancients as well as the mo* 
derns, is divided into two parts :— >Scaligerana 
prima and secunda. We are indebted for the 
first to M. Vertunien, a Frenchman, and phy. 
sician at Poitiers. It was printed at Saomur ia 
1669, under the care of M. Tanneguy le F^vre. 
The second was collected by the two brothers, 
Vassan, and was published at the Hagtie in 
1 Q66» Isaac Vossins did not think it beneath h im 
to superintend the last edition. The Scaligerana 
Secunda, is sq called on account of the date, as 
it did not appear for many years after the pub* 
iication of the first part. 

I • 

I 

PERRONlANA. 

This entertaining Ana was collected by Chris- 
topher du Puy, brother of Peter and James du 
Puy, so justly celebrated in the republic of 
letters. Cardinal Peirron, and Isaac Yossius, 
contributed to it. It was printed at the Hague 
in 1666 ; and not in Geneva, as expressed in the 
title. The Abb£ Menage, however, maintains 



^REFACB, ; T 

in his Anti-bailiet *, that the first edition of ikt 
Perroniaaa wa§ printed at Rouen, 

THUANA. 

Thuana is still more, curious than the Per- 
roniana. Sarrau tells us, that he transcribed it 
in 1642« from tliie original i<^ the haod<writing 
of M. du Puy, the intimate friend of M. de 
Thou. I^aac Vossius prepared it for the press 
in 1669, iVom a (air copy in the possession of 
Bailie the younger. This edition is full of 
faults : DaiU4 published a more correct one in 
the same year. It was printed at Rouen^ though 
Cologne is fonnd in the title. 

MENAGIANA. 

Menagiana. The first edition of this work 
appeared in Paris f^i in 1693, in 12mo. A second 
volume was added in the year following. M* 
de la Monnoye published a' new edition (Paris^ 
1715) in 4 volumes, 12mo. with corrections and 



* T. i. p. 262. 

t T^cAbb^duBoi, and M.Galland, superintended 
this edition. There are many things retrenched ia 
those that followed. 

b 3 



vl ' pheface; 

additions. It is allowed to be the best work of 
the kind. In the fine edition of Amsterdam, 
printed by Coupe, in 1716, the third and 
fonrth volume are the entire composition of M. 
de la Monnoye : the remarks of this learned 
writer are mixed with those of the Abb^ Me- 
nage, which is not the case in the Paris edi* 
tion *. 

SORBERIANA. 

Sorberiana was printed for the first time at 
Toulouse, in 1691. The second impression was 
made in Paris in 1694. M. Graverol of Nismes, 
has prefixed the life of Sorbiere to this edition* 

ANTI-MENAGIANA. 

Anti-Menagiana, i. e. An Examination or 
Criticism of the Menagiana. John Beniier> a 



* M. de la Monnoye is guilty of an error in his ad-' 
ditions to the Menagiana. In speaking of M. le Bon, 
he says, this is the M. le Bon who published the *< Arc 
of Thinking, or the Logic of Port Royal," but, it is 
certain that M. Nicole was the author o£ that book, and 
that he concealed his real name under that of M. le 
B0D9 in which name the royal privilege was granted. — 
See BaiUeCs^Ust cf Authors uttder disguised Names, , 



PREFACE. Tli 

piiysician at Blois (who must not be confounded 
with Francis Bernier, a good philosopher and 
CravellerJ is the author of this work. It is writ- 
ten in a heavy stile. He has attacked the Abb6 
Menage, M. Gallant, and the other editors of the 

first Menagiana, with little mercy* 

•• .1. 

.YALESIANA. 

Valesiana appeared in Paris in 1694. It con* 
tains the remarks and Latin verses of Adrian de 
Valois, Historiographer of France> Collected by 
M. de Vaiois, his son. It- continues to maintain 
a good reputation. 

ARLEaUINIANA. 

Arlequiniana was composed by M. Cottolendi, 
a proven9al. It contains a number of pleasantries. 
He is the author of a very entertsuning work 
" A Book without a Name.'* The Arle- 
quiniana was published. in Paris, in 1G94, ia 
12mo. 

FURETERIANA. 

Pureteriana. Paris/ 1696, in l2mo. The title* 
page of this collection announces a string of 
bon-mots, historical, moral, and critical remarks, 
pleasantries, and erudition of M. Furetierci but 

b4 ♦ 



Viii PREFACE. 

unfortunately it contains rery little worthy of a 
man of wit and learning/ which this academician 
allowed to be. 



ANONIMIANA* 

Aoonimiana, or a Miscellaneous Collection 
of Poetry, EloquencOj and Erudition ; the name 
of the collector is net known. It was published 
in Paris in ]700. 

PABRHA8IANA. 

Parrhasiana. The best edition appeared in 
Amsterdam, in 1701, in 2 vols. 3vo. It is replete 
with excellent reflections on Poetry, Eloquence, 
History, Morality, and Politics. The celebrated 
John Le Clerc is now known to be the author 
of this entertaining and instmctive Miscellany. 
The first volume contains a list of M» Clerc's 
writings up to that day, with an answer to those 
ifvho had attacked him* 

ST. EVREMONIANA. 

Saint Evremoniana, Paris, noi* in l^mo. 
Saint Evremond does not appear to have had 
the least share in this work* It is the produc- 
tion of M. Cottolendi (author of Arlequiniana) 
^ho^ in order to quicken the sale of his book. 



PKEFACE. ix 

assured his readers in the preface^ that it was a 
collection of remarks and witticisms which had 
fallen from the lips of M. Saint £vremond» in 
the hearing of certain persons who had commu- 
nicated them to him. M. des Maizeaux * com- 
pares Cottolendi on this occasion^ to the >Abb6 
Cotin, who, in order to be revenged of Des* 
preaux, who had treated him severely in his 
satires, composed a very insipid one, which 
he published under the name of Despreanx. 
This collection, however, is not devoid of me- 
rit: it was re-printed at Rouen in 1710* 

■V. 

NAVDCEANA AND KATINIANA* 

Naudceana and Patiniana. This work con- 
sists of a selection from the conversations of 
Francis Pithou, by Francis Pithou, his ne- 
phew. M. de la Croze copied it from the ori- 
ginal MS. and presented it to M. Teissier, 
who inserted it in the third volume of the 
additions to the Elogies of M. de Thou^ 
printed in Berlin in 1704. There are many 
curious articles in this little work, but the 
first edition is full of £siult8. 



^ Life of St. Evremottd, p. 188« 



PUFACE. 



COLOMESIANA. 

Colomesiana contains the remarks of Peter 
Colomi^s on divine^ historical, critical, aad 
literary subjects. The first part of this col- 
lection was printed in 1668, under the title 
of ^ParticukiritieSf and the other in 1675.— 
These two little volumes are filled with many 
interesting pieces. The work is now rare. 

YASCONIANA. 

Vasconiana, Paris, 1708, 12mo* This col- 
lection contains some happy effusions of wit 
and humour, iiitermiugled with many dull 
things^ and trite remarks. 

«■ 

CASAUBONIANA. 

Casauboniana, Hamburgh, 1710, in 8yo.-— 
Almost every thing in this volume falls short 
of what might be expected from the learned 
Isaac Casaubon. 

LEIBNITIANA. 

Leibnitiana first appeared under the title of 
Otium Haanoveranum, & a Joacb* Frider. 
Fellero, Lipsis, 1718, in Svo. 



PREFACE^ Xi 



POGQIANA. 

Poggiana^ or the life, character, sayings, 
and bon mots, of Poggi, the Florentine, Am* 
sterdam, 1720, 2 vols. 8yo. M. Lenfant, a 
clergyman, of Berlins author of the History 
of the Councils of Constance and Pisa, is the 
editor of this worfc which has been very 
much read and criticised. 

HU£TIANA. 

Huetiana, Paris, 1722. This collection is 
ranked as one of the best in the Ana line. 
The Abb6 d'Olivct copied it from the ori- 
ginal, in the hand-writing ofM. Huet, and 
has prefixed to it the elogy of that learned 
prelate, 

SEGfiAISIANA. 

Segraisiana, Paris, 1722, in 12mo. M» it 
la Monnoye informs us; in the preface, in 
what manner this collection was formed. It 
abounds with anecdotes of every kindj which 
retain their charms even at this day. 



XU PREFACE. 



POLItSONIANA. 



Polissoniana ! *' or^ a collection of quolibets, 
puns, allegories, points, extraordinary expres* 
sions, hyperboles, gasconades, and other plea* 
. santries, with a list of the most rare curiosi- 
ties/' Notwithstanding this captivating titfe^ 
there is not a grain of attic salt in the whole* 

SANTOLIANA. 

Santoliana. The Paris edition in 1723 is 
the best. This collection is very amusing. It 
IS ascribed to the pen of M. de la Monnoye. 

CHARPBNTERIANA. 

• Charpenteriana, Paris, 1724, in ]2mo. Mo>» 
ral reflexions constitute the best part of this 
volume; the rest is very superficial. The sa- 
tires against women of all ranks do not con- 
vey a very high idea of the politeness of 
M. Charpentier towards the fair sex. Per- 
haps they ought to be placed to the account 
of his editor. The Cbarpenteriana was col- 
lected by M. Camusat. 



pRsrACE. xni 

TAUBMANIAKA. 

Taubmi^niana, Frankfort^ 1728« Is written 
mostly in German. 

PANTALO-PHEBEANA. 

Pantaio-Phebeana ; or, Merrioirs, Observa^ 
tioQs, and Anecdotes on the Subject of Pan** 
talon-Ph^bus, in the end of the Neological Dic- 
tionary. Amsterdam^ 1723^ the third edition. 
This collection contains sonie very ingenious 
remarks on M. de Fontenelle, La Motte^ Hou- 
dart^ and other moderns. It was at first given 
oat to be the work of the Abb^ des Fon« 
taines, author of the Neological Dictionary^ 
but he disavowed it. 

TARILLASIANA. 

Varillasianay Amsterdam, 1734, was com- 
posed by M. Boscheron, who has written the 
life of Quinault. 

DUCATIANA. 

Ducatiana, Amsterdam, 1738, !2 vols, in 8vo« 
These volames are chiefly fillsd with th€ reo^ 
marks of M. le Duchat, on divers subjects of hi»* 
tory and literature. They were collected by M» 



1^ 



3UT IHtEFACE. 

Formey, a learned native of Berlin. Althoug^h 
tbe subjects are not all equally interesting, 
ytt the generality of them are curious* The 
learning and character of M. Duchat are virell 
known, 

MATH AN ASIAN A. 

Mathanasiana^ Hague, 1740, 2 vols. '8vo. 
• This is a mere re-impression of the literary, his- 
torical, and critical, memoirs of M. Themiseiiel 
de Saint-Hiacinthe, which appeared at the 
Jls^e in 1716. 

-BOLCEANA. 

3olceana. The public are indebted for this 
collection te M. de Monchesnay, whose dra« 
matic muse is deservedly ranked with tlie most 
^celebrated in ancLeut er modem days. 

WALPOLIANA. 

IV'alpoliana, London, 1799. Voltaire very 
justly observes, that many writers have expe- 
rieneed a considerable diminution of the fame 
they would otherwise have enjoyed, if their 
^yiBgs^ &c. had not been detailed in Miscella- 
nies of this kind. The present collection is un- 
doubtedly an exception to this remark* The 



PREFACE. XT 

editor has been happy enough to enable his 
reader to participate in the conversation of a man 
of refined taste, and communicative disposition, 
who had passed his social hours in the first cir* 
cles of literature and fashion. 

ADDISONIANiU 

I 

Addisoniana,, London, 1803. This virork will 
enable a reader of moderate capacity to form an 
estimate of the invaluable writings of Addison. 

SWIPTIANA. 

Swiftiana, London, 1803. The works of 
Swift have, passed through so many editions, and 
have been so universally read, that a single line, 
added to those which have already been pub* 
•lished, will entitle the collector to thanks.— 
This work contains some original pieces, which 
vthe research of ihe editor has brought intolight* 

^C* VLm *W« 



BROOK lAHA^ 



3IRTH. 



IMr. Brooke was the eldest son of the Rev. 
William Brooke ; he was born in the year 
nOvS, in the parish of Killinkere, in the 
county of Cavan ; other accounts say that 
he was born in Dublin, but the late Colonel 
Ncwburgh, of Ballyhays, and Mrs. Donald- 
son, have been known to assert, that the pa- 
rish just mentioned is entitled to the honour 
of his birth, and that the story of his having 
first seen the light in the metropolis of his 
native clime, originated with those who ima- 
gined that a long neglected spot in the coun- 
tiy , should not presume to lay claim to tli« 
birth of a man of geniusr^ 

B 



"^ROOKIAKA. 



Bnu B&OOKE^S Fa.TH£R. 



Mr. Brooke's father was descended of an 
ancient family^ of that name, iu the county of 
Fermanagh. He was originally intended for 
the army, but as he grew up his father dis- 
covered that his inclination and studies point- 
, ed to the church ; he was accordingly edu- 
cated in Trinity College, Dubhn, and or- 
dained by Dr. Wetenhall, Bishop of Kilmore, 
who was so highly pleased with his unaffect- 
ed piety and literary acquirements, that he. 
gave hira the livings of Killinkere and Moy- 
bolgue, about 200l. a-year, a large income 
in those days. 

COLONEL NEWBURGH. 

Colonel Thomas N^wburgh was born witK 
a pa^on for letters, which wail fanned and 
rqftn^ under the best masters at Oxfords 
As soon as he had completed his studies in 
that favorite seat ,of the Muses, his father 
was determined that he should see the world ^ 
and^ as he was a man of plentiful fortune. 



^8|id of dk liberal min4»he wasro^oVed 1^ }n» 

darlUig boy should at least yiiHt^iie rem^io^^ 

of tb^ city, whose proud gates were ono^. 

thronged, with tributary kings aad chie&^. 

Onx young traveller's rank, education, and 

native suavity of manners, opened his way 

- to the first circles in Rome, where h^ re- 

'mained upwards of t\fro y^eajrs. Notwith^ 

standing he had seen^ that was worth 3e&t 

ing in the most polished ccHUitries of jEurope ; 

yet, he wais not ashamed to confess, on his 

return, that the charms of Old England ex* 

ceeded them all . On the death of his father 

he came to reside on his pati^i^al estate near 

the town 'of Ballyhays, in thie county, of 

Cavan. His first object was ta promote tho 

happiness of his tenantry, by pointing out^ 

from repeated exp^iments, the good effects 

of agriculture ; and, though his example wa9 

not generally followed, yet he had the plea^ 

sure to find, that he had sown, to use his 

own expression, the seeds of agriculture in 

his ncighbouAood. His conduct and con* 

vcrsation also liad some Qfiect m softening 

B 2 



% BROOKIATTA. 

Ae manners of the country 'squires around 
kirn.* He never could be prevailed upon to 
offer himself as a eandidatte for a seat in par- 
liament. He used to pass a fortnight, almost 
every summer, with Mr. Brooke. The 
colonellived in a style of elegant hospita- 
lity. In.conversation he was extremely gay, 
and even witty, but his wit was never mingled 
with ^11. When he was no longer young, 
he married a Miss Blacker*, descended 
of a good family. The Earl of Chesterfield , 
when Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, passed 
a fortnight at his Tusculum ; he wrote some 
philosophic tracts, and translated some of 
the odfes of Horace, which were printed in 
one volume octavo. Horace was his fa- 
vorite. He looked upon Virgil as a mere 
satellite of the Greek sun. In his person he 
was well made, of the middle statiu^ ; he died 
in 1779, at the age of ninety. 



* This lady was afterwards married to Dt, Cradock^ 
Dean of St. Patrick'!, Dublin, 



BROOKIANA. . 5 

Aa' a. spfecimen oi his versification,^ take 
the following lines,. written under a. print of 
Shakespeare. 

But say M^at bard hvts Shakespeare ye% outdbne ^ 
His weakest wing has rested in the sun : 
His rising numbers dare e*en heaven invade; 
And scarcely there could his proud verse, be 

stayed. 
Let Britons, then, with pride his praise rehearse 
The bpld Columbus of adventurous verse. 

MRS^ DONALDSON'.. 

Mrs. Donaldson was a great favorite of 
Dean. Swift, notwithstanding the humble line 
in which she moved* She kept an inn. in 
the town of Cavan. The dean used to sleep 
at her house as often as he visited that part 
of the country. It is said that he was well, 
pleased with the following lines writtea by 
that lady:. 

My house is now so neat and clean; 
I really long to see th(& dean, 
I wish I saw him enter now» 
With hasty step^ " I know not. how/* 

B 3 



' Or with a look that piercM you throdgh,' 
Instead of Ma'am^ or how do y' do. 
*' This woman^s always on the gad ; 
Pray whereas the maid or servant lad ? 
Why, what the deuce are you about ?'* 
Good Mf . Dean Tm seldom out. 
Yes^ I could even bear all thisj 
If he saw nothing the amiss ; 
Stay, let me see the room is clean. 
The window-curtains bottle green^ 
The chairs are ranged too in a row. 
Not one too high nor one too low^ 
The bed will soon evince my care^ 
The feather^s light as summer air ; 
The blankets snaw, ftresh from the fuller's^ 
The quilt quite light, of different colours ; 
'hie carpet, true, is rather small. 
But better still than none at all ; 
My candlesticks are all so bright. 
They'll shed, Pm sure, sufficient light. 
Without the aid of waxen tapeF, 
Oh dear, how they'll surpria^e the draper * ; 



* The Dean vtSls well known by this name, in con- 
sequence of his having written a pontical work^ uflder 
the tide of " TM Drapci:*^ LeiteriJ" 



BuookianA. '^ 

And what id more he'll be surpris'd 

At what he never once surmised. 

That I should e'en — ^what greater crim« 

In woman, than, attempt to rhime; 

But, let me tell the truth at once. 

And thett he'll pardon my poor sconce » 

As ritmmaging the other night. 

As oft 1 do by candle*light, 

A worn-out pen neglected lay. 

Which our good Dean had thrown away ^ 

I took it up and laid it by. 

And the next day began to try. 

If there was any magic in it, 

Whenlack-a-day, in half a minute, 

I saw my words run as you see. 

Then do not lay the fault on me ; 

Let all the blame be on your pen, 

I'll keep it for your sake^-^-Avhat then f 

EDUCATION. 

As young Brooke was of a delicate consti- 
tution, he was indulged to a cei^tain extent, 
in all those innocent amusements that con* 
tribute to health ; he^was left entirely to the 
care of his mother ; and, as she was a woman 
o£ excellent ^umfcraistandjng', highly im^tov^ 

B 4 



S BROOKIANA. 

by edacation ; it may be supposed that she 
discharged the duty of an affectionate mo- 
ther ; and that she omitted no opportunity 
of improving the mind of a favorite «on, 
susceptible of the highest degree of cultiva- 
tion. She seems to have inspired him, ac- 
cording to his own account, with an early 
love for letters ; for, at the age of seven, he 
could repeat some of the finest passages in. 
the English Poets. His father, who, ^ on 
many occasions, had experienced the ad- 
vantages of a classical education, was ad- 
vised to place his son under the care of a 
schoolmaster, in the parish of Kilmore*, 
who had traversed the lettered sliores of an- 
tiquity. 



'* Kilmore is situate in ihe diocese of that name, 
which literally means in English, the Great Church, 
Kilmore was erected into an episcopal see by Pope 
Nicholas V. in the year 1454. If this diocese is not the 
largest in Ireland, it is the most beautiful. The situa- 
tion is extremely pleasant, the soil rich, and highly 
cultivated. The mitre has been ofien entwined with 
bayj and ivy ; the poet and critic. The learning and 
f iety of Bishop Bedel, have rendered hit name dear 



i 
BROOKlANAr. 9 



MR. COMERFORD< 



Ybmig Brooke was now placed under 
the care of Mr. Felix Comerford, a con- 
scientious schoolmaster, and a lover of anti- 
quity. As this good man imagined that all 
knowledge, worthy the pursuit of a rational 
being, was treasured up in the Greek and ' 
Roman tongues, it should not be matter of 
surprise if he looked on every other as a jap. 
gon, merely calculated to carry on the com- 
munication of sordid trade, or the inferior 
arts of life ; so that he thought it impossible 
that any page should sparkle with witj un- 



to all ihe inhabitants of that part of ihe country. The 
remains of tliisgood prelate repose in a small ceraetry, 
in the church-yard immediately adjoining the episcopal 
palac^. Dr. Story, some time bishop of this diocese, 
was a celebrated mathematician ; his Treatise OR>the 
Priesthood has very justly ranked him in the nunU)er 
of those who deserve well of the church. In his reli- 
gious opinions he was extremely moderate',, convinced 
that the God in humanity difiUsed the precepts of his 
goipel in the mildnesiof his power, and that *• service 
is perfect freedom^'* 



10 BROOK! AN A. 

less it was cloathed in one of the learned' 
languages. Ite would acknowledgej how- 
ever, at time^, that the English' tongue wa» 
very copious ; and, it appears in his younger 
days, that he did not think it beneath his 
classical dignity, to compose some verses 
in it. Of which it is said, he was afterwards 
so much ashamed, that he used to burn them, 
as often as he niet them. How far he vsras^ 
right in so doing, must be left towthe opinion 
of the reader, when he has read the follow- 
ing, which are generally said to be inferior 
to the rest of his poetiqal productions, whicl»4 
have fallen a prey to time. 

THE ADVICE. 
LINES ADDRESSED TO MISS ANNE M ' %. 

By F, Comerford; 

Say, will you list to me dear Anne, 
There's no occasion for your fan. 
What have I done ? what have I said ?; 
Don't be alarm'd, my dearest maid. 
I would not wound your gentle breast^ 
Or rob you of a noment^s rest>. 



Tor all your fathert fleecy «tore, 

I never told you so before. 

Now as to flattery avaunt, 

I flatter none, except your aunt^ 

And if I did^ht praise her taste. 

In conserves, cookery, and paste> 

SheM shut the wricket in my face. 

And all wouM cry he's in disgrace ; 

The gods have lent you, dearest creature^ 

The fairest charms in human nature. 

Your cheek just opening into bloom. 

Your hair exceeds thf spider's loom. 

Your taper waist, your snowy breast,. 

Your glass will tell you all the rest ; 

But after all, dear Anne, I find 

Your greatiest beauty is your mind ; 

0n that pure tract of virgin snow. 

My numbers could for ever flow. 

On which the God of Love will print, 

I need not give that god the hint. 

To talk, fair nymph, of that impressira^ 

Would only lead to a digression ;. 

I only wish it may be such. 

Nor yet too deep, nor yet a touch. 

That time or absence may ^deface. 

But worthy of so choice a place. 

2 



£2 BROOKfANAt. 

Let prudence always be your guide>^ 
Consider well 'ere you confide ; . 
Ayoid the noisy poppin-jay,. 
The mere ephemeron of a day,. 
The butterfly of every ball. 
Alike obedient to each call. 
At times you must play cat in pan. 
There's so much trick and art in man, 
HeMJ soothe and whine and tell such tales^ 
And stick to that which most prevails. 
At first with caution he'll advance. 
Then seize your hand^ a kinder glance ;. 
Grant him one kiss, he'll snatch another,. 
If you dont b'lieve me., ask your mother* 



THE SPENDTHRIFT.. 

By the Same, 

I often told you, luckless Bruin, 

That dogs and wine would be your ruin i 

At^ first you took it for a joke. 

And laugh'd at ev'ry word I spoke. 

Your boon companions joined the grin. 

For truly they may laugh that win. 

My youth was turn'd to ridicule. 

One ask'dhow long Pd been from scheol'; 



BROOK-IANA. 13 

AiK^ther said that bells and coraTs, 

^ould suit me better than such morab:; 

1 bore it all, forgot what passM, 

In hopes youM see your faults at last. 

Advice, then, should be duly -weighed. 

And like a medicine convey M; 

Too much at one time counteracts 

The whole— is daily provM by facts. 

This plan I follow^ but in vain. 

You promised, but relaps'd again ; 

Now all is gone, lands, house, and stable. 

Where are those friends that sought your 

table; 
Alas ! too late you -ope your eyes. 
Think -on the honey-pot and flies; 
Now, where are all those summer friends. 
Who flattered you for private ends ; 
Not one to soothe you in distress. 
With hopes that Fortune yet may blesy. 
Let facts decide, I'll quote a few. 
The parson first appears in view : 
Did you not find the drowsy vicar 
Deny you e'en a glass of liquor. 
Nor ^ould he let his little daughter 
Present you with a cup of water, 
Altho' you ask'd it in a tobe 
'ZThat yrould have melted me^I owir; 



14 * BEOOKIANA* 

Your feet were bare (cold ww the tmxcfi) 
And piercM with, xnany a pointed thora« 
Yet oft the vicar fill'd his paunch. 
With gen'rous wine and smoking haunch^ 
At your own board, when fortune smiFdy 
And you were call'd her fav'rite child. 
He'll part with nothing but his blessipg ; 
But oh ! if he escapes a dressing. 
Should health permit, and leisure time, 
I'll gibbet him in prose and rhime. 
That upstart, bullying, blundering, Br«— nd, 
No longer shakes you l^ the hand ; 
At your approach the doors were shut. 
Not so when you could fill his gut. 
Enough, perhaps too much I've said. 
Henceforth I never shall upbraid 
Your want of prudence, that was all. 
The poor may well lament yoyr fall ; 
Distress, no matter whence it rose. 
Beneath your mansion could repose, 
^'ot for yourself your cellar flow'd. 
Not for yourself your fuel glow'd ; 
Not for yourself the steed was rei^'d ; 
^ot for yourself the fox was chaia'4. 
Then bid adieu to all that's o'er. 
And let us think of it oo more ; 



BROOKIAKA,. 1$ 

"Henceforth let us employ our min4 
On something worthy of our kind ; 
My father longs to see your face» 
Then haste to share his kind embrace. 
You'll find his words without deceit. 
You'll find our little cottage neat. 
You'll find yourself at home, and more 
You'll find you ne'er was so before. 



HUMAN LITE. 
Bi/ the Same. 

'What is human life, a lottery ? 
What is man, a piece of pottery f 
As I love to deal in matter, 
"Let us only take the latter. 
Better suited to my numbers. 
And a muse that often slumbers. 
Than your metaphysic flights. 
Flowery fields, and giddy heights. 
To begin, then, where I ended. 
Which is what I first intended. 
According to my little plan, 

_ « 

Common clay shall lead the van ; 
1 mean the common yellow stuff. 
Always coarse, and sometimes tough. 



%6 BROOKIANA* 

Tound almost in every plain. 

Scarcely ever sougbt in vain ; 

To the plough-share how it yieklf. 

Heart-reviving, shining fields ; 

Yet this common yellow clay. 

As little thought of as my lay. 

May he call'd the potter's mine. 

The real'wealth and not the sign. 

That lump of clay inert and cold. 

Is capable of every mould ; 

See now beneath his plastic hands. 

Into a platter it expands. 

In pots and pans the circles run. 

And after basking in the sun. 

The fiery ordeal next awaits, 

And if — still may it please the fates 

That they should 'scape that ardent trial, 

Sure as bright sol smiles on your dial. 

You'll find them rang'd at the next fair. 

That's always fam'd for earthen- ware. 

Pipkins and mugs of various spot. 

Shine forth the pride of every cot ; 

Rang'd on the dresser in long rows. 

Of furniture the belles and beaux. 

Yes, some comparisons are odious. 

But when I find them so commodiou^^ 



BROOKIAKA. 17 

I'll foHow up my first design. 
When sanctioned by a grave divine : 
The common people then, you say. 
May be compared to yellow clay ; 
If red or blue should be prefer*d. 
Still clay's the emblem of the herd. 
In every place abundant found 
Upon the surface of the ground^ 
Coarse is their quality, cries Sage, 
In ev'ry land, in ev'ry age ; 
But if the doctor took the pains. 
What if he did, he has'nt brains 
To trace this matter to its source, 
H^'d find this quality so coarse. 
Could be refinM at small expence. 
To sterling "^'xt and shining sense. 
By land or sea, in calms or storms. 
Still Geometry's the queen of forms. 
To every figure she assigns 
Its proper use, its proper lines. 
The potter thus with pliant sway 
Can model any lump of clay. 
And r^ise the value of the clod. 
If aided by his wheel and rod. 
Ye legislators take the hint. 
And read what Swifl has laid in print, 
VOL. I. € 



IS BROOKIANA. 

The public mind's the public treasure^ 
It may be modified at pleasure. 
It may be led, e'en by your pen. 
If once you're found but honest men. 
Protect the good and punish knaves. 
One free man's worth t«n thousand slaves* 

And now, that I have done with thia. 
Perhaps it may not be amiss 
To take a peep ; stay, let me sec. 
At clay of finer quality. 
The china-ware of the creation. 
The pride, no doubt, of every nation ; 
Look on that tea-board, what a sight,^ 
Of cups and saucers, what a flight ! 
That brittle, painted, shining ware,^ 
How emblematic of the fair. 
That sit around with thirsty ear. 
To drink in every thing they hear, 
Believ'e me all is outward show. 
Nor love, nor peace, nor bliss, they know. 

Cwtera desunt. 



Mr. Comerford, in nis younger days, when 
love is a duty, paid his addresses to a young 
woman, whose beauty was the theme of many 



RROOKIANA. 19 

a ballad . The god of flames and darts seemed 
to favor his wishes, but Fortune, that unre- 
lenting foe to love, stepped in at the very 
instant he thought he was within reach of 
his prize. The magnet of his affections was 
as fickle as she was fair. A young man in 
the neighbourhood soon found that cows and 
«wine could make a deeper impressiop on 
her heart than prose or verse, or tender pro- 
testations. Mr. Comerford addressed the 
following letter to the selfish fair, on the eve 
of her marriage with liis wealthy rivaL 

HEAR MARY, 

I could once call you by that tender 
name ; but these happy days are past. Whea 
I used to compare your eyes to the stai*s, 
I should have said wandering stars, for they 
have led my poor heart astray. When I 
compared your song to the nightingale's, I 
never thought of the syren's. After all, I 
wish you many happy days ; and, notwith- 
standing you have deceived me, I hope you 
have not deceived yourself, for wealth has 
wings ; and faded beauty knows no second 

c 2 



29 2ROOKIANA* 

spring. I shall not blame your sex on youj? 
account ; but the mariner that has been once 
wrecked, should not, in my opinion, ventura 
to sea again. Once more I wish you all the 
happiness this world can afford ; it has very 
little for me ; bitt I shan't feH out with it on 
that account. If*, c, 

I 

He kept his word, for he neither fell out 
with the world, nor yet with the fair sex, 
whom he always praised ; but he neveip 
could bring himself to think of marriage ; 
though no man more highly esteemed thct 
genial bed, and the bliss that flows from 
*^ wedded love." 

The subject of the following letters, pw* 
haps, will plead their insertioix ; 

TO THE REV. WILLIAM BXOOKX^ 
REV. SIR, 

As Brian Henry is gomg your way, -J 
thought it would be a sin if I missed the op« 
portunity of letting you and your good lady 
^ow, that yoiur son H^rry is in a stat^ q€ 



8R00KIANA. 81 

• •■ • 

good health. He is rery fond of his book ; 

but as his eyes are weak, I contrive a thou- 

aand little amusements to keep him from 

reading by candle-light, which I need not 

tell you is hurtful to the sight. I assure you, 

Sir, and I plainly see it, that Nature intends 

jthat this child should act some great part on 

the theatre of human life. Nature, I say^ 

or rather the God of Nature, has endowed 

him with an excellent memory, and the 

seeds of taste already begin to peep forth. 

Young as he is, he is interested in ^very 

thing that interests man ; so that I already 

•fee tliat history will be one of his favourite 

fields ; I should like to lead him by the hand 

up to the entrance of it ; but, I am afraid 

that the fates have decreed that I should not 

be indulged in this wish ; for, as soon as I 

have conducted him through the thorny 

paths of grammar, and when he is just within 

the reach of the flowers of poetry and ora- 

tory, he will be snatched from me, and 

placed under the tuition of some pedagogue, 

who has slumbered, perliaps, half a dozen 

years in the walls of a university, with all 

c 3 



22 BROOKIANA. 

the letters of the alphabet at his heels, and 
who knows as little afterwards of the beau« 
ties of the Greek and Roman Classics, aa 
he does of the beauties of nature. You see 
how my fears are gathering, and I cannot 
help saying whait I have said, though it may 
appear invidious. Remember, if Harry is 
your son, he is my pupil ; and I know that 
he will be an honour to his father and to his 
preceptor. With all my partiality for him, 
you may rest assured that I will do him justice 
— I know my duty, and I will discharge it 
to the utmost of my power. — " Similes et 
praeceptores pastoribus in regimine gregis, 
atque figulis in opere fingendo. Rudes eos 
adducti foimantur, sed non statim ; sed veluti 
ferunt informes j:>artus., ab urso lambendo 
formari paulatim dum instituuntur, aufe- 
rendo et addendo prout fiat illorum natura.'' 
I had like to forget a circumstance that will 
give you a great deal of pleasure : I was 
walking with Harry the other day, and as 
we were passing by an old hedge, he pointed 
to a bush, *Mf I chose," said he, 'M could 
iiavc caught a thrush on her iiest in tlwt 



■I 



RROOKIANA. . 23 

hjxshy but I would not for the world, added 
he, be guilty of such a cruel act. I was 
afraid that some of the boys would have 
found it, but luckily they did not ; so that 
to-^my great joy, the mother and her young 
have escaped." I cannot tell you how much 
this circumstance, which some brutes in a 
human shape would laugh at, has endeared 
him to me. I hope you will excuse these 
lines ; I need not tell you they flow froin 
my heart, and I know you prefer the lan- 
guage of the heart to any other. 
I am, Rev. Sir, 

Your most humble Servant, 

FELIX COMERFORD. 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM BROOKE. 

Amplissime Domine. 

** Epistola tua myrothecii condimentis 
imbuta, meum ita palatum irritavit, ut quasi 
helus aliquis, vix comesas epulas tam lautas 
devoraverim." I cannot tell you how much 
I ttiank you for your seasonable and inva- 

e 4 



S4 BROOKIANA. 

luable present*. Seneca ! Seneca ! thepriaM 
of moral philosophers, qui semel atque iterum 
legatur. O si integras haberemus ! divinuia 
opus est. So it is as I expected, I am to lose 
toy dear Harry ; but, it will be a never-fail-f 
ing source of consolation to me, that he will 
be transplanted into a nursery that is famed 
for the excellence of the soil, and the skiU 
of the gardener ; for, all the world will allow 
that Doctor Sheridan, in politi(»ri lifeeratura 
palmam tenet. I am no stranger to his writ- 
ings, in which ** nulla sententiarum gravis 
tas, nulla verborum majestas, nullujB orationis 
omatus, nullum poeticae facultatis lumen 
desideratur." His grammar, '* neque hie 
hederam appenderim huic vino." When 
the genius that your son possesses, begins to 
expand and ripen in the beams of such a 
sun, what may not be expected ? perhaps 
he may live to transfuse the very soul of 
Homer into his native tongue ; for i am sure 
the Muses smiled on his birth. I heartily 
thank you for your invitation, it would af- 



■MM 



* A Copy of Seneca. 



BROOKIANA. 25 

ford me die highest pleasure to pass the ho- 
lidays under your hospitable roof; but, I 
have a sister, and an^ouly sister, whom I have 
not seen these six years ; and I wish of all 
things to get a sight of her, as she is in an 
ill state of health, and I know not how soon 
it may please the disposer of all events to 
take her to himself. She has a large family ; 
three sons and four daughters ; they have, ' 
thank heaven, been brought up to honest in- 
dustry ; but I must assist the poor girls a 
little, and watch over tliem; and as they are 
yet untainted with the vices of this dirty 
world, I must endeavour to keep tliem so, 
which I hope will not be a difficult task, for 
they are well inclined, and they live in a 
part of the country, where poverty is not yet 
considered as a crime ; and where honesty 
and truth are still venerated. The departure 
of. Harry has spread gloom over all the 
school ; for all the boys, big and little, are 
.so fond of hun, that their amusements ate 
not amusements, unless he mingles in them^ 
and Harry is so sensible of their kindness, 
ia this respect, that he is often at a loss to 



26 BllOOlCIAN*Ak 

"divide himself amongst them. Though hie 
is in an excellent state of health, yet I think 
the journey will be too far in one day, 1 
think it would be better to let him rest the 
first night at Mr. Stafford's, near. Bally- 
jamesduff ; at all events, I know you will 
write to nie as soon as possible, for I shall 
be impatient to hear how he gets home. I 
tran now only say with Seneca : ** Si agri- 
colam arbor ad fructum perducta delectat ; 
si pastor ex fcxitu gregis sui capit volupta- 
tem ; si alumnum suum nemo aliter intueter 
quam ut adolcscentiam illius suam judicet, 
quid cvenire coredis his qui ingenia educa- 
Tcrunt, ct qui tenera formaverunt, adulta 
«ubito vident. Assero te mihi. Meum opu^ 
cs. Vale Musarum patrone." 

FELIX COMERFORD. 
MY DEAREST MOTHER, 

About ten days ago I was in pot-hooksand 
hangers, but the impatience to assure you in 
my own hand-writing, how dearly I love you 
sod mjr.fatlier, with the kind instruction of 



IBrookiana. W 

toy master, have brought me to what you 
see, and I hope in my next you will find 
great improvement, and that every letter 
will appear in its proper shape, and at a 
proper distance from each other. In the 
mean time I am very attentive to my gram- 
mar ; it is an unpleasant task, but I hope td 
get the better of it. — It is like teivelling 
through briars and thorns ; but as I know it 
is necessary, and that the end of the jour- 
ney will be pleasant, I am resolved to get 
forward, I have a good guide in Mr, Co- 
merford, and I am sure it will give my dear 
father and mother pleasure to find, that I am 
^disposed to tread in his steps. 

Your most dutiful and affectionate son, 

HENRY BROOKE. 

Jpril 17. 

My love and duty to my father, 

KILLINKERE. 

The Rev. W. Brooke, as already noticed, 
ifvas instituted to the livings of Killinkert' 
«Qd Moybolgue ; he was, in tlie prime of iii'v. 



SS BROOKIANA. . 

married to an amiable woman > of a good 
family. Though notwithstanding the young 
couple had met with nothing in the world 
to sour then: tempers, yet, it seems^ they 
could retire from the joyful precincts of 
society, to a country almost uninhabited. 
Killinkere is a very extensive parish ; at 
present it is only thinly cottaged, so that in 
Mr. Brooke's day it must have been still 
jnore so. The number of his hearers did 
not amount to a dozen, in all probability ; 
for, at this time, there are not above twenty 
protestant families in the whole parish, and 
most of these have been planted in it within 
the last fifty years. In this wild,, almost 
uninhabited, or neglected spot, or what€?ver 
you are pleased to call it, Mr^ Brooke resided 
two-and-twcnty years : in all that time, in- 
stead of complaining of his lot, he was con- 
tented with it, and gave many proofs of his 
content; for the Bishop of Meath offered 
him a living more than once, in which he 
could enjoy the society of some friends, visit 
the city once a-year at least, and of course, 
add a favorite writer or two occasionally to 

i 



BROOKIANA. 29 

his scanty study. Mr. Brooke did not fly 
the world through any disgust, for he con- 
tinued, as often as he could procure pen, 
ink, and paper, (a rare article in that part 
of the world in those times) to correspond 
with his friends and relatives. His wife's 
disposition appears to have been congenial 
to his own ; they read to each other by turns, 
so that they fouftd, in all likelihood, a never- 
failing source of amusement in reading and 
conversation ; and in the superintendance of 
the education of their children. JVIr. Brooke 
was very much beloved by his parishioners ; 
and, though the bulk of them did not listen 
to his precepts, at least to those that he de- 
livered from the pulpit ; yet they endea* 
Toured to follow his example. They led ia 
general a sober and honest life, and lived at 
peace witfi each other ; so that the seeds of 
morality and religion, which he had sown, 
did not die away ; for they were cherished 
and cultivated by his successor, the Rev. 
Mr. Cosby, who was feet to the lame, eyes 
to the blind, and who often wiped away th% 
of the widow and tlie orphan. 



30 BftOOKIANA, 



MOYBOLGUE. 

Killinkere and Moybolgue have been long: 
known by the name of the sister parishes. In 
some respects they are like each other — 
extensive — ^thrown aside, as it were, in a ro- 
mantic corner of the country, thinly inha- 
bited, and almost in a state of nature. Na- 
ture, however, has been more indulgent ta 
one than to the other. Killinkere is hilly, 
nay, ^nountainous — her hills are covered 
with heath and briars. — Moybolgue, on the 
contrary, a wide extended plain, a deep rich 
soil, in which the plough for miles would 
scarce meet with a stone to interrupt its 
course ; but these fertile plains are devoted 
to pasturage ; so that, instead of the human 
voice divine as you pass along, you hear the 
lowing of kine, and the bleating of the fleecy 
race. Tradition tells us, that this parish was 
sacred to the Pagan priests of the Irish ; 
yet, there is not so much as the remains of 
one druidical altar in the whole. It is not 
surprising that this tradition should float 



c. 



BROOKIANA. 3rl 

down the stream of time ; the ground is rich, 
^nd the Druid, as well as others of the same 
class, liked to live on the fat of the land.-— 
Again, the chapel is very old, and it is well 
known that the Christian priest raised his 
oratory on the remains of the Pagan temple^ 
The church is in ruins, and there is some- 
thing so venerable in these ruins, that they 
are really worth visiting. Some of the inha- 
bitants say, -that it was built in the fifth cen- 
tury by St. Etchajnius, Bishop of Cluuan- 
foddy ; Colgan makes no mention of it, which 
is the more extraordinary, as he was bom in' 
the adjoining parish ; but, it is plain from 
the remains of the eastern window, that it 
was not built in those early days, when the 
pride of the wooden church ** was a stone 
belfry and its little bell." The hand that 
planned it, however, seems to have traced 
some of the Grecian lines of architecture ; 
but, that hand is now mouldered into dust, 
and there is not so much as a stone to te.U 
where it rests. 

*' Who builds a church to God and not to fame. 
Will never mark the marble with his name.^' 



32 BROOKIANA. 

. In the year nSO, a particular friend paid 
a visit to this church ; he did not expect to 
meet with any thing in it beyond that of any 
other country church-yard, which had sunk 
under the silent touches of time, but waft 
astonished at the number of monuments 
which the affections of the liying had raised 
to the memory of the dead. Some of them, 
it is true, were Tery rude, and some of them 
were very frail ; but many of them were of 
black matble, with inscriptions in the Roman 
tongue, that would not disgrace the pages of 
a Parr, or a Naugerius. Many of these 
inscriptions were in the old gothic charac- 
ters, and did credit to the chizzel. Mr. She- 
ridan, who had lived all his life in a little 
solitary cottage, adjoining the church-yard, 
aiccompanied the gentleman. He was ninety 
years of age. If the conversation of thii 
venerable old man should afford the reader 
as much pleasure as it afforded the traveller, 
it will render any apology unnecessary fof 
repeating the head^ of it in this place. 

Traveller. I believe you may be caUell 
uie patriarch of this, parish ? 



BROOKIANA. S3 

Sheridan, In point of age I think I may ; 
T was born in it^ I was bred in it. Father 
Giurgan taught Latin in a corner of that^ 
church, at the age of eighty/ I read Livy 
under* him, and can repeat some of the 
upeeches at this time. — ^We had no translar 
tidn of the Classics in those times. 

- Traveller. ■ The Latin ' tongue, in those 
■days, was highly cultivated, even in the 
remotest parts of Ireland. 

Skeridan. It formed almost the whole of 
4mr edueation^the very shepherds could 
speak Latin. 

Traveller. But you don't appear to have 
'paid any attention to your native tongue— 
theLrish. 

Sheridan. We had many who excelled in 
the study of the Irish language too. 

Traveller. I see do epitaphs or inscriptions 
in this church-yard, in that language. 

Sheridan. Yes, there were many, but they 
hsLve been effaced by time ; many tomb- 
stones have sunk into the ground ; what you 
see is only of modern date, comparatively 
speaking. . sr 

VOl^s I. D 



134 BtiOOKlAXA. 

TratveUer. It is a .pity that sane trae did 
liot copy these inscri^ptioBs. 

Sheridem. Thut would faa^vie sbewn ^be Iri^ 
lunph of betters over desib and time i jitm, 
^see the reiy stones decay and sink wXm^hm 
.^rai^es, ndbibt the swarthy daoghteis^ Cad- 
mus may be said to flocidsh in iaunortii 
youth.— But time consumes aU, the a«hes 
«iidtbeiim. If they4e¥enis«retTaiiscribeA» 
who would read th^o-? An Irislunan won^t 
vead what an Irisb^i^ii writes. And^ «« to 
ibreigaers, I snay exclaim with ti^ old Iwh 
priest in Borne: — Nobis ex Uiiemiap wr 
iuitfrumpinguesck. 

Traveller. A lamentaUe truth I-'^-but the 
promise of a brighter day already shines on 
the hcMfizon of this long benighted region. 

Sheridan. Thank Heaven ! 

Traveller. This cburch-yaord appears to 
be the favourite burial-ground of this part 
of tlie country. 

Sheridan. It is so— St. Patrick, the Apostle 
iif Ireland) is said to have consecrated it ; 
then, again, the situaticm^ — Solitude, the 
companion of the wise and good. 



BUOOKIAKit. S5 

Thuetter. A mind that is fond of solitude, 
and dx^osed to contemplation^ couid scarce 
neet with «iy place better suited to ^uch 
4aq>oationfi. 

Sheridan. I found it so ; even in my boy« 
ish days I could not be tempted to forsake it.. 
My aneeatocs, for generations, sleep in that 
elmrch«yard. I take my morning and my 
evening walk in it — ^it is my library — ^I dreu 
the graves of those that are neglected by 
their heirs. It is a very old burying-pktce ; 
it contains, perhaps, more Milesian dust than 
all die rest of the kingdom put togedier. It 
contains the remains of those who have tra- 
velled into foreign countries, in pursuit of 
fortune and science ; but their memoriei 
will soon be forgotten. 

Traveller. So that you have no poets or 
historians to hand them down to posterity ? 

Sheridan, The muse has fled — the musical 
finger no longer waits on the soft oaten stop. 
—Poverty with haggard mien, has put them 
all to flight. 

SPravdier. Then all those pleasures that 



Se BROOKIAKA. 

could sootibe ys in afBiction, or brijghten tip 
our joys, hfive of course fled with them. 

Sheridan. Except Religion — she of all the 
train has yet staid behind, and points to the* 
skies. — One of our best poets reposes in that 
corner. 

Traveller. Let us drop a tear on his grayc* 

Sheridan. With all my heart. He has one^ 

happiness, however ; his love s(»igs will n©^ 

ver be forgotten. ,• .^ 

Traveller. In what language did he write > 

Sheridan. In Irish, a language admirably 

suited to all that is tender in the humaji 

heart. 

Traveller. Can you favor me with any of 

his verses ? 

Sheridan. You must know. Sir, that in this 
part of the country, as well as in many 
other parts of the kingdom, there is a tradi* 
tion, that treasures of gold, pearls, &c. are 
hidden in the bowels of the earth, and 
that certain genii are appointed to watch 
tiK>se treasures ; the poet requests, that one 
of these guardian spirits will watch over a 
young woman, to whom he had paid his 



BROOKIANiL* 3T 

timefiil homage, J. this is the song, and I'll 
<.^ve you a literal translation of it. 

The Translation. 

'•' 'Oh Ebho, thou that hast been chosen out 
of all the brightest inhabitants of air, to guard 
the treasures of Roza^ long since deposited in 
the valley of Rudna, — You are faith fol to your 
trusty you have been praised by all the poet5» 
— ^The l^pring has often invited you to her 
bowers ;— you have often reposed on her green 
mantle, strewed with primroses; — but, if you 
wish that the poet devoted to' love and tears^ 
should siiig your praises, watch over a more pre- 
cious treasure than gold and shining stones — 
watch over the young and beautiful Mabiila. 
—What pearl can be compared to her teeth ? — 
What ruby to her lips ? — What diamond to her 
eyes ?— or, can melted gold be compared to her 
hair ?— "Mabiila is a real treasure, that no trea- 
sure can purchase :— but why do I sing? — has 
love deprived me of my senses ? — the fair Mabiila 
is already attended by a guardian angel, that 
gtiides her steps, that watches over her slum- 
Irars, and that may yet whisper in her .«ar« that 
my heart beats for her alone/' 

D 3 



S8 :B]tOOKIANA. 

He also trrote a poem on spring. — ^Yo« 
may form soneie idea of the origuuJ, even 
from the translation^ which is a very poor 
one. I'll repeat you a few lines, and if you 
should think the whole worthy of your ac- 
'Ceptance, it is at your service. 

Then let us hail the breathing spring 
That flies to us on trembling wing. 
And loves to linger in our clime, 
^ When she has even passM her prime. 
Till she has trac'd in summer tide 
•Her infant buds to full-blown pride* 
Hail lovely spring, for ever hail. 
The pride of ev'ry Irish vale. 
The pride of ev*ry verdant plaint 
The pride of ev*ry past'ral strain ; 
The pride and promise of the year. 
In ev*ry region far and near — 
Whether in icy Sandal's dight. 
On our dear land you love to light ; 
Or loesely rob*d in snowy vest. 
The primrose peeping on your breast ; 
Or else if winter crowds the fire,. 
As yet unwilling to retire. 
With clouds o'ercast thy radiant smile. 
Still thou art welcome to our isle. 



BROOKtAKFA. ^9 

Traveller. What age was he when he died ? 

Sheridan. About six-and-twenty. — ^I saw 
him a few hours before he died. To say 
that he was lesigned, ' would be too cold a 
term ; he spoke of his approaching dissohi^ 
tion with the gaiety of a man who is setting 
<mt of a fine morning, to visit a nun^r of 
friendb whom h^ had not seen for many 
years. 

Traaeller. Deadi is often our best Mend, 
^Mfid perhaps he had lewin this world. 

Sheridan, He had very little intercoui*sc 
wkh thk w^rld ; be passed his days in a little 
^attaga, at tlie foot of that hill, in solitude. 

'TiwoeRer. The. bird of Eve, according to 
Milton^. 



€t 



Sings darkling;, and in shadiest covert hid.'* 



It seems he has not left a brother poet be- 
kkid to embahai his memory with one mdio- 
^kmstear. 

Sheridan. It matters not : 

'^ So sinks the day-star in the Oceau's bed/* 

7> 4 



40 AROOKIANA. 



DEAN SWIFT. 

Hr. Brooke was not a little nettled at the 
verses which Dean Swift wrote^ on the oldfe* 
mily mansion of the Sheridans in Qmlca^ 
in which he, (Mr. Brooke) had so oftea 
partook of the hospitality of his master's ta« 
We, and enjoyed the pleasures of his conver- 
sation ; which, on scmie occasions, was a high 
treat, indeed. He conceived, perhaps, that 
it would be presumptuous in him to enter 
5the lists openly with a writer tbaUk^pt even 
Pope in awe. He knew, besides, that no- 
•thing hurt Swift somuch as a shaft of wit 
or ridicule, when winged by a blockhead^ 
,or one that was deemed so ; in consequence 
of which, Mr. Brooke wrote the follovpng 
lines, which were readily fathered by. < one 
Peter Murray, a dancing-master in the 
neighbourhood, who had attempted softie 
rhimes, which furnished the dean \vith a 
quantum of sarcastic pleasantry, at the.ex- 
penee of the author. 



3ROOKIAirA. -^i 



Suilca-house to the Dean. 



■I plainly see^ good Mr. Dean, 
'That you cannot contain your spleen ; 
.That 'jrou must spit it forth at times^ 
*In conversation or in rhimcs ; 
Your friends and foes then fare alike. 
But there are some you dare not strike : 
For instance, if you should attack 
My lord, he'd lay you on your back. 
In satire, pun, or even poenj, 
I neediiH tell you, for you know him, 
T3ut you attack his aged house. 
Yet I don't matter yoq a louse ; 
This language may be low, its true. 
If so, I learned it allfrora you ; 
To classic wit.l have been us'd. 
But when. I find myself abus'd, 
I musVreturn the self-same dirt, 
"Which spatter*— but can never hurt. 
You've lost all sense of gratitude. 
Nay, what is more, you're even rude ; 
Full oft, you know, beneath my garret. 
You've drank the be^t of port and claret j 
The best of mutton jou have eat. 
An apple^ie, too, wa&a treat. 



42 BROOKIAKA« 

You might have let my fire alone ; 

For when its 4uU its like your own ; 

The doctor, then^ laid by his rod^ 

The servants trembled at your nod ; 

My dame would list to what you saidy 

And if she broke poor Priscian's head^ 

She thanked you for your kind correction^ 

Which did not flow from your affection ; 

But rather to evince your mast'ry. 

In grammar rules^ conserves^ and pastry ; 

She always strove to please your palate^ 

As to yourself, why you're a sallad. • 

You prais'd the meat, your prais*d the wine, 

CalPd me an inn without a sign ; 

And if a thought should strike your noddle, 

l4istead of your own sleepy Peddle *, 

You sought the limpid river's side. 

Where flow'rets bk>om in eastern pride. 

The sunny mead, or tree-top'd hill. 

The winding stream that turn'd the mill. 

Left you in doubt which walk to ch«oset. 

For Quilca's sacred to the muse. 

My hearth, like my own master*s heart. 

Congenial glow'd, and without art. 



* A muddy river that runs near the deanry^house 
of St. Patrick, Dublin. 



BROOKIAKA. ^ 

\ J\nd if my t himney chanc'd to smoke. 
It p<iss'd aw^y like your own joke ; 
But^ let me tell you, P^yhymny 
Has often sat ux that same chimney ; 

'I mean in that same chimney-corner,. 
But not like you in seat of scorner, 
J'm sure my gate was never shutj, 
To either full or empty gut ; 
My master never yet was known> \ 
On any day to dine alone, ^ 

*' Or pick his chicken to the bone ;" -/ 
As you have done, as you've confessed, 
I'll leave yourself to gvtess the rest. 
But I'm HO longer young a»d. trm^, 
My windows now are rather dim : 
For many winters 1 have staqd^ 
And my old bones (I mean my w:oodJ 
Are daily yielding to decay. 
And like your own. will, drop away ) 
But when they*re even sunk and rotten, 
I'm sure they'll never be forgotten ; 
My master's fame will lend to me^ 
What your's qanoot— -eternity. 

These verses spread like wild-fire ; sjmost 
•every one in the parish had timm by cote. 



44 BflOOKIANA. 

nor did the majority scruple to say, thatthe 
dean was paid off in his own coin. The 
supposed author received presents, and, 
what was still more, fine compliments, which 
pleased him better than all. Peter, however, 
did not wish to shine in borrowed plumes ; he 
was determined to resort to his own talents^and 
from the following specimen it will be found 
thftt they did not lie entirely. in his heels. 

A Receipt lo frighten away the Dean, 

BY PBTIR MURRAY. ; 

LetKatfe, and Rose, and sleepy Ned*, 
If he can raise his stupid head ; 
Arid Shelaf too, if she has time. 
Attend a little to my rhyme. 
And Pll give you a choice receipt. 

To save the doctor's wine and meat— 

. >• , • 

To'save yoursdves a world of trouble. 
In boiling prareWj to a bubble ; 
In roastihg woodcocks to 'a turn. 
Before a Hre that will not burn. 



mm 



• Doctor Sheridan'g ter?aQtt. 
f The cook, 
,f Poutoei. 






Kbw my reqeipt^ dfear frrends^ is thi^^ 
For whicb lougbt to get a kiss; 
If Rosy would but deign to give it;. 
Pd crown her with asprig of privet. 
The fairest privet in the garden^ 
For which she wouMnH give 2k fardcn-* p^^ 
The doctor^ many years ago; 
Resolv'd to plow, resolv'd to^sow— ^ 
He plow'd and sow'd, but alt in viin. 
The rooks and crow»dfevourM the grain 
I mean the seed when it was sown. 
Which cost the doctor many a groan. 
A farmer by experience taught, . 
(Experience isn't got for nought) 
Advised him* to collect old rags— »- 
His lady ruuimag'd all the bags ; 
Old wigs, old waistcoats, and old coats. 
The pockets stuff *d with classic notes > 
Old cassacks too, and cast.off bands. 
Were put into the farmer's hands ; 
A waistcoat soon was stuffM with straw. 
And such a paunch you never saw ; 
He ran a pole up through the middle. 
The face was made of an old fiddle. 



PMB 



* Farthing. 



M BftOOKIAKA. 

With satucer eyes that would affright^ 

Old Nick himself in any night. 

This figure focmM with so much car6» 

Was hung aloft in open air ; 

The crows beheld it from afar. 

And wingM their flight to MalliDgir * f . 

The doctor sow'd and reapM his grain*. 

Now listen to anotiier strain— « 

Oft as tbie dean sleeps at your castle. 

You know that ev'ry one^s his yatsal ;. 

The doctor*Js self cannot escape^ . 

The Dean's as peevish as an ape ; 

It's " Ned do this, it^s Ned do that. 

And whereas that idle rascal Pat?^ 

You know-, yourselves,, what lives yoa Itid^ 

It is a wretched one, indeed. 

Now, to get rid of him, attend, 

I neednH tell you Tm your friend ; 

As he*i8 expected ev'^ry day^ 

And as he always comes one way. 

Hang out for once a tatter'd shift, 

You^l fee no more of Doctor Swift. 

A fine com country. 



JUIOOKIAKIU 47 

VOLUIOTAIIY EFFTTSrONSv 

Doctor Sbcffidaii was always better pleaded 
with the yDkiniary effusions of his pupals, 
than of those given themes whidi are often 
imposed on boys, by way of punishment ; 
and wfiiehy instead of increasing their powers, 
often disgust them with siibjects, either 
ibove their reach, or beneath their talents. 
Young Brooke used frequently to amuse 
himself, in his vacant moments, with any 
thing that peculiarly struck him, however 
trifling. — A few of these will at least evince 
that, when even his youthful imagination was 
indulged, it did not run into excess, 

Cupid* s Bow, 

Wben Adam lost his rib, you know. 

The form wa« lent to Cupid's bow ; 

That man should always bear in mind,* 

How heavenly bliss was first designed ; 

That love with woman took its birth, 

Tt) chear us on this dreary earth. 

And when the earth for sin was drown'd, 

Attd eight good persons only fouad; 

2 



48 BROOKIAWiV, . 

The sign of pity was a bow,. 
Impress'd in clouds of-purest mow.; 
There's nothing melts so soon as snow ^* 
There's nought so beauteous as the bow, . 
The heavenly bow without an arrow. 
The heavenly bow without a marrow ♦,.. 
Of mother Eve then gay and vain. 
Why should her worthless sons complain, . 
Why drag hei^ frailties into light ? 
No^ let them sink in endless night \ 
The rib and bow are still the same. 
They only differ but in name ; 

* 1 mean the bow that Cupid bears. 
The source of all our smiles and tears* 
That oft in s^ft conjunction meet. 
The ver}' tears of love are sweet ; 

' The sordid wretch, whose god is pelf,. 
Whose love is centred all in self. 
Shall only taste the bitter cup, 
(May such be doom'd to drink it up) 
Whilst gen*rous souls possess the joy,. 
Which nothing earthly can destroy. 
And bless'd in ev'ry nameless bliss, 

- Sunmi'd up in one a mutual kiss. 

— ■ , 

• Wiihout a mate, conopanion, or beyond all coo*. 
parison. 



BROOKIANA. 49 

. Kow pecollect how she repaid,. 
The first and only slip she made ; 
She left her sons with latest breathy 
The choice of liberty or death. 
She left her daughters all her charms^. 
And Paradise is in their arms. 

THE WISH. 

Jdy Mr. Brooke, 

On yonder cloud^oh ! could I sail,. 
Or on the flying deer prevail. 
To waft me to some distant bower. 
Where love at least has lost his power; 

.Yet all our wishes are but vain. 
Then why should I prefer the strain,. 
Though I should gain the farthest land,. 
Yet Love his victim would demand. 

The cloud on. which I wished to sail,. 
Is overtaken by the gale ; 
And see, alas ! the flying hart. 
Is overtaken by the dart. 

Wishes in blossoms still appear/ 
As in the spring tide of the year ; 
And'as we hope with anxious care,. 
Those tend6x,bip8somsmjelt in.«i£». 
TOL. I.. E 



50 BKOORIAVjI. 

Why should my thoughts tfaeli wifcDjjr 

Content to liv\e snd di« at henie $. 

Then Mary cwi my early tier. 

Perhaps may deig^ to dtep a tear. ^ 

LIKES, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY N£I«LY 
T — N, A ROMAN CATHOLIC LADY. 

B^ the Same* 

Ah what avails it to keep Lentf. 

On Sunday last the preacher cryM, 
If you donH earnestly repent, ' 

And banish Lote> and banish pride. 

> 

Yes, I can banish pride, iiuleed. 
And part with it as nothing loath ; 

For what is pride, at best a weed } 
But love's a phint of heavenly growth-.. 

Assist me^ then, I stand In need. 
At least of some celestial power. 

Take care in plucking up the weed, • 
you don't pluck up the tender flower. 

THE ACORN. 
£y the Same, 

Jupiter, the paremt of gods and men, cfw 
dered proclanation to be made, that the ge^ 



•BROOKIAMPA. 51 

. nibs of every clhne should appear before him . 

V on a certain day, at Mount Olympus^ in their 
proper habits. Some were lightly Vested 
in ^i&j and some enveloped in furs, sprinkled 
with spots of every dye; The genius of 
Albion towered above the rest, with snowy 
breast and modest mien ; her hair floating in 
tvaves, adownhcr shoulder^. — ^Assoon as the 
son of Sa!turti had ascended his throne, he 
addressed the assembly in^ these words: — 
*^ I have lorig wished to dispense my favors 
to the different nations of that speck, Called; 
the earthly globe ;, and, as I wish to dis- 
pense them with equal hand, I have Called 
you all together, that your respective gifts 

•may be registered in the book of fiite, in 
your own presence. To the inhabitants of 
the east and the south, it is my intention to. 
bestow cooling fruits, of richest taste and 
odour, with gold and precious stones : for- 
diose of the nordi I have reserved ice and 
fleecy snow ; with iron of toughest sinew^ 
iand metals that deep >emconcious of th^ 
fruitful sun, and only shine fr6m use. Each 
^ de naticms Aen came forward to receive 

£ 2 



ik4 BROOKIAVA. 

two; trees in tbk> garden, said the siago^ 
pdnting to both, about a month ago we had 
three successive days o£ sun-shine ; that al- 
moad-tree thought the sprmg had gain- 
ed her ascendancy, and that Boreas had 
«hut up hi$ stony.cave, she was impatient t^ 
appear in all her blossoms. Why, said she, 
to the mulberry, you ace still in bud, and 
you see how I flourish in the southern gale ! 
I must be certain, said the mulberry, that 
this fine weather will continue. The almond- 
tree was blighted tha^ yeijy night Now, you 
-i^fi th^ mulbeyrty. is in full bloom, whilst the 
abnoud-tree at best 4>oasts but a few hal£. 
ividiered leaves. 

TRANSLATION FROM THE SPANISH 

» 

By the Same* 

The brave but unfortunate Fernando, i^; 
order to repair his disasters in Africa, or- 
dered an immediate levy of fifty thousand 
troops, to be raised by ballot in the course 
of a month,^ throughout his dominions. I 
was in Andalusia at the time. This province 
so.long, and so justly, famed in the annals of 



pofcgQ and war, fer bvavery', ^nkbed its 
^«ot^ in tea day*. I nearer saw^ sa fine a 
body of men in my life ; I do not think diet 
tlictte«4ind^tvrenty summ^ suns had passed 
over the head of the eldest, except the offi^ 
cers, all of whom had been brought up in 
the tented field from their youtli, and bad 
ahed more ov less of their blood in the ser- 
y ioe of their country. I could read the cha. 
Tact^rs of the. eommandets in the counte- 
nance of every man in the line, as they 
passed along it; the transition was^ pleasing, 
and raised a variety of emotions in my 
hv^OBk, that I cannot describe. As one 
passed that had lost an arm, the blood 
rooimted into the cheek ; a wound on the 
breast called forth a deeper sufiusion ; but^ 
when Ae gallant Don Henry appeared, theo 
it was that every heart beat to arms, and 
dxHits of applause flew along the lines, that 
wafted his name to the skietj. This was the 
last morning, perhaps, tiiat ilie sun of Spaio 
shone on their helmets ; they were doomed 
to march over the burning sands of Africa, 
the grave of their brave countrymen. I 



$6 BROOKIANA. 

•envied dnd pitied their fate at the sametiniey 
jand would have readily shared their glory 
•and their danger, if old age had not ex* 
hausted my strength, and pointed to that 
country whither we a^e all bound to travel 
one day or other, and where I hope we shall 
all meet, in the full fruition of the beatific 
vision. About ten minutes before this pa* 
triotic band was ordered to .march, I hap- 
pened to turn my eye on a young woman 
with a child in her arms. . The delicacy of 
her form, the graceful negligence of her 
dress, which was simple; in short, her>air 
and manner peculiarly arrested my atten- 
tion ; I W2^1ked up to her, an old man stood 
close by , her side^ and spoke to her at inter- 
vals with his eyes ; I saw that it was the lan- 
guage of consolation, of which he seemed 
to stand in need himself; but every look 
was tempered with manliness, and loudly 
\irhispered. in my ear, " I feel for others, 
but not myself." The young woman's tean 
fell on her Why , but her looks were directed 
towards a young man in the ranks. His 
.feelings cannot be described — ^I felt them 



BROOKIANAc ^7 

imyself , but there was another that felt them 
still deeper, if possible, a fine youth, richly 
attired, about six feet high. He addressed 
the cotmnanding-ofEcer thus': — ^" You see, 
sir, this young woman and that young man, 
hmband and wife, and that child, the first 
pledge of their love. That old man has 
come to take a last farewel of his only son — 
his only chrld, the prpp of his old age.— 
Now, sir, I have no father, no wife, nor no 
child, I am able and willing to serve my 
country — so glorious an opportunity may 
not present itsdf in a short time again. 
Restorethat young manto his wife, his aged 
father, and his child, and take me in his 
place." The offer was immediately ac- 
cepted, and the generous substitute marched 
off amidst the plaudits and prayers of the 
multitude, which were encreased when it 
Was known that he was the descendant of a 
noble but decayed family, long distinguish- 
ed for military glory, hospitality, and un- 
j)Ounded charities to the helpless poor. 



■5%^ BtoOKtAKA. 



Bit, SHERIDAN« 



The Qmntiliaa of h)^ day, nay more, the 
friend and companiDr* of Swift for many, 
years, hi^ found a biographer in his second 
i^a^. If this favourite son, however, had 
not paid that debt of filial duty, his me-t 
mory would be embalmed in the good that 
he did to every one that was about hijn, fof 
Dr. Sheridan felt for the distresses of others^ 
l)ut his hand could not always obey the w^urm 
dictates of his heart. This able tcachpr did 
not forget the difficulties a boy, even of 
promising parts, has to struggle with, on his 
entrance on the Latin tongue.; he, therefore^ 
mqrate and published a grammar of that Ian* 
gu^ge, in which he removed many of those, 
difficulties ; he also published a prose trans^ 
lation of the satires of Persius, with notes* 
A few years before his death he had trans- 
scribed, fair for the press, a work of great 
labour, entitled, *' Opera horanim subd- 



«ai<«> 



* Ttiomai Sheridan, A. M, 



5% 

■skrarum, &>V.^ which was said to oontain the 
copiouffDCSB of PblOy the jocundity of Iso- 
crates, the order of Hortensttis, and the eams 
frf* Lilius. This work, in all probability, 
is lost, writh manv others. He IcfL an honest 
name behind, and that is enough ; he loit 
pupils behind, and not a flew, some of whom 
were burning lights in the church ; some 
could call the stars by their names ; some 
drank deep, cf the sacred inicU, and some of 
irhem could even mould a discordant senate. 
The following letters were written by the 
-doctor to the Rev. John Magill, his classical 
assistant. As they were addressed to a 
£riend, they ought to be classed with letters 
of that kind, and of course not subject to 
•any critical tax. 

Duyigarvan^ June 3, 1727. 

DEAR JOHNKY, 

** Three times the space that measures 
day and night," have I been waiting for a 
letter from you ; a single line would do, just 
to let me know that you are all weU, ai:id. 
then I am well, and my mind will be at ease. 



■^0 BitOOKIANA, 

1 have just seen Mr. Anstruther; he is "a 
strange fish to be sure, neither to be caught 
bynetnor bait; but if he could, I scorn to avail 
myself of either :, my terms are very fair, 
and, if he does not accede I believe I know 
what to do,--^I don't know when I shall get 
away, for he is tedious, and you know J am 
naturally indoleiit. Tdl Potisy * that I am 
in good health, and that I dream of her 
every night, and as life is but a. dream, I am 
sure I may say mine is a very pleasant one* 
This letter will cost yx)u a shilling, and as I 
have nothing to do this rainy morning, I 
must contrive it so that you will have some- 
thing for your thirteen. I have taken some 
walks in and about Dungarvan f ; it is an 
•old town, and very pleasantly situated. . I 
do not think any town can be more pleasantly 



* Mrs. Sherifian. 



f Dungarvan, in the-county of Waterford, is bound- 
ed on the east by the sea ; it was anciently called 
i\chad Garbain, from St. Garbain, who founded an 
srbbey of canons here, in the seventh century, of which 
the very ruins have perished. 

o. 



BROOK! AN A. 6^1 

situated ;^ and, to speak bigly, which I wish 
to do on many occasions', Waterford, and 
ker daughter Dungarvan, may be called the 
Zidon and Tyre of the south of Ireland 
Stanihurst *, by the bye, tells us that Water- 
fcrd wa» the- second city in the kingdom in 
his day f. The fishermen belonging to it, 
are, perhaps, tiiebest, the hardiest, and the 
most intrepid men in the kingdom J , 

The inhabitants are courteous to strangers ; 
as to the feiir sex, you know them ; they are 
beautiful in every part of the wwld, but still 



• Secundas inter Hibernia urbes, fert Waicrfordia* 
in primis hboesta, et ofHciis fidelis civitas ; propter 
angusiiorei vicoi non admodum luminosa, prudeuti* 
bu9, et bene monuis civibus referta. 

Sianihurst de rebus Hiber. 

t 1607. 

X To this place (DungarvanJ belongs about flfiy. 
large coasting boats, which also fish in ihe proper sea- 
toniy lome of which are of forty tons burihen. They 
ave most of them excellent sea-boats ; and as sonne of 
theni' are- generally in the offing fishing, stranger* 
cannot miss of pilots, both in here, and for any othei 
adjacent harbour. 



62 BROOKTirNA. 

moresOy I think, in this town. The streets 
are narrow and very ill-paved, but they are 
clean, and diat makes amends for all. The 
shops are neat ; a picture may be placed in 
an advantageous light^ The shopkeepers- 
seem to know this, for I have seen a yard eft 
two of tape, and a few rows of pins, hung 
out with so much taste, that I was tempted 
to make a purchase, and a good one too, for 
the young woman- that served in the sdiop. 
threw half a dozen smiles into the bargain^,, 
worth all the money in my purse. When 1 
look on the cuius of Dungarvan, I feel a. 
kind of pleasing melancholy. I think I hear 
the busy hum of men, dying away in the- 
sound of the convent bell ; but, the very 
sight of the old castle, instantly recals the 
noise of the cannon, and the banners of 
blood stream before my eyes. It is some- 
times pleasant to change the present tense 
into the past, and even to cast a glance into 
the future. I am glad, however, that the- 
golden tide of commerce, as it is called, 
has not yet flowed into the tranquil port o£ 



ttos fxiacc. In all trading towns {ynrsc- 
strii^ and heart-strings are sjrndniinic^B 

TtT mafCj per terras^ cnrrit mercator ad Lidos^ 

S^uperiemfagiens. 

To either India see the merchant Hy^ 
Scared at the spectre of paBe poverty. 

The trade wind is the only wind a 
merchant wishes to breatjie, while we poor 
tefaoolma^ters and sorry poets^ are left to* 
ioar zef^yi^, wood-nymphs, water-n^Tiiphs, 
tad any otiier nymph that imagination 
can pictare. I am pleased to find that the 
shuttle has made some progress in these 
IMOts ; formecly it lingered as it ticw, but, 
I hope to see the day it will shoot ofT like 



* A merchant is the same in every place. His God 
Ids gain, his invoice his country, his Bible his ledger, 
Ini altar bis desk, his church the Exchange, and he has 
luch in none but his banker.'^ B v a k s . 



M BltT)bK!lANAV 

a- swallow. I am fond of. theloom^ and* alK 
that belongs to it *. 

Now, you see thati have endeavoured.to 
spin out a letter, to let you see, that if I had. 
any thing, worth conununicajting, I would 
communicate it, and that I do not forget the 
absent. *<ff* ******* 

* * * **.«**4|fl||««:- 

fHom the same to the same. 
Head Quarters ^Mungarvany, June US. 

DEAR johnny,. 

I thank you pver and over again folr yoruu 
kind letter. — So that I find every thing goes 
on as well as if I were at home : if this is.not 
good news I do not know what you call good 
news. I did not shew it to Mrs.Proudfoot, 
for more reasons than one; but she read 
every word of it in my countenance; Mr. 
Anstruther has agreed to my proposal, with a 



♦ It is pleasing to mark the progresi of the ihuttlOy^ 
from the darkest shade of labour, to the brightest hut 
•£ invention. 

Sh s R I D AK, m one of his Speeches •. 



BftOOKIANA. 65 

few exceptions ; so that, please tlie Lord, I 
hope to get away in the course of next week. 
I have dined twice with Mr. Kenny ; I assure 
jou there is no ostentation in his hospitality' , 
he is fond of botany, and has lent ihe some 
old books on gardening, in which I find many 
good things. I met with a most extraordi- 
nary young man at his house, Mr. Smith ; I 
do not think he is yet eight-and-twenty. 
Nature intended him for a poet, if art .does 
not spoil him. He has composed ^ poem 
in Latin, of some length, in which I really 
found all that we admire in poets of anti- 
.quit}". The flights of Pindar, the sweetness 
of Anacreon ; the variety of Horace ; the 
easy flow of Ovid ; and the purity of Ca- 
tullus. He has promised me a copy of it, 
and I shall preservo it for liis sake, and the 
sake of the muses. To eke out this letter, I 
must give you another slice of Dungarvan. 
I assure you, the Roman tongue is .not an 
alien in tliis town ; I was passing through a 
street the other day, and I saw the following 
line on a window where they sold eggs i 
. Si sumas ovuio, molle sit, atq ;. novum. 
VOL. I. F 



66 BffOOKTANA. 

This talHes in some measui*e wkh the <dd 
ixxmkish couplet : 

Itegula Presbyteri jubet haec pro lege teneri, 
^uod bona sunt ova base, Candida^ longa^ nova. 

If that Unndering blodLhead, Millar, saw 
this, I suppose he would think I ^'as writing 
<io»iething about the Presbyterians, but I 
have something eJsc to do. The fields about 
Dung-orvan are very fertile, the air is good ; 
«nd as 40 the water I can say nothing about 
it, Ibr the wine is old and good, and abun* 
<dant. Wc have plenty of fish, herrings, eels, 
tad skate. 

•Sahno no a a^state novus nee frigore deslt. 

Mend the old translation if you can : 

IBalmon in winter is not rare, 

III summer v;e have some to spare. 

Will you have an eye to the garden; 
flandal has some taste, but it must be di- 
rected. I was pressed last Sunday to preachy 
but, as 1 can read in no book but my own, 
1 declined it. You have heard of the noble 



BftOOKIANA. 67 

jmd nuyeitic Suife *9 perhaps I majriVBlk 09 
ite innks before I return. Tell Ponsy not 
to press Carrol for tbe reot ; he is poor and 
•iiKlustriouSy aad has, besides,. a large family. 
Now^ as to South, but this m confidenoe. ^ 

Your's truly, 

T.S. 

The Dispute, 

As Mrs. Sheridan was one evening de- 
^scanting on the beauties of her pansics and 
tulips, the doctor happened to say^ that he 
preferred a good .cabbage to all the ** infants 
of the spring,** nay, even to the rose itself • 
The lady thought herself bound to defend 
those flowers to which her cheeks had been 
«o often composed. It hurt her very ja^ucb 
to think the oHspring pf a kitchon^gardon 
should be put in competition with tiie piude 
of .a flower-garden. The doctor wauld not 
yield, in colour, taste, or smell ;^nd> asthe 

* A river io the county of WaterfoMi* 

r 2 



68 BROOKIANA. 

company seemed to take part with him, 
Mrs. Sheridan, at length, in a tone at 
warmth, which was not natural to her, de- 
clared that, in future, the subject of the 
doctor's panegyric, should give up a certain 
portion of the garden to carrots and par- 
snips ; and that even boiled beef should be 
accompanied by these, instead of its wonted 
companion. As Mr. Brooke was present 
during the whole of this good-humoured 
dispute, it is supposed that he wrote the 
following dialogue, which was found on the 
table at supper, and read by one of the 
pupils, with so peculiar an emphasis, that 
it excited a considerable degree of mirth. 

• 

ji Dialogue between Boiled Beef and Cabbage. 

Cabbage. 1 think you had the honour of 
being boiled with me in the same pot, the 
ether day. 

Beef. Or rather you had the honour of 
being boiled with me. 

Cabbage, You seem to swell a little on the 
occasion. 



• BftOOKIANA. 69 

Beef. Fle^ and blood canH bear your in- 
solence. 

Cabbage. In point of antiquity I think I 
take the lead ; many of your family have 
been very glad to live on my family. I may 
say besides, that I am a native of every coun- 
try, I flourish in every soil, and in every sea- 
son. In the sultry regions of Africa, I expand 
into the luxuriancy of an oak, and tower 
into the sublimity of a pine. Even in Ice- 
land I brave the cold of winter; nay, tlic 
winter is very fond of me, and often co- 
vers me with snow as pure as ermine ; in 
short, I neither shrink from heat or cold, 
I am an ever-green ; I am the pride of the 
garden ; when your lilies in summer snow, 
.and your roses in virgin blushes fade away, 
I flourish ; I am, besides, a favourite witli 
the Doctor, he planted me with his own 
hands. 

Beef, You can sound your own praises ; 
I am also a native of every clime, and a fa- 
Touriie at every board; wlwtt would the 
Rector think of you, if I were not placed by 
your side on the table. Have not a handful 

F 3 



cff mcrf , wlieft suppotted % j me^maintained , 
a garrison against thousands ; the greatest 
gienerab have rejiosed a confidence in me. 

Cabbage. And in me t«k>— witness- the 
famed Fabricins ; bow often have I heard 
the Doctor run oni m hi» praises. I remem- 
ber some lines he repeated the other day on 



thstt gallant leader : 

That wheh the good man lowly bent, 
Cook'd his own cabbage in hi^ homely tent ; 
And when the Sarrmites sent a golden sum. 
To tempt him to betray his country, Rome^ 
The dross he scoffinglj r^ura'd ottt^ld. 
And answered with a look serenely bold, . 
That Roman spniutflwoahl boil without tfacsr 

Grecian gold ; 
^Then eat his cokworts for his meal d«sigii'd« 
And beat the Grecian army when h(»'d din'd* 

— Again y look to the Highlanders of Scot* 
landy as hardy as the mountain fir; when 
did you ever hear of a Highlander yielding 
to the foe. If ddomM to fall, victory dr 
death are the last words that tremble on his 
tongue. 



BROOKfAKA; 71 

Beef. I know you are a favourite with the 
Cpermans ; but, the yepy moneut they come 
ioto Old England or Ireland, tl^ey quit you 
for me. 

Cabbage, They don't treat me well in 
Germany — they cut and hash, and pickle me 
so ; th^y sour my temper as well as their 
own. 

Beef, I have a right to complain of those 
xhzi roast me, all my strength melts into the 
dripping-pan. 

Cabbage. 'And to what vile purposes is it 
put. 

Beef. But the roast beef of Old England 
is a standing dish ; in other Countries they 
flcarce know the time, Then^ as to beauty, 
I hope you won't compare yourself to me ; 
fair red and white, in streaks like tUq morn. 

Cabbage, Look at my complexion, what a 
tender green, how delicately veined. In 
order to give you that colour you are ^tidl- 
.fed. I breathe in tlie open air, Vxa not 
pampered in a hot-house. RecoHo^jt that 
the Greeks used to swear by me, and that 
Cato held me in high honour. 

t 4 



12 BROOKIANA. 

Enter Potatoes. 

Beef. Here comes a pleasant fellow, with 
a smile on his countenance. 

Potatoes. What's the matter, my good 
friends.; I thought I heard some bickering. 
(Beef and Cabbage relate the conversation) 
Come, come, you must be friends— you 
should always go together : 

*' What greater bliss can Gods.to man afford, - 
Thau beef aod cabbage smoakingon the board ? 

Cabbage. Well said. 

Vos Hiberni> collacatis, 
Summum bonum in potatoes. 

As the Doctor says. 

Potatoes. The Doctor is fond of punning 
on my name. I tell you, agree and be 
friends— Moses and Pythagoras spoiled a 
good dish (bacon and beans). You, cousin 
Beef, boiled'or roasted, will live for ever in 
the old English song ; and you, cousin Cab- 
bage, will be the theme of many a future 
poet. 



BROOKIANA. 73 



DESCRIPTION OF THE REV. MR. BRADY*S 

CHAPEL*. 

In a Letter to a Lady. 

Found in Air. Brockets Hand-wriling, 

— Our chalices are wooden, it is true, but; 
our priests are gold, and as to our chapels, I 
am sure I cannot describe them. Father 
Brady, our parish priest, preached in one 
last Sunday, that would have charmed you. 
The flock was waiting for the shepherd, who 
lives at a distance, and as I was passing by 
I joined it. The first thing that drew my 
attention was the lofty dome. A golden 

m 

sun was nearly suspended from the centre, 
whilst his beams flowed in level lines, like 
so xnany streams from their fountain. The 
clouds sailed along till they lost themselves 
in each other ; the milky white was some- 



* Mr. Brady was a clergyman of the Church of 
Rome, who -used to perform divine service in tlie open 
air. 



times edged with blue, and the blue at last 
gradually yielded to gold ; I never wit* 
nessed such a soft succession of colours.—* 
You'll suppose that this glorious vault was 
supported by piibirs of veifty marble, 
polished tOr the hArmosious touch ; not one, 
nor yet hung rouud with pictures of female 
Saints and repentant Magdalens, that ex- 
hausted the genius of ages; yet this chapel, at 
the same time, was embellished with paint* 
ings that Hurmedyour affections, instead o£ 
warming your passions. The altar wa& a 
rough stone, raised out of an humble 
quarry, but the incense that rose, from it 
ascended to the regions of uncreated light. 
Hills, daleis, woodss, and waters, joined in the 
song of praise. 

What are the works of men's hands com- 
pared to the divine architect ? The proud 
monuments of raadnjess, pride, . and folly| 
flourish for a few years, bow their heads, 
and scarcely " leave a wreck behind." 
Where is the temple of Mars, o«r the oaftrket- 
place of Augustus i where is the hoiiae of 
Saturn, and the theatre of IVIarcellus r V»- 



BRO0K1AVA. 15 

nbhcd for ever to tlie view ; bttt, the tem-. 
pfe of the Living God, that in not macle witk 
hatidf^ will floicri^, uaconsctouft of decay, 
thraugk all eternity. 

The situation of this chstpel is beautifbt ; 
it lies at the foot of Sliabh Russel ; and, if 
tkis verdant mountain is not as l^ly a» 
mount Sinai, nor as lofty a» Herman, it is 
at least as pleasant as TalMir, and as fertite 
as Carmel. 



LORD MOUNTCASS£L. 

Notwithstanding Mr. Brooke always chc- 
the hnmble flowers which he had 
culled under the eye of Mr. Cbmerford ; yet 
he Tkis been known to thank his stars, for 
those of brighter bloom and richer odour, 
wUch he had gathered under the care of 
Doctor Sheridan ; he Icwed the one, but he 
was proud of the other. Some of the most 
enlightened men of the age, receired some- 
thing beyond the rudiments of their edu- 
cation, in Sheridan's school, which was 
then in the zenith of its fame. Mr. Brooke 



76 BROOKIANA. 

used to repeat some of the names of his- 
sehoolfellows with a kind of transport, and, 
as often as he came to any to whom Nature 
had been indulgent in point of genius and 
generous feeUngs; then, indeed, it knew no 
bounds. In this lettered list, Lord Mount- 
cassel was his greatest favourite. Dr. She- 
ridan dedicated his translation of Perseus 
to this young nobleman, who was then on 
the eve of completing his studies. in the 
university of Dublin. The following ex- 
tract from this dedication, will enable the 
reader to form an idea of his lordship's cha- 
racter, after making some allowances for 
the partiality of a teacher for. a favourite 
pupil. 

^^ I shall make you (his lordship) no com- 
pliments upon your birth or title, which 
you and your schoolfellows will witness for 
me, that I never did once either distinguish 
or spare you, while you were under my care ; 
neither shall I allow you any merit from the 
mere advantages of fortune. Besides, I al- 
ways observed j^ou much more fond of the 
genealogies of the Greek and Roman heroes, 

2 



.BROOKIAXA. If 

than of your own ; there you found so many 
exalted examples of piety ^ wisdom, justice, 
fortitude, love to their country, faithfulness 
to theif -friends, every action great, npble, 
and truly humane, that it is not to be 
wondered your character exceeds your years, 
when you endeavoured to borrow most of it 
.from them ; for which every wise man will 
acquit you, since there are so few ex- 
amples in the present world that will deserve 
your imitation. But the great character of 
antiquity are such, as you may safely follow 
in every thing that is great and good. And, 
although it hath been your misfortune to 
, live in a country, not the most inviting scene 
to employ those talents which God hath 
.given you, and which your own good dispo* 
\8iti(Hi, added fo the care of your instructors, 
18 so likely to improve ; yet, let not that be 
. a di^ouragement from persevering to qua- 
. lify yourself for appearing one day where 
I you can shine to more advantage.'* 



^ BROOKIANA. 



DOCTOTR XELAND. 

Mr. Brooke xiiffisred very much ^tfa iDr. 
Lelaad ia political principles^ yet be wim 
amongst the first to coinfiliHieiit the Doctor 
on the .success of hius translations : 

•* His praise is lost, who waits till all commend.'* 

Thomas lisland, D. D. was bom in the 
mt^' of DuUio, in the year 1722 ; his £Ertfaer 
a refi|)eotable tmdesmaa, iocind himself in 
cifcumstances sufficiently easy to gi^ne his 
son a liberal education. He was brought 
up at the school of Dr. 8heridan. Finm the 
slow progress which he made the first year 
in grammar-learning ; his father began to 
repent that he had not brought hisi up m 
his own line; for, said he, if Tom bad any 
capacity-, l-h*. gyberidan, of all others, wooM 
make the most of it. The Doctor, howamr, 
assured him, that tlie tardiness of this man 
did not arise from any want of capacity, but 
from a wish to render himself an entire 
piaster of all those rules and examples, that 



QkiniBtcbf lead to lAie ibuutftin iieSaA of 
learning, which was <Mertaii»ly die case. His 
hidiistry was so rnipeohfiting, that it wotiid 
have raised a youth, even of inferior tdients^ 
to a heigfapt that would at least -equal, if not 
out-top, a genhis that depended entirely on 
its own nesources. Nature, howevor, was 
indulgent to Leland ; but, her InduilgcnGe 
was conspicuous only to those who were 
well acquainted with the operattoos of the 
fanman mind. He had a^very tenacious me- 
mory ; and sufficient taste to point oist what 
was worthy of being read, so that die did 
not overload his memory with ti*^h. In 
4737 he entered as a pensioner in Trinity 
Collie, Dublin ; in 1741 he was elected a 
scholar of the house, commenced bachelor of 
arts in 1742; and, in 1746, he obtained a fel- 
lowship. In 1748, he entered intoholy orders. 
On this occasion he composed a discourse, 
** On the helps and impediments to the ac- 
quisition of knowledge in religious and mo- 
•lal subjects," This discourse was very 
admired, and may be said to have laid the 
foundation of iiis literary fame. In 1 754 he 



80 BROOKIANA. 

published, at the desire of the university, a* 
edition of all the Philippic orations of De- 
mosthenes, with a Latin version for the us^ 
of students ; he was assisted in this under- 
taking by Dr. John Stokes. In 1755 he pub- 
lished an English translation of the same^ 
to which he prefixed his name. In 1758, he 
published, " The Life of Philip, king of 
Macedon." This work of itself would have 
entitled him to one of the highest niches in 
the temple of fame ; it was even thought by 
some that it had exhausted all the vigour of 
his mind ; or, at least, that it would be some 
time bef(Jre it could recover its powers. In . 
1761, he presented the public with transia^ 
tions of iEschines, and other orations of De- 
mosthenes, in three volumes, 8vo. In 1762, 
it is said, that he wTotc, in conjunction with 
Hall Hartson, Esq. the ingenious historical 
Romance of Longsvvord, Earl of Salisbury. 
In 1763^, he was appointed by the board of 
senior fellows, professor of oratory. 

Bishop Warburton, having noticed in his 
** Doctrine of Grace," the argnunent used 
by infidd writers, against the divine inspi- 



BftOOKIAJffA. « 81 

ffBtidii of the Nenr Te^ament, from its want 
ef purity, degauce, kc. opposed this, in his 
uaal manner, by the following paradoxes : 
- — I. That the Eyangeiists and Apostles, 
writing in a language, the knowledge of 
fduch had been miraculously infused, could 
be masters of the words only, and not of the 
idiomi ; and^ therefore, must write barba- 
rotiily. 8. That eloquence was not any real 
quility ; but, something merely fantastical 
imd mrbitxary, an acciden&l abuse of human 
speech. $. That it had no end but to de- 
oeiTe by the appearance of rehement in- 
wnd persuaston^ and to pervert the judg*. 
iqent, by inflaming the passions. 4. And^ 
that being a deviation from the principles of 
logic and metaphysics, was frequendy vi- 
cious. — Dr. Leland quickly perceived the 
danger of these positions, and, in 1764, pub- 
lisbed his ^^ Dissertation on the Principles 
of Human Eloquence." ' In this he success- 
fully re&ted the Bishop's paradoxical whim- 
ties; and proved, that the styte and lan«- 
giiage of the New Testament were defensi* 

VOL. I. 6 



82 BROOKIANA. 

ble without them. The Bishop found ad» , 
vocates ; but Dr. Leland replied with suck 
force of argmnent, such spirit and address^ 
as effectually silenced the controversy. 

In 1768 he was appointed chaplain toLord 
Townshend, lord-lieutenant of Ireland; 
and in the same year he was collated to the 
prebend of Ratbmichael, in the < cathedral 
church of St. Patrick, Dublin, united with 
the vicarage of Bray. His friends looked . 
on this as a step to a mitre ; but, they look- 
ed in vain. In ms, Dr. Leland's History 
of Ireland was published in London, in three 
.volumes, 4to. Hisxfriends had a just right 
to form grjeatrCxpectations of this work, to 
which he had devoted some time, and which 
ought to have been dear to his heart. They 
had a right to look up to it as the most last- 
ing monument of his talents. He had every 
thing in his favour ; his fame was already 
known to the learned ; he had leisure to 
collect materials ; judgment to arrange, 
and taste to embelKsh them.; the ground 
was still untrod, though many had attempt- 
ed lo tread it. Some fainted by the way^ 



BROOKIANA. 85 

others did not wish io go the fiifl length ; 
and some were contented with a view of it 
at a disUnce. The living and the dead 
were at his nod. Charles O^Conor, Esq. 
wa^yet'in the prime of life, with several 
•thers who had known the history of their 
native country, from their infancy. The 
Carew* ; the Clarendon f ; tlie Seabright ; 
the Broderick ; and Harris's collections X ; 
were open to his inspection und transcrip- 
tion. But Leland scarce resorted to any 
onex)f them, much less to those great depo- 
sitories of documents relating to the civil 
and miKtary affairs of Ireland, namely, Bir- 
mingham Tower, the Rolls Office, the Sur- 
veyor-general's office, the Council-book, 
the Exchequer, Coxe was his guide, philo- 
sopher, and friend ; so that Lcland's History 
is little more thau Coxe's History of Ireland, 
in better language. In the whole three bulky 
volumes, you scarce meet with *^ a thought 



* In Lambeth Library, 
f In the British Museum. 
+ In the Collection of the Dublin Society. 
G 2 



.S4 BROOXrilNA. - 

diat brdadies, or a word <3iat tmrnsT' ^t^ 
tiboMgbts should breathe, aaid words shooM 
bum^ especially in a history written by tils 
biogra^iher ofPhitip, .the translator of D^ 
jtaosthene^, and die successful antagonist €# 
the £aistidi0as Warburton. Instead ^of aft 
apology for the insertion, it wtrald rather re- 
quire one for the onnssioh of the' fbHofwhig 
literary character of Dr. Leland, by Dr. 
Parr, one of the most el^ant scholars of 
our times. 

" Of Leland,^' says this author, ^* my opi- 
nion is not founded upon hearsay evidence;, 
nor is it determined solely by the great 
authority of Dr. Johnson, who alwajrs men^ 
tioned Dr, Ldand with cordial regard and 
marked respect. It might, perhaps, be invi- 
dious for me to hazand a favourable deei- 
sion uponVhe History of Ireland ; beeausey 
the merits of that work have been displifed- 
by critics : but I may, with confidencJd, ap-' 
peal to writings which have long contributed, 
to public amusement, and have often be^ea 
honoured by public approbatioR — to the 



JL&fe ^ PhiUpy 9ad to die Tr^n/slfttkm of 
SBmflstktaes ; to tibe judicious Dit;serUtioii 
mfom Eloquence y and to the spirited De*- 
fence of that DissertaJdon^ The Life of 
]%ilip contains many curious reseajrcbes 
into the principles of goYemmentjestal^iishr 
ed among the leading states of Gveece; 
many sagacious remarks on their intestine 
discords; many exact descriptions of their 
most celebrated characters ; together with 
an extensive and correct view of those subtle 
intrigues, and. those ambitious projects, by 
which Philip 9 ait a favourable crisis, gra- 
dually obtained an unexampled and fatal 
mastery over the Grecian republics. In the 
translation of Demosthenes, Inland unites 
die man of taste with the man of learning ; 
and shews himself to have possessed, not 
only a competent knowledge of the Greek 
lii^aage, but that clearness in his own con- 
ceptions, and that anuaoatioai in his feelings, 
which enabled him to catch the real meaning, 
and to preserve the genuine spirit, of the 
most perfect orator that Athens ever pro<*> 
ducedi. Through the Dissertation' upon 

c 3 



. 8C> BROOKIANA. ^ 

Eloquence, and the^ Defence of it, we 
great accuracy of erudition ; great perspi- 
cuity and strength of style ; and, above aO^ 
a stoutness of judgment, which, in traversing 
the open and spacious walks of literature, 
disdained to be led captive, either by the 
sorceries of a self-deluded visionary (Warv 
burton), or the decrees of a self-create4 
despot.'' 

POETICAL FAMJE. 

The fame of our youthful poet had now 
extended beyond the boundaries of, th« 
school ; nay^ even to the Shannon, a dis- 
tance of many miles. A young man, of the 
name of Dary, or Mac Dary, who lived on 
the banks of that river, addressed some 
verses to him in the Irish language. He 
was so highly pleased with this little nosegay 
of native flowers, that he resolved to learn 
the Irish language, a. resolve, with many 
others, which he never put into execution* 
A person, whose name is now forgotten, fur- 
nished him with literal translations of many 



BROOKIANA. ^ 87 

of the most popular poeras in that tongue ; 
some of which, in all probability, once won 
die ear of the best poet of his day — ^the im- 
mortal Spencer, at a time when, in his own 
words, poetry was stripped of its goodljf or^ 
namentSf " yet even then," says the author 
of the Fairy Queen, *^ these poems (the 
Irish) were sprinkled with some pretty flowers^ 
which gave good grace and comeliness to 
them*." One of these literal translations 
may serve as a specimen of the rest. 

Conrigh and Blaniadf. 

A Tale literally translated from.the Irish, by F. M. C. 

Bring the high-toned harp of the many 
sounding strings, ere the sun ascends the 
blue-topped mountains of the wide extended 
sky y whilst the lover is yet comparing the 
roses on the cheeks of his promised bride, 
. with the blushes of the modest dawn, let us 
sing the song of Blaniad, the fair Blaniad I 



» Spencer's View of the State of Ireland, p. 112, 11 6. 
f. Se« Smith's History of Kerry. 

Q 4 



M BXOOKIAKA, 

Harki how the string melts at the rtry 
tfound of her name, such is the power of 
love and beauty ! Conrigh was the son of 
Daire * ; Conrigh the Brave had shone iq 
the front of many a battle ; his single fitidU 
ohion had drank the blood of a thousand 
foes; even Conor f, the, mighty Coiiorf 
king of Ulster it: y had sought his alliaiice^ ajvl 



* Daire, or Dair, a powerful prince ki the west of 
Ireland, said to have been descended in a right line 
from Ciar, the eldest son of Fergus, king of Ulster. 

f Conor, king of Ulster, was the son of Ederskal, 
and successor to Necad-Neacht, in the monarchy, and 
governed seventy years in great tranquillity. The 
Irish antiquaries say, that the seasons in his time were 
remarkable fair and wholesome. 

Kennedy's Genealogical Dissertation of the Royal fimily §fth 

J Ulster, at present one of the four provinces of Ire^ 
land. That kingdom, anterior' to the arrival of the 
Bnglish, was divided into five provinces ; so that Ulster 
was called, in those days, Cuig Ullagh ; it is the most 
northern. The inhabitants were called Ulargh, or Ul- 
tonians, from Ollamh Fodla, who was king cf that 
territory. In the fifth century it was dismembered by 



BBOOKIANA; 9d 

ipreseated him with a hoimd of swiftest foot. 
Goarigh was the pride of the Dea^bda ^, he 
WBS the. leader of that noble race. Conor ^^ 
the prince of Ulster, the gl(»ry of the JReeL 
branch f ^ a storm in war, but a gentle showex 



the Hy^Nials, or O'Neirs, and was called North Hy- 
NiaL Ulaugh, or Uladh» wai then confined to the 
present count j of Downe, and some adjacent di^tricti. 
The Scottish inhabitants of this province were called 
Irians, or Northern Iberians. The old Ernaids^ of 
the Belgian race, inhabited this province, a conudera- 
ble colony, under the Irian race : Ptolemy calls them 
Erdiniy a small variation from the true name Ernedi. 
In process of time, the Irians took the name of Clanna 
S>araigde, whom Ptolemy, and his transcribers call 
Robogdiiy a corruption of Rorogdii. The several 
tribes, both Scottish and Irish, bad the general name of 
Uhaigh, and Ultonii, which Ptolemy perverted into 
Volunti. Ulster, at this day, is divided into nine coun. 
lies, vig. Armagh, Downe, Antrim, Londonderry, 
Donegal, Tyrone, Fermanagh, Cavan, and Monaghan. 
it contains 54 baronies, 333 parishes, and 3,143,000 



* A tribe that settled in the west of Munster, in 
Ireland. 

f An order of milhary knighthood^ instituted in the 
province of Ulsieri ab<Hit 400 year» before the vv^^a.c 



90 . BROOKIANA. 

in peace, proposed to invade the island of 
Rathglin*. As soon as the winds had 
spread his intention abroad, the heart of 
Conrigh burned with impatience to serve 
under the hero of the north ; for this pur-» 
pose he put on his shining helmet, and 
seized his full-orbed shield, mounted hisr 
neighing steed, of dappled die ; one hun* 
dred chosen champions swelled his ^varhke 
train, resolved on victory or death. He then 
sung this song to the sound of many harps : . 

My boots grew in the wood. 
My bed upon the mountain. 

My steed the foaming flood. 
My drink the chrystal fountain. 

My canopy the shade 

Of spreading oak or willowy 

When sleep my eyes invade. 
The new-fallen snow my pillow. 

aera, called, in the Irish language, Craobh na ruadh^ 
or the red branch. The Irish Romances are filled with 
the marvellous exploits of the champions of thit orders 
as they are called. 
'^ A small island on.the coast of Scotlaad. 



SItOOKIAKA; 91 

nkving soQght the palace of Emania *f 
where he was Teceired with transports of 
joy ; hut, as soon as bis wishes were known^ 
the voice of the trumpet was heard, even in 
the distant valUes, and the battles of Dair 
was sung by a thousand tongues. If the 
lofty oak and sounding ash were charmed 
with the strains of war^ the mUow, at in- 
tervak, waved to the softer notes of love ; 
but 9 the sound of the bow, and the clangor 
of shiehls, was music only to tlie ears of 
Conrigh, the son of Daire. The Ultonian 
army was divided into two parts ; Conor was 
prevailed on to conunit the glory and the 
danger of the right wing to Congullion, his 
favourite general, whose gallant heart could 
yet melt at the tears of distress ; Con- 
righ, whose cheek never drank the tear of 



* Emania, or Eamhan, as it is wriuen in ,thQ Irish 
tongue, was, in those days, the principaJ regal seat of 
the kings of Ulster, situated in the present county of 
Armagh. It is said to have been erected 750 years 
before the Christian sra. O^Flaherty, in his Ogygia^ 
fixes it at Z52p ante A. C. 



$2 BftOOKIAKA. 

pity, led the left. Each marched 6b ia tiltad ' 
array ; they landed oa the destined i$le. The 
governor of the isle, feuned for deecb of high 
renown, prepared to meet the undaunted', 
foe ; t(x him death bad no terrors in stofe^ 
he had braved thent all in every fprm ; but 
still the father reigned in his boion ; he 
had a daughter, fair as the lilly Tcatedift. 
new-born light, a prize the greatest prince 
BHght boast. In the battlers rage, he knew 
that innocence and youth were feeble 
shields. Then, to secure her from the law* 
leas rage, which beauty but too oft inflames, 
be placed her in the strongest fort ^ which he 
encompassed with the bravest men that ever 
dyed the field widi blood. These heroes, 
faithful to their trust, three times cut dova 
the foe. When Conrigh advanced to Con* 
gullion, whilst the fire of indignation 
sparkled from his eyes, and thus addressed 
him : " Shall it be said, O chief of the Ul- 
tonian band, that our ranks have been 
mowed down by a handful of men, whoa^ 
names are not even known beyond the flight 
of their arrows.'' Such tidings, sore^ would 



BROOKIANA. f S 

^^mMmd the fcdut of the gaUwt Conor ; the 
9kxvmaB of Ulster would monner to degiei 
ef woe; lier lofty mountains would bow 
tfaeir l^adsy and her flowers would wither^ 
even im tfe bosom of her yallies, — ^Let us 
colfect OVT force in one, and with one mighty 
Mow level that fortress in the dust, that dare 

■ cp p OBB our once resisdess arms ; whatever, 
treasure it may contaki, let it be the reward of 
him that first ascends the breach, and waves 
bia sword in victory. Be it so, quoth the 
brave Congullion. Scarce could these words 

• Qfvertake the flight of Conrigh ; and ere they 
4ied in air, the su-ord of Conrigh was seen 
to wave on the top of the garrison : — Con- 

• tigh daimed the reward of his valour ; — the 
'Iwauteous Blaniad, the daughter of tfao 
-gallant governor ; but death, in pity to his 

worth, had just sealed his eyes, least their 
'last glance should witness his sad daughter's 
"^ate. Say what a sight ! beauty, innocence^ 

and youth, in the deepest distress, melted 
' she generous heart of the brave ConguUion : 
- in vain did he plead her cause ; the dangii^ 



94 BROdKlANA* 

ter, thconly child of abraveoldman, whose 
bosom was the shield of his country. Sprung 
from a noble race, and the last, perhaps 
too, of his line ; but, the heart of Comigh 
would not relent ; he led her captive to Us 
tent, and thence to Munster. Congullioii 
returned to Emania, filled with grief for the 
fate of the beautiful Blaniad. Resolved at 
length, however, at the risk of his life to 
recover the fair captive, he travelled in dis- 
guise to the palace of Daire, in Kerry ♦, ac- 
companied by a chosen band, who had often 
shared his dangers and his glories. Having 
wandered for some days with his companions 
through the woods, he happened, one night, 
to spy at a distance a soUtary castle, almost 
over-topped with trees. As sikncc reigned 



* Kerry, in the province of Munster. It is bounded 
on the north by the mouth of the River Shannon, which 
diTides it from the county of Clare ; on the south and 
west by the Atlantic Ocean ; and, on the east, by the 
counties of Cork and Limerick. It is the fourth countf 
a»to extent in Ireland, 



BROOKIAKA, S5 

mroond, '^save when the breeze wafted the 
sound of a neighbouring water-fall; led 
^hy the love of solitude, the lover's friend, 
he bent his steps towards the suUen pile ; 
channed with the deep embowering shade of 
gloom, -diat darkened as he advanced. By 
the glimmering light of the moon, at an open 
space he coiild discern, from the situation of 
the castle, that it was raised as a prison. A 
thousand thoughtS"in an instant shot across 
his mind ; his imagination in a moment led 
him through the cells, whose entrances were 
-yarded with rugged stones, where he be- 
held theuHfortunute victims of jealousy, am- 
>bition, and love ; his heart was touched with 
every one of these by turns ; he blessed the 
•gentle spirit of the place, that had ^conducted 
^his mazy steps to an abode that seemed to 
be built, rather by magic than by human 
hands. His heart was a stranger to fcar, 
but the sorrows of another could melt it 
into infant tenderness. As he paused, a 
voice, like the voice of an angel in love, 
unfolded his ear; the trees waved to si- 
lence, and the moon stopped in her pale ca- 



$6 BRO0KlA)qrA, 

^reer. It was the voice of Bkniadi^and thetil 
'were the wc^s of her song : 

I leauM my head against a tree. 
And cryM, poor wiUow pity me ; 
The ivillow spread its brauches wide. 
And guarded me on ev'ry side ; 
I sigh'd, and it return'd the sigh. 
And dropt a tear upon my eye : 
A tear as cold as morning dew, 
Tho' it was cold, yet it was true ; 
But, wait until the tale is told. 
Nor wonder that the drop was cold. 
The listening tree heard ail my plaint. 
And oftentimes 1 thought would faint. 
To think that man, I hate the name, 
• Could sport so with a virgin's flame ; 
And whrn it slied that pearly tear. 
Its very heart was froze with fear. 
Lest I should lose my innocence ; 
But heaven itself is my defence. 
Then since, alas ! that tender tree. 
Has provM so dear a friend to me ; 
Since I have found a heart in wood, 
Superior far to flesh and blood ; 
Beneath its branches let me Le, 
Jkneath its branches let me die. 



And may its strains. still sacred be. 
To lore and immortality. 

Hearken to the lays of Congullion. 

List to the genius of this shade^ 

Thus deeply canopied in gloom; 
^air Blaniad list, be not afraid, 

Thou'ltsoon escape thy living tomb. 
The God of Love will pour thy sighs. 

Into thy faithful lover's heart ; 
For Love has markM thee for his prize. 

In spite of brutal tyrant^s art. 
Let peace this night then calm thy blood ; 

Let peace this night then with thee dwell : 
I am the genius of this wood. 

And soon shall snatch thee fron> thy cell* 

Biajnad*s Reply, 
If thou'rt the genius of the shade. 

Tell me my lover's name, I pray. 
And then youMl cheer a captive maid. 

And I'll believe what*er you say. 

Congulliofi, 
Then list to me and hear the truth : 

I swear to thee, by Allans lake, 
Congullion is the faithful youth. 

That lives alone for Blaniad's sake. 
VOL. I. H 



9S BROOKIANA'. 

\ 

Bianiad. 

ConguUion is the charming youth ; 

Say, does he know where Blaniad's flown;: 
Enough, enough, yquVe told the truths 

For Blaniad lives for him alone. 

Already the voice of ConguUion arrests 
thine ear, but the envious gloom' has hung a 
curtain before tbine eyes, that thou caast 
not see him, nor can he see thee. Now 
there was a silence ; Congullion called, but 
he received no .answer. Nowy said he to 
himself, I ^vas too impatient, and the Aower 
of hope that was just in bud, is blasted for- 
ever. The tyrant Conrigh- has heard our 
conversation : for the ears of a tyrant awe 
ever open ; he has dragged her hence ; I 
hear her shrieks at a distance ; they die 
away ; what ! shall I remain, and lend no 
relief, nor revenge her death ? Yes, Conrigh 
shall bleed beneath my arm ; his rivers shall 
swell with the blood of thousands ; but, I 
cannot move ; I grow to the rock on which- 
I stand : — Ob ! fair flowret ; once the pride 



BtroOKIANA. 99 

<yf the-gardien ; how oft has the sun, gazed 
on tl|y opening sweets in* his golden raee^ 
plucked from thy native land by the hand 
of ruthless man, to wither in thy bloom, in* 
a dark cell, warmed only with thy sighs ; 
but m avenge thy death : to-raorrow*s sun 
diall count whole fields of slaughter. The 
gentle voice of Blaniad at length reached his 
ear. Oh ! blessed night, said she, still 
brighter in my eye than the day that 
crowned my father with victory on the hills 
of Barda. Oh ! blessed night, that favours 
our converse^ and carries our souls into the 
free-winged air. — Oh ! Congullion, why did 
you speak to me with your eyes, the fatal 
d^y I was led captive to the remorseless tent 
of Conrigh ; your eyes prcnnised to release 
me ; but, if thou art yet faithful, I am- blest. 
It is you that can turn this prison into a pa- 
lace ; it is you that can restore me to light 
and bliss. But, ah ! I am poor, I have no 
provinces to bestow on thee ; I liave no dia- 
monds — ^my youth is even faded. Think 
not of provinces, cried Congullion, in the 
voice of transport ; thy love alone will be 

H 2 



100 BaoOKlANA. 

crowtii^ ^tid sce])tres to me ; what diamonds 
can be compared with thy tears ? Let hope 
expand thy soft bosom. 1 have one hundred 
chosen knights ; to-morrow morning the sun • 
shall shine upon their shields; I will tear 
this castle from its parent rock, and Gon- 
righ's arm shall sink beneath the weakest 
nerve of mine. ConguUion brave, be .not 
so rash, cried Blaniad ; let pmdence mingle 
in thy councils, and direct thy steps. To- 
morrow night the tyrant sleeps in the 
strongest room in the casde, when midnight 
spreads her thickest cloud, I will contrive it 
so, that his armour shall be stolen away ; 
and, when sleep has bound his senses in her 
bands, thou shalt enter his chamber, and 
avenge your wrongs — and my captivity.— 
Think not, Oh ! fair Blaniad, replied Con-« 
gullion, that I would st^in the laurels I have 
fairly won, with such a deed. FU meet him 
hand to hand in open day, and add another 
leaf to the unfading Red-branch of Ulster, 
the nurse of heroes and the field of war. If 
then, to Blaniad's fears and wishes thouUt 
not yield, hear me once more ; Conrigh L 
■ 1 



tends to-morrow to feast one hundred of his 
chosen knights, in the large room that fronts 
this castle. At an appointed hour in heaven*j5 
bright name advance, and may the day pro- 
pitious shine upon the gallant knights of tlie 
Red-branch. Prepare, and put thy cham- 
pions in array ; and, when the table's spread, 
Pll let you know. — Thou speakest now, ex- 
claimed ConguUion, like one that i« worthy 
of my heart — What will the signal be? — 
There is a stream that flows unruffled o'er 
its pebbly bed, along the side of this en- 
tangled wood; milk shall be poured into 
'the limpid water ; and , when you see it sail 
.iadown its dimpling breast, advance, and * 
you shall enter bj^ a secret way, and then 
let victory or death decide the fate of 
the brave ConguUion, and the trembling 
Blaniad. ConguUion followed her advice ; 
;&nd, as the wine was flowing round in co^ 
pious streams ; he entered with his hundi'ed 
^Lnights, their very armour breathed de- 
fiance. Conrigh seized his sword, called all 
his strength into his arm, and aimed a blow 
JUt brave ConguUion's head, which shook 

JH 3 



402 * BROOKTANA. 

:the annonr that hung around the room, as 
the sharp-tongued axe, when it smites with 
sounding blow the sturdy oak, the tender 
branches and the leases but shake; so this^ 
when it fell upon the helmet of Congullion, 
only shook the plume that waved in proud 
defiance on its shining ridge, as proud as 
when it rose from its parent cock, that often 
<jrowed in victory : the contest was bloody, 
.but Conrigh sunk at last, unwilling, even in 
•death, to close his eyes, that still retained 
some sparks that lingered when the vital 
spirit fled. But, say, what bard has ven- 
tured yet to sing the joy that shone in every 
cvictor's eye ? The praises of the sons of the 
Red-branch were even sung by their sur- 
viving foes. Congullion bore his prize, the 
fair Blaniad, straight away. They were re- 
<jeived at the court of Conor with shouts of 
joy ; and the generous prince, as the reward 
«f their fidelity, bestowed the island of 
Rathlin on the happy pair, which their poft- 
tteri^ eiyoys. 



:BROOKIANA. .103 



COLLEGE. 

Having completed his preparatory course 
of education, with the fairest hopes he 
was entered a pensioner in Trinity Col- 
lege, Dublin. Jt does not appear that 
he was ambitious of academic honours ; 
his favoritdf studies did not point to that 
goal. His taste and partiality to the fine 
arts, however, did not escape the notice of 
one or two of the heads of that university^ 
who, 

PleasM to. behold expanding genius rise. 
To bud on eartb, and flourish in the skics^ 

Continued to befriend liim as Iqng as they 
livQd. 

TEMPLE. 

Genius, like a never-failing spring, may 

be diverted into any channel, nor does it 

.lose any of its beauties, when it flows even 

through barren lands ; so that, if Mr. Brpoke 

.was not brought up to the church, it was nojt 

H 4 



104 3ROOKIANA« 

for want of capacity , learning, and inclinm- 
tion, to discharge the duties of the most sa- 
cred office. It is an office^ undouhtedly, in 
which a good man may render the most es- 
sential services to his fellow-beings ; and, as 
this was the main object of his education, it 
may seem a little extraordinary, that his fa^ 
ther did not bring him up as a labourer in 
that vineyard, in which he himself had borne 
the burthen and heat of the day. He saw, 
however, that there was another garden 
over-run with weeds — and that was the law. 
He thought it would be a praise-worthy task, 
if his son could pluck up some of the rankest 
of them, or lend a clue to those that were 
bewildered in its thorny mazes, especially 
to the v/iclow and the orphan : impressed 
with this opinion, it was at length resolved 
upon, after mature deliberation, that Harry 
should be added to the list of those, who, at 
that time, were an ornament to the bar, and 
which, undoubtedly, he would have proved, 
if he had not been, in tlie language of 
worldly prudence and ambition, " mis- 
guided by the tuneful throng/' With his 



BROOKIANA. lOb 

talents and integrity , joined to perseverance, 
it is not unreasonaUe to suppose, that he 
would have one day graced the bench ; and, 
if so, no man would have held the balance 
of Astrea with a less pakied hand. 
' Having answercd all his terms, he returned 
to Ireland, and was called to the bar. When 
a law student, he kept up a regular corre- 
spondence with all his friends. The follow- 
lowing extract is taken from a letter which 
he had written to a lady, whom he had as- 
sisted in the study of the Latin and Greek. 
It appears to have been written soon after 
liis arrival in London : 

** When Constantius Augustus, accord- 
ing to Ammianus, saw Rome for the first 
time in his life, he complained that Fame, 
which was wont to magnify every thing else, 
had fallen short of the extent, population, 
and grandeur of the- eternal city. I am not 
afraid, after all this, to compare London to 
Rome, and the Thames — 

■*'The boast of merchants and the sailor's theme.'* 

To the Tiber 

•< ■ . Vain of Italian arts." 



106 fiflOOKIANA. 

The first thing in the building of a city^ 
ought undoubtedly to be the choice of the 
elements. Now as to earth, there are many 
iine fields about London, and some of them 
are highly cultivated too. Hyde-park is 
.barren, it is true, but the soil is firm, and 
tsufiiciendy fruitful to nurture an immense 
number of umbr^g-eous trees, which afford a 
most grateful shade in every season. Then, 
as to water, it is sufficient to mention the 
Thames; and, though your old friend 
Yibius Sequester has not placed it in the 
list of his classical rivers *, yet it will flow 
through all eternity, in the strains of our 
best English poets. The. air is healthy, and 
I know of no city better supplied with fiieL 
As to buildings, Cicero; if I mistake not, 
complains of the narrowness of the streets 
in Rome (Angustissimis Semitis) and your 
favourite Seneca, not the short-lunged Se- 
.neca, says, ^^ Tanta altitude aedificorum est^ 
tanta;que viarum angustiae, ut neque ad^ 



* Vid. Vib. Sequest. dc fluminibus fonlibuf de apud 
4poetas oieatio fie. ^ 



BKOOKIANA. 107 

^^;er^ ignem presidium, neque ex minis 
ullum, ullam in partem effiigium sif His- 
torians tell us, that the crookedness and nar- 
Towness of the streets, and the shabby ap- 
pearance of the houses, urged Nero to set 
fire to the city ^. Be it as it may, Rome 
might be said to have arisen under this ty- 
rant, like a phoenix out of her ashes ; but, 
her body was not proportioned to her wings 
— they were too long. Li short, there was 
no medium between the substantial tene- 
ment of the thrifty citizen, and the towering 
palace of the guilty great. The palace of 
Nero itself occupied an immense space. 
You remember what Pliny says of it : *' Bis 
vidimus urbem totam cingi domibus prin- 
cipum Caii et Neronis." I must ackuow- 
Jedge, there are many narrow streets in 
London, and some of the buildings are too 
lofty ; but, every sun shines on some im- 
provement. The alleys daily widen into 

♦ Nam quasi offensus deformitate veterum aedificio- 
»xiiin, et angustiis flczurisque vicorum, urbem inccndit. 

&UET. 



108 BROOK! ANA. 

lanes, the lanes into streets, and the stroets 
will one clay be lost in extensive squares. 
The crooked will be made straight. Little 
did the Romans imagine, when they vomited 
their ragamuffins and mercenaries on the 
British shore, that London, composed io 
those times of wattled walls, would one day 
become tlie emporium of the universe ; and 
that the Gano^cs would flow into the bosom 
of the Thames. Such are the revolutions of 
human aflairs ! 

With regard to population, if we trust to 
the Roman historians, who were rather, by 
the bye, economists of truth, Loudon must 
yield in that respect to Rome ; but, . a» to 
the beanty of the women, it will never yield 
to any except our own, which is to compare 
one rose with anotlier. Cleanliness is said 
to be hidf a virtue : with the English it is 
niorj ; their apartments arc so neat and so 
clean, that you are c]i:.rn:cJ with the mean- 
est. This, no doubt, contributes very much 
to health, which ou<j;!it to be the object of 
the firiit consideration in u rreat town. 



fiaOOKIAKA. 109 

Athens was famed for the high respect 
which it paid to religion : Aristophanes 
called it lapwrdtfuf*, aiid^iEschylus Sso^Air«TD»f j 
but, in this respect, London excels the pride 
of Greece. I do not talk of the number of , 
altars that are raised to the known and living 
God ; but, the number of people that offer 
tip tlieir prayers, the most acceptable' in- 
cense, to the throne of grace. The public 
charities are nuDfierous ; but, those that flow 
through private channels are, I am well as- 
sured, beyond calculation. Now that I have 
said so much of the capital, as I find myself 
in the humour of scribbling, perhaps you 
will expect som(?thing of the kingdom itself, 
of which, I believe, y oix have had little tim© 
as yet, to have read any thing authentic, 
Camden, the Pausanias of the British em- 
pire, allows that the climate of England is^ 
not so mild, nor yet so certain, as that of 

— y — -■ -I — ■ .^^ ■---._ - ^ . I I I I n I 1 ■- ■-- -i-TTiraniirT — 

* The most holy. 

+ The mostucceptuhk toGed. 



irO BROOKIANA. 

*^ the realm of zephyrs ♦.** Britain has her 
fabulous history as well as- every ofhercoun-^ 

. toy. It was undoubtedly known to the Phce- 
nicians and Greeks, at a very early period. 
AthaneHsf tells^ us, that the mainmast oF 
King Hiero's great ship was found by a 
swineherd in the mountains of Britain.— 
Aristides calls it /»«y»Au> wo> J ; and Diony-^' 

, sius declares, that no island can be compaiedL 
with it, in beauty and circuit ; and Pliny,. 
(which I think you have) makes honourable- 
mention of it. The remains of the original 
inhabitants are to be found in Wales at this 
day ; so that it is no longer a doubt they 
were Celts: Camden is of this opinion, 
and I would sooner depend on what that 
old fellow say^, than all the Greek and Bx>- 
man writers that ever touched on the sub- 
ject. The present inhabitants are a mix- 



♦ Nature .beheld this realm of Zephyrs (IrelandJ 
with an UDCommonly favorable eye. 

GlRALD CaMBRENS*. 

f Or rather Moschion. 
J The Great Island. 



, SlOOKIANA. Ill 

ttfre of Saxons and Nonnans^. I do not 
think the Romans ever brought many 
of their fine arts into Britain ; for, in their 
opimon, that would be to transport the 
arts; and, as to Csesar, he must be read 
with caution, for after all he sacrificed a 
good deal to his own vanity. The soil, in 
general, is fertile, \vell cultivated in many 
places, and miserably neglected in others : 
notwithstanding England, at this instant, can 
produce better writers on agriculture than 
any nation I ever read of. It is the breath 
of liberty that chears and enlivens all ; — the 
fanner plows and sows, and enjoys the 
fruits of his industrj- ; every drop of sweat 
that falls from his brow, is repaid with a tear 
'©f joyfulness. There is nothing pleases me 



^ Not onI)Lour histories, but our language^ourlaws^ 
•ur customs, our names of persons, and names of 
places, do all abundantly testify, that the greatest part 
#f his majesty's subjects in these<kiiigdoms are of Saxon* 
original. 

jBish, Gibson* s Dedication of Cam<kti*s Britanmaf 

George L 



112 -BROOKIANAr 

sot much in travelling through the cojintry, 
as their yillages ; you hear the voice of mirth 
in every house as you pass along ; and, ais to 
industry, every one of them may be com- 
pared to a beehive-^with the neat ^ublic- 
houes, and the tankard of foaming ale. — 
May the plough-share and the keel so 
glide on uninterrupted for-ever, and may 
Britain flourish to the latest period ; let 
Salvation be her walls, and Praise be her 
gates ; may her sun never go down, nor heir 
moon ever be hid ; may all the people with 
her be righteous, and may they possess their 
proper inheritances. * ^ * * * * 
•^ ^ JK ^ ^ m ' * # 



tONGFIELD. 

In 1174, Mr. Brooke with his family, and 
an old domestic, which made his world, re- 
tired to a few paternal acres, in the westen* 
skirt of the country Cavan. Corfoddy was- 
the name of this estate, which he changed to* 
that of Longfield. A gentleman who esteem- 
cd his talents and virtues, having accidentally 



,^t 



BROOKIANA. 113 

heard that our poet had withdrawn to this' 
sequestered nook, paid him a visit in his 
retirement, from whence he wrote ,the fol- 
lowing letter to a friend in the city : 

** Would you believe that the nightingale 
would quit the shady poplar, to warble on 
the barren bramble ; would you believe that 
the bee would quit the sweet-scented thyme, 
for a creeping weed ; would you believe 
that the swan would quit the silver lake, to 
mingle with geese in a common pool. In 
short, would you believe that Henry Brooke 
would quit the sweet vales of Daisy Park, 
to pass the evening of his life aj the foot of 
a barren mountain in Corfoddy, or Long- 
field as he calls it, in the wildest part of the 
country ; yet, he is as philosophical as 
poetical,' and as chearful as ever. Now, if 
there was an ivy'd abbey, the ruins of a 
haunted castle, a *^ star y-pointing" tower, 
even the broken arch of a bridge, the trace of 
a road, or even the trace of a ploughshare, to 
recal the memory of former days, it v/ould 
be something — ^but H. Brooke, in a dosert 

VOL.* I. I 



114 BUOOKIANA. 

thouwert born, and to a desert thou hast 
returned. And yet, in his imagination, he 
has ahready ploughed the one half of the 
land ; sprinkled the country all round with 
snug cottages — already he thinks he, hears 
the clack of the busy mill, and the sound of 
the anvil. To do him justice, however, hehas 
built a house for himself of stone and lime, 
two stories high, with glass windows too— 
which never fail to attract the gaze and ad- 
miration of the soUtary passenger. To teH 
the truth, nature has done a great deal for 
Longfield ; the soil is fertile in many spots ; 
there is a lake at a little distance from the 
house, that abounds with excellent iish ; and 
I do not know that Shenstone would blush 
to sport on its banks, for they are flowery, 
indeed, so that a man who has a good con- 
science, and can look back on hi-j past life 
witli pleasure, would not want sources of 
contemplation and pleasure in Longfleld, 
with the aid of a few books and a friend. * 



BROOKIANA. 115 

, FRIENDS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 

A few anecdotes of those who visited, or 
corresponded with Mr. Brooke in his re- 
tirement, are entitled, by courtesy, to a 
place in a work of this kind. As tlic learn- 
ing and misfortunes of Dr. Stratford are 
known to many, it will not be too great a 
compliment to give him the lead. 

DR. STRATFORD. 

Thomas Stratford was born at a little vil- 
lage called Tocher, in tjie county of West- 
meath, on the 8th of August, 17''/ 5 ; he wa^ 
the eldest son of Mr. Robert Stratford, a 
respectable farmer, who had received a 
good education, the effects of which were 
visible in all his words and actions. On the 
prospect of a numerous family, he took a 
large farm, at an easy rent. The soil wa*i 
generous, and promised, even in its rude state, 
to reward the hand that would till it. Most 
of the large farms in Ireland, at the time, 
were laid out in grazing, so tliat the trace 
of the ploughshare was not to be found in 
a circuit of many miles, to the great dc- 

I 2 



116 BROOKIANA. 

crease of population. Mr. Stratford was gf 
Spencer's * opinion ; he had besides evinced 
an early turn for agriculture, and had made 
some experiments in that science^ which suc- 
ceeded beyond his expectation, and convinced 
him of the truth of the old adage, that the 
wealth of every country lies within six inches 
of the surface. He was resolved^ therefore, 
that the plough, which had been banished for 
so many years, shoi^ld be recalled ; and, in 
order to set a good example, he steered it 
with his own hands. Economy, that is cold 
economy, could not be found in the cata^ 
logue of his virtues. He h^-d built a large 
house, which was always filled with visitants. 
The person who could repeat a line out of 
any one of the Greek or Roman writers, was 
sure of a hearty welcome, a good supper, a 



* ** Husbandry is the nurse of Thrift, and the 
daughter of Industry and Labour; she detests what- 
ever may work her scathe, and destroy the travail of 
her hands ; but, keeping of cows like the Irish, i a 
very idle life, and a fit nursery for thieves.** 

Spencer* s Fieit- ^fnelandp 



BROOKIANA. IH 

warm bed, and plenty of home-brewed ale. 
His iivlustry, however, enabled him to re- 
ward those that sowed and reaped down his 
harvest; and, at the same time, to enjoy 
the conversation of his guests, poets, story- 
tellers, old achooUmasters, and musicians ; 
£or, he could compose some verses himself, 
and touch the string with some art. Mrs. 
Stratford was always happy when her hus- 
band was happy, and did every thing in her 
power to prolong the enjoyment of those 
temperate amusements, th^t *^ never cloy." 
She was, perhaps, tlie handsomest woman in 
the parish, and yet her own sex allowed that 
she was not vain of her personal charms ; in 
truth, if she was vain, of any thing, it was 
of her genealogy ; for, she was descended 
of the house of 0*Nial, a house that once 
flourished in Ireland, and that is. not un- 
known to English history. Thomas, the 
subject of our present memoir, spent the 
first seven years of his Ufe in this circle ; and 
as he was the favourite of all, and ready to 
listen to all, and learn from all, the wonder 
will cease when it is told on good authority^ 

12. - 



118 BROOKIANA. 

that he could repeat passages out of Homer, 
even long before he knew the Greek Alpha- 
bet. The father was highly pleased with the 
promising talents of his son. 

" Hope waits upon the flowery prime/* 

In^orijer , however, that those buds might be 
' nurtured and brought to perfection in beams 
less mild than those which emenated from 
parental indulgence, he was committed to 
the care of a pedagogue, whose fame, as a 
classical teacher, had extended far beyond 
the boundaries of his native county. — Young 
Stratford's manners were so amiable, his af- 
fections so mild, and his progress in learn- 
ing so rapid, that the whole neighbourhood 
took an interest in everj^ thing that con- 
cerned him. The slightest indisposition 
cast a gloom* over all classes, young and 
old ; and, when he was in the small-pox, a 
thousand vows were offered up for his reco- 
very. It is riot known how long he remained 
under the instruction of Mr. Brady. At 
the age of fifteen he was entered a pen- 
sioner of Trinity College, Dublin. The 



BROOKIAXA, 119 

college course was rather dry for one that 
had led such a flowery life ; nor had the 
city charms for a youth who had meditated 
the muse, under the shade of the flaunting 
honey-suckley or the spreading beech, in a 
country celebrated for its native beauties, 
as well by native as by foreign writers*. 
The charms of poetry, history, and oratory, 
had so captivated his mind, that lie could 
scarce be prevailed on to look into any other 
book ; yet, he would sometimes acknowledge 
that mathematics was the noblest pursuit of 
the human mind ; but, as he did not feel any 



* A foreigner, who had Tiiited many states, thus 
speaks of the county of Westmeath : *' Media occi- 
D£NTALis quoad amaenitatem, et pulchritudinem nulli 
cujusvis regionis, sive in Hispania ; sive in Gallia ; 
live in Italia tractui secunda, vix ullum percurras 
milliare quin, vel oppidum, vol pagum, vel castrum in 
venias, terra est aspectu jucunda partim in plaoitiem ex- 
platians panim in colles clementer assurgens felix prae 
pinguibus arvis, riguo solo semperque vernanti credita 
•emina muliiplici reddit foenore, nemoribus, hortis, 
pratis speciosa, in ea frcquens nobilium virorum illus- 
trium* Comitum, vice Comitum, Baroaum, equitum 
Auratoram copia. 

I 4 



120 BROOKIANA. 

disposition to cultivate that branch of 
science, he thought it would be a mere wastp^ 
of midnight oil, to attempt any study in 
which nature would not go hand in hand 
with art. Of all the English poets, Milton 
was his greatest favourite. The stately 
march of his numbers, the solemni^ of his 
thoughts, and the richness of his style, sa 
happily suited to the subject, made an early 
and lasting impression on the mind of our 
youthful poet, for such we nray now venture- 
to call him ; for he had already, written 
some poetical exercises in English, which 
he ventured to submit to the perusal of a 
young lady, whose taste was justly admired, 
and whose judgment out-stripped her years- 
Stratford appears to have thought with 
Shenstone, '' that poetry without morality- 
is but the blossom of a fruit-tree," for, alt 
his numbers turned on -moral and religious 
themes, which, if they did not captivate a 
large circle of readers, they insured him the 
friendship of the few ; and, amongst these. 
Dr. Thomas Wilson, one of the senior fel- 
lows of the university. Vir omni cruditionis 



Q 



BROOKIANA. ll^l ^ 

genere conspicius. Having * finished kis 
academic career, he returned to his father's 
with the well-earned reputation of being the 
first Greek scholar in the kingdom. He was 
not long at home, when he was received as a- 
private tutor in the family of Mr; Nugent, 
in the county of Westmeath. In this situa- 
tion he found himself happy to the extent 
of his wishes, Mr. Nugent had a well- 
chosen library, and was himself conversant 
with the best writers in it ; he was, besides,. 
a ipan of taste, saw a great deal of company, 
and lived up to his fortune, which was rather* 
handsome. The tutor was also happy in. 
his pupils ; they looked up to him with sa 
much affection, that it was a pleasure instead 
of ^ task to lead them through the paths of 
learning. This affection on the part of Miss 
Nugent, gradually ripened into love ; the re- 
sult of which was, that young Stratford and 
she, through tlie means of a friend, were pri- 
vately married. As soon as it was known, 
there was only one door opened to them, and 
that was his father's. When Mr. Nugcnt's 
passion had somewhat subsided, he sent his 



125? BROOKIANA. 

daughter, who had once shared a large por- 
tion of his love, a sum of money, which waa 
very acceptable, as old Mr. Stratford had 
suffered many losses in.two successive scanty 
harvests, and the death of cattle. Thomas, 
wlKvhad just entered intoorders, was appoint- 
ed curate to the parish of Scrabby, on the 
borders of the county of Cavan, adjoining 
that of Longford ; his salary was fifty pounds 
a-year ; and, as he had no means of adding 
to this income, he had many difficulties to 
combat with, notwithstanding the kindness 
©f his parishioners, with whom he was a 
great favourite. He remained five years in 
this situation. Tandem feliciorem postern; in- 
gressus est. Lord Belvidere accidentally 
heard of him ; and, of his own free will, pre- 
sented him with the living of Gallstown, 
about three hundred a-year. As the par- 
sonage-house was near the mansion, Strat- 
ford had many opportunities of conversing 
with his uoble patron, who was certainly one 
of the best bred men in the kingdom ; and, 
at the same time, a good classical scholar. 
. As soon as Stratford fou;id himself at his 



BROOKIANA. >23 

I, he finished a work which he had begun 
in college, and to which he had all along 
looked up to for his immortality as a poet, 
namely, a translation of Milton's Paradise 
Lost into Greek verse ; the first three Books 
were printed, and were read and approved 
by those who were capable of relishing the 
beauties of both languages. As Fame was 
all the return, he was unfortunately advised 
by some inconsiderate friend, to pay his 
court to the Tragic Muse, as a road that 
never failed to open to- honours and even 
wealth, when trod by Genius. As his breast 
beat high in the cause of liberty, he chose 
a subject of the most interesting nature to 
every English bosom, the murder of the 
Great Lord Russel. Having finished this 
tragedy to his own satisfaction, he came to 
London in the year 1732, with ail his trea- 
sure ; an affectionate wife, a lovely daughter, 
two tragedies, Lerd Russel, and Darius ; the 
Battle of Fontenoy, a poem in nine books ; 
a copy of his translation of Milton into 
Greek, and about three hundred pounds in 
cash. The late Earl of Bellamont happened 



1 24 BROOKI A JTA. 

to be in London at the time ; and, as him 
lordship affected to be thought a patron of 
letters, he was loud in his encomiums o£ 
Stratford, as a poet that excelled in the 
Greek and English tongues. Stratford, like; 
all other mep, was not insensible to praise,, 
and as St. Aldelra *, according to Camden, 
boasted that he was the first who introduced 
the Latian miise into England, so Stratford, 
thought he had a right to look on himself as 
the first that introduced the Grecian muse. 
His table, as long as he could furnish one; 
w:as encircled with the retainers of the muse, 
who, of course, admired every wold that 
fell from his lips ; so that he began at last 
to think that he had under-rated his own 
talents ; that his fortune was made at once ; 
that every thing he touched would turn to 
gold ; that the doors of the theatres would 



* Primus ego in patriam mecum modo vita supersit 
Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas.*' 

I to my country first, if Fates permit, 

Will bring the Muses from their native seat. 



BROOKIANA. 125 

fly Open at his approach ; that the managers, 
Messrs; Sheridan and Coleman, as men of 
taste, and judges of merit, would bow at his 
levees. Some of his friends were not less 
sanguine in their expectations ; they flatter- 
ed themselves that all those stars which 
twinkled on the dramatic horizon, would 
^ hide their diminished heads," at the ap- 
pearance of this great luminary ; and that 
the 9tage would stream with tears, on the first 
representation of the first tragic poem that 
ever appeared in any language. These golden 
hopes, however, soon vanished ; the British 
Theatre, at the time, was on the decline ; 
0*Keefe, with a train of scribblers, had 
blocked up every avenue that led to it ; ri- 
baldry and pun were the rage of the day, 
with some wretched rhimes, under the name 
■of songs, crammed down the throats of the 
audience with a ficidle-stick. In short, nei- 
ther Stratford or his friends could prevail on 
'the manager to uccept of his tragedy ; and, 
as his money was all spent, he was obliged, 
to use his own expression, to beat up for a 
dramatic corps to act the different parts of 



123 BROOKIANA. 

Beams upon all ; tho', at Heav'n's high comms^nd. 
She pours her brighter blessings on our land j 
Beams upon all, iho^ nations prostrate lie^ 
Nor owns one chartered slave beneath the sky ! 
Kor less th' enthusiast spurns her equal sway ; » 
The screetch-owl blind beneath the blazeof day ; 
Time yawnM — and all was false, fanatic lights 
Mad meteors sweeping thro* the polar night ! 
Time woke! — but ruin into chaos hurl'd. 
The Constitution, wonder of a world ! 
That sun, round whom each stated planet turnSj 
When Monarchy in all her glory burns! 
Body and soul are king and people — ^' prove— 
Our monarch lives but in his people's love ; 
His people too their father all adore. 
For virtue never brighter blaz'd before. 
Faction and falsehood to the venal slave. 
Freedom to Britons, freedom to the brave ! 
*' Come the four corners of the world in arms,** 
Unshaken we, but by our own alarms ; • 
For but let Britons, heavens heroic raccj 
Hush the hoarse war of factions into peace, 
Britain, herself a world, shall ever stand. 
And dash the roaring billows from the land. 
Yes ! Russel's blood still beats in honest veiu**. 
For Freedom- Look ^--Immortal Freedom reigns! 

• Locking round the whole bouse. 



BROOKIAKA^ 129 

This Prologue was inscribed to Her Ma- 
jesly in' these words : 

TO THE 

QU E E Ns 

m 

THIS 

PMOJLO-GUE, 

WRITTEN IN HONOUR OF 

THE KING AND CONSTITUTION : 

IS HUMBLY INSCRIBED, 

BY HER majesty's 

« 

MOST DUTIFUL AND 
. DEVOTED SERVANT, 

T. STRATFORD. 

VOL. T. . K 



130 BROOKIANA, 

It is to be lamented, that neither the sub- 
ject of this tragedy, nor yet the language in. 
which it was dressed, could insure success. 
Those who are eager in their hopes, and 
disappointed in them, can best judge of the 
feelings of a man of sensibility, on such a 
trying occasion. A friend of the Doctor, who 
waited on him the morning after the per- 
formance, has furnished the following arti- 
cle : ** I called on the author the next day 
at his lodgings in Cecil-street : he was seated 
at a table with the actors, and a few friends, 
some of whom attempted to congratulate 
him with a look of condolence ; at the same 
time it was easy to perceive by his counte- 
nance, that he had passed the night in great 
agony of mind ; and, in truth, I should have 
had a very indifferent opinion of his feel- 
ings, if he had even attempted to assume 
an air of gaiety or indifference. 

For take it as a constant rule, 

Ko creature smarts so little as a fool. 

The actors having complimented each 
other in the highest strains of flattery, 



BROOKIANA. 131 

tiiought at l^t that they ought to share a 
little of it with the author-—^ The tragedy 
of Russei was the. finest in any language ! 
such a plot ! such language ! such integrity 
of metaphor ! Mr. Fox was very attentive to 
it, as well as the Hon. Harry Ejrskine, who sat 
in the same box, and posterity would do the 
poet ample justice.' But, alas! posterity 
would not pay the Doctor^s creditors, who 
now became importunate, and poured in 
their bills on every side. The Doctor looked 
at me, and I shall never forget the look.; 
but, it matters not ; he found some consola- 
tion in the appeal to posterity, and I cheared 
him as well as I could." The fate of his 
play flew to his native country, on the wings 
of the first pest ; those who were proud of 
their ignorance, and the accumulation of 
yellow dirty blessed their stars that they had 
scarcely been brought up to the knowledge 
of letters, and that a poet had never been 
known in their family ; but, that it was ex- 
actly as they had foreseen and foretold. A 
justice of the peace in that kingdom, who 
could scarce read the Riot Act, advised him 

K 2 



j32r MOOKIANA. 

in a letter, to lay aside all his trashy and to 
think of something that would make the pot 
boil." — The Doctor bore all these sneers 
and kind advices, with a greater degree of 
philosophic tranquillity than was at first 
expected. Disappointed in Melpomene j he 
paid his court to Thalia ; and, in the course 
of three weeks, finished a comedy, under 
embarrassments that left him little room for 
thought. The following specimen of his 
talents in the comic line, is left to the judg- 
ment of the indulgent reader : 

THE 

SELF-IMPORTANT ; 

A COMEDY* 

Part the First 

Ridiculum acri. 
Fortius et melius. HoR* 

THE PERSONS REPRESENTED : 
MEN. 

Lord Coxcomb.; 
Lord Bumper ; 



BROOKIANA. 133 

Sir Robert Worthy ; 
Sir Witwou'd Coxcomb ; 
Tanteevy ; 
Sharper ; 
Adam Wiseacre. 

WOMEN. 

Lady Coxcomb j 
Harriot ; 
Louisa ; 
Tabitha* 

SERVANTS, -&C. 

Scene^ Coxcomb Hall, Essex. 

ACT I.— SiCENE I. 

Lord Coxcomb. 

Sharper, I say Sharper, (calling) I wish 
the whelp were within whistle, for I can hob- 
blfe no farther. All pertness, the puppy ; 
but no more a wit than my lord-mayor, or 
a dray-horse. Mum— Here he comes. I 
must slip on a new face, Kke Miss laying-on 
with her trowel. 

SCENE II. 

Enter Sharper. 

Sharper, my pearl of Orient. — 

K 3 



^34 EROOKIANA. 

Sharper. Lord. Coxcomb's profound — 
(hawing affectedly) Ten tumbles down to 
the centre. 

Lord C, Psha, psha — such syllabub of' * 
double-whipM balderdash, when you know 
I am all tinder, till I net-yoke Sir Witwou'd 
and Harriot. Mere paper-kites you high- 
Byers. 

Sharper, Paper-kites — granted — the whole 
covey of high-flyers. But your Sharpers — 
birds quite of another feather. 

Lord C, Psha — Words but the smoke of 
business; not the less choaking for the 
small sparks of wit. If blasted my schemes, 
Ruiri wheels me to Moorfields. 

Sharper. Never merrier her go-cart; 
such gee-hoing from Brookes's to. Bedlam ; 
ifrom E O, or other small craft, to Tyburn. 
But why, my Lord, t^ke an airing on your 
high horse to-day ? 

Lord C To-day ! — ^No wonder — ^when I 
blaze out, like the mock sun, a nabob ; or 
tjink into the socket, glimmering into decay, 
and stinking the house like a rotten vote at 
market ; for, if my son Sir Witwou'd Cox- 



BROOKIANA. '135 

tomb, and Harriot, the great heiress from 
Yorkshire, be not soldered together, I e'en 
^wear myself a saint or two into the Bank- 
rupt Calendar. For no creed, after all your 
orthodox, cuffing of doctors, like a clear 
conscience — clear of the scruples. 

Sharper. No sugar-plumb like your cer- 
tificate, so glib at gliding down, so mild to 
the midriff, so easy of digestion to the 
ostrich. 

Lard C, One comfortable corps de re- 
serve though, unreconnoitered by law. — 
Mark — that same small estate of mine, in 
pettOy that ducks, like a shell-drake, or dou- 
bles like a buck from a bailifF: Some seven 
thousand a-year or so, clear as a sun-beam. 
For dittos are the devil, and a catchpole his 
4;ropped pointer for birding in the city. 

Sharper. Money, plate, bills, jewels, and 
other portable soup of ^/ cateras^ may escape 
from the fowling-piece of a creditor, even 
wl\ile a-taking aim at swallows so nimble ; 
but an estate is too clumsy a quoit for 
pitching. 

K 4 



136 BROOKIANA. 

Lord C. Quite as easy as dealing at whist! 
for, by shuffling and cutting wise, you borrow 
a snug execution or two, and then lump 
away an estate like plumb-pudding. 

Sharper. Could I though but borrow that 

* 

half-dimple of your Lordship's, the soft 
cradle of Love, three queens at least, with 
tlie whole squad of duchesses, and nine dozen 
of the other noble feather-pates, that parade 
at St. James's on a review-day, would be 
pitted ; for Love himself would gaff every 
she game-cock. 

Lord C, Sensible puppy after all — may 
entrust him with any secret — Blockheads 
alone all blab like Echo, \(iside.'\ You jest 
now, Mr. Sharper ; 1 swear you but jeftt,arch- 
wag — Ha, ha, ha ! — No greybeard of them 
all laugh-proof against tickling — Ha, ha, ha ! 

Sharper, Psha ! — My turn now at the pop- 
gun — ^Why, mj- lord, lialf a sun-beam of 
your old jeaji-a-scai-guoiy your, your — ^Pooh I 
the rest of the bright what-you-call-them's, 
you know, on t'other side of my thumb, 
would, in the frisking of a cat's little finger, 
thaw even Miss Musty herself, though ever 



BROOKIANA. IS? 

lK> long isicled the cold drop at her nose — 
squeezed all into gria and crab-juice ; ay, 
green of rust as a pinked lemon, green of 
gills as a mermaid ; thougli so fiery bashful, 
that the blaze runs up to her cobwebs. 
Souce me, hat and all, into a cardinal next 
lodge, if that same Lord Coxcomb — ^I would 
say it to his face — plump not the happy pair 
into partnership, frisky as an auctioneer's, 
hammer — " Just a-going, gemmen, just 
a-going — ^Nobody bid more ? — Finest piece 
of uncracked china in England. — Rather rare 
as times go at Doctor's Commons — Gone — 
The parcel, Sir Witwou'd's. [Mimicing an 

auctioneer. 
Lord C. The question carried lioUow, I 
allow, nay, plump as^ by a premier at start- 
ing ; were Harriot to make proposals to my 
Lord Coxcomb, in propria persona. — At once 
to put Doubt to the blush ; though survey 
but his lordship from top to toe, from toe to 
top, such wax- work of Nature. But, no 
aiore of this same, I beg now. — You know, 
Sharper, I so hate a puppy. 



138 buookiana. 

Sharper. Like the deyil^s jew'et-harjl — % 
grinding-stone. 

Lord C This blushing is so troublesome, 
though so becoming, when natural — the face 
all such a Devonshire-blaze of beauty, like 
a window new-brightened with sun-beams. 
Profligate the times, because so unbashful. 
For, even the fellow whose blood ought to 
run in blushes — my scape-grace, Sir Wit- 
wouM, so improves in puppyism, that Har« 
riot, I fear, must blink over the way at a 
certain noble somebody in my eye. Damn'd 
nonsense after all, to be too handsome. — 
«nd yet, blossoms in the winter of time, ra- 
ther curious, or so. 

Sharper. No sun-flower without her full 
flaming lover, every yellow doxy is now so 
smit with gold lace and scarlet. 

Lord C. Louisa though — mark — the fair 
Harriot's companion, daughter of my bene- 
volent old friend. Sir Robert Worthy, I take' 
into training, and, when broke decently to 
the draught, lend her, harness and all to the 
public. But mum, lad, mum, as an oyster, 
double-jaw-locked after an electioi> All 



$RO0KIANA« 139 

eye though, all ear, all, all — ay, every but- 
ton on your coat stand sentry ; and, if you 
fairly help the lame dog of business ovet the 
broken style, as you engaged — 

Sharper, I only engaged — upon my soul 
— witness — ^but sooner than let any iron 
cool, without my blowing the bellows, I can 
pledge my honour. 

Lord C. Hbnour then engaged to honour, 
for soul is now quite out of the question — 
t&at no ]evee-magpie of them all stands a 
fairer chance of hopping into the Presence 
Chamber of Fortune ; but, none of your 
squibs and crackers of wit to-day, lad, to 
make aldermen miscarry. 

Sharper, Wit ! — ^when so wet the powder 
of the times, and so base the metal — ^I sicken 
at hippo — ^t'other damned dose of Tabitha 
Ticktack. — She comes, like a Capias, and 
grapples like a fire-ship. My stomach kicks 
up like a tennis-baU. 

Lord C. She too is the plague of my life ; 
at fifty as green as at fifteen. 



1 40 BUOOKI AKAV 

Having transcribed his comedy , and' read 
it over with attention, he found that it was 
not suited to the taste of the day : as a prool 
of it, there was not a pun in it from the be 
ginning to the end, nor yet a single jok< 
stolen from Joe Miller; of course he die 
not offer it to the manager— so far his pru 
dence' must be applauded. As he wai 
chiefly indebted for the literary fame whici 
he had hitherto enjoyed, to his translatioi 
of Milton into Greek, bethought it woul( 
be adviseable to publish a new edition o 
that poem ; for this purpose he proposed t 
visit Cambridge, in hopes that the universit 
would print it at their press. As he presente 
the king with the only copy of it, which h 
brought with him ; and, as he did not kno^ 
where to get another, he requested that i 
might be returned to him for the purpos 
already mentioned. The book was returned 
accompanied with the following note : 



SIR, 



You will receive with this th 
book you requested might be returned t 



BROOKIAKA* l4l 

you ; and, I am ordered to say; you may 
make whatever use of it you desire. I hope 
the republication of it at Cambridge may 
answer. 

I am, Sir, 
Your most obedient Servant, 

Fk. Barnari>. 

The Doctor went to Cambridge with this 
view, but did not republish it. On his return, 
he sat down to retouch some pastorals he had 
written in his youth ; happy if he had been 

Content at eve's sweet solitary hour» 
Along the margin of the winding stream^ 

To woo the rural muses gentle power. 

And sing their humble love's unknown to fame* 

Those who are fond of the Doric lay, 
will not be displeased, perhaps, with the 
following extract from one of these pastorals : 

Pastoral Essay. 

Twas in the bloomy May — the rose-wingM 
winds 
Delicious as heav'n^s breath; the warbling 
woodf 



14^ BRQOKIAKA. 

All joy, like Nature now attun'd to love; 
Various and vivid, as the sun-born bow. 
The flow*r-embroider*d velvet of the vale ; 
Sighless the reeds, and ev*ry living lake, 
Heav'n's mirror, aU a noon of laughing light—* 
*Twas in the bloomy May — the youthful swains, 
Th enot end Strephon, 'midst their peaceful flocks, 
Associates, lov'd and loving, on the swerd 
At listless length beneath an aged thorn, 
AW a snow-flow *r of blossoms, thus revealM 
Their simple loves, unsullied as the stream. 
That murmurs by ; Tray faithful at their feet. 
With Harefoot too, and, e'en her griefs assuag'd ; 
The willow all-unweeping o*er the brook. 

THENOT. 

Yes, yes, the sweets, which flow in ev'ry gale 
I^'rom richness of these flow'r-vermilion'd meads. 
And surface of this go Id- bespangled stream^ 
And yonder setting sun in purple clouds. 
Again delight ; for Sylvi«t bids me live. 
Whom, innocent as this my witless lamb. 
And breathing all of fragrance on my soul, 
I deem more lovely than the rose-bud's bloom^ 
Sham'd into blushes on her beating breast. 

STREFBOy. 

Say, Thenot, swept I not the rolling Jball 
From ev'ry youthful swain, while Lucy smil'd ? 



BROOKfAKA. l43 

But vrh^n, alas, upon the level green 
To grace the lively dance I led her forth. 
And turnM the bashful shepherdess around 
To snatch a kiss, she chid me with a frown. 
Lobbin, coarse lubbard, grinn*d malignant joy, 
Ib raoc'k'ry grinnM ; nor would these limbs obey^ 
The deep, hoarse discord of his jarring pipe. 

THENOT. 

Believe it, my lovM Strephon, not the breath 
Of dewy honeysuckles, nor the sweets 
Of new-born primrose, nor the spicy gales. 
Which op'ning blossoms breathe, such fragrance 

yield. 
As melting softness of my Syhiet's lip. 

STREPHON. 

Alas, the luckless day ! as forth I stray'd. 
An hare, all white with years my path- way 
cross'd. ^ 

THENOT. 

Some witch besure in that ill-omenM form* 

STREPHON. 

At All-sainl's eve, when elves their revels hold 
By wildy-winding brook, thro' haunted tow*rs^ 
And mossy forts, where all at large reclinM 



144 BROOKIANA, 

Beneath a witherM fern bis polish'd pipe 
The lore- lorn fairy tunes— -In that dread nighty 
Ere goblins to the gloomy grave retire 
To people the pale regions of the dead. 
Smooth on the level hearth I strewM the heap 
Of glowing embers — Mark me, youthful swainf 
. When morn arose, a footstep tow'rd the door 
ThrilPd me with horror, sure portent of death! 
And now I die by Lucy^s cold disdain. 

THENOT. 

Believing shepherd ! was thy snow-white vest 
Turn'd by the stalking phantoms of the night ? 
Did not thy constant nuts together burn. 
Pledge of thy joys in Lucy's love unchanged ? 

STREPHON, 

True ; when the tawny prophetess beheld - 
This callous palm, and traced the mazy lines. 
She shook her pensive head ; fear chilPd my 

blood : 
She pausM and look'd; ^he pausM and lookM 

again, 
'Till her reward, by timely stealth conveyed. 
Each furrow smoothM upon her jaundic'd brows. 
Then did she smile, and whisper in mine ear 
My fickle Lucy would at length be kind. * 



BROOKIANA. 145 

THENOT. 

To-morrow, when the frisking heifers seek 
The chryBtal'flowiiig stream, and Chanticleer, 
Amidst his featht^iM wives, at hourof nooa 
At length gives <;ntirful signal of repast. 
My gentle Sylvict, brif;ht. as beams of morn, 
And sweet as breatl'liig violets, beneath 
The blushi ng rose- roof *d bow'r receives my vowsv .' 
Already where the curling smoke aspires. 
Around her hamlet throng harmonious bards, 
Crown'd with fresh chaplets of immortal bays, • 
And summer's new-born flow'rs to tune the lyre •; 
With dance and song resounds the smiling vale*. 
There shall thy Lucy grace our nuptial joys. 
.Haply with awful words the hollowM sire 
May give the lovely virgin to thine arms. 
That gentle lamb, which heedless sports along 
The flow'ry margin of the glassy stream,. 
Shall thy relenting shepherdess reward. 

One misfortune after another pressed so* 
alosely on his heels, or chased him in view,. 
that he was advised by those who saw tluit 
he was unequal to the contest, to return to 
Ireland — but he could not bear to think of> 
it — " No," said he, " all my friends majf. 

VOL. I.. L. 



.146 BROOKIANA 

forsake me, but my fortitude will never for- 
sake me, nor yet hope 

To return to my home, without a penny 
in my purse, to be laughed at by graziers, 
country bumkins, and purse-proud upstarts; 
wrapt up, undoubtedly, in conscious dig- 
nity, their arrows would drop from my side, 
-^No, no, I will struggle with misfortunes, I 
will wrestle with disappointment, and, 
Antaeus like, gather strength from every 
fall : the brave should never yield." 

'* Nunquam successu crescit honestum/' 

To do him justice, these were not mere 
words spoken in the effervescence of the 
moment, for he did nobly struggle with mis- 
fortunes, and more, perhaps, than any man 
in his situation ever struggled with before. 
He sat down to compose another comedy ; 



* We should hope for all things, for all things are 
easy and possible to God. 



BROOKIANA. 147 

but, as Shirley says, *' a comic writer should 
have a soul miraculously- knowing, and con- 
versing with all mankind, enabling him to 
express, not only the phlegm of thick-skin- 
ned men, but the strength and maturity of 
the wise.'* Stratford was not conversant 
with the world ; he had sat, it is true, at the 
tables of the great, and began to find, when 
it was too late, that high life is a mere mas- 
querade, eked out with unmeaning compli- 
ments and hollow friendship. Having com- 
posed two acts of his comedy, he for once 
submitted to the advice of his friends, and 
laid it by in the hope of being able to finish 
it in better days, when his mind would be 
more on its centre. Having retouched his 
translation of Milton into Greek, he prefixed 
the following inscription to it : 



L '2 



148' BUaOKIANA. 

PATRI PATRI^, 

GEORGIO III. 

■ 

J-IBRUM HUNC EXIMIUM 

PARADISI AMISSI PRIMUM, 

A SUMMO POET A, 

JOANNE MILTON, 

CONSCRIPTUM^ 

MUNC AD EXEMPLAR SUBLIME 

HOMERI 

GRiECE REDDITUM, 

AB IMIS PRiECORDIIS, 

QUIPPE NCNC ET OLIM, 

NON IMMEMOR BENEFICIf, 

DAT, DICAT, DEDICAT, 

T. STRATFORD. 



BROOKIANA. 149 

He also added to this copy a Greek transla- 
tion of Dryden's celeiwrated epigram in ho- 
nour of Mikon, which was allowed by judges 
to be equal to the original ; and as, in all pro- 
bability, it was the first attempt of the kind, 
the loss of it is to j)e lamented : — the follow- 
ing, perhaps, will make amends : 

A Gi^eek Tramlatioji (fDryderts Lisanption 
unde9' MiliorCs Picture. 

BY THOMAS LONG) D. O. 

TPEIS fMfofruf yinois r^tois ^xv^ntiv aot^cHif 
Y-vl/ivoo/y Izjiuv xx\o9 viXio^ vioxr o 'cj^uvd^y 

The Original. 

Three poets in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ; 
The next in majesty ; in both, the last. 
The force of nature could no further go. 
To make a third she join*d the former two. 

L 3 



150 BROOKIANA. 

His thoughts were next turned to a poem, 
a considerable part of which he had com* 
posed ^* under the shade of acaden^ic 
bowers." When he had finished it, he pub- 
lished the following 

. April 6, 1782. 
PROPOSALS 

FOR 

PRINTING BY SUBSCRIPTION 

OF 
A CONSTITUTIONAL POEM, IN NINE BOOKS; 

Written in Vindication of the Natiofial Honour. 

Prefixed is an Essay, which illustrates the Na- 
ture and Design of the Work. Four Pastoral 
Ebsays annexed, uncopied from any Author^ 
ancient or modern. 

The Work to be speedily published in Quarto^ 
on a Superfine Writing Paper, and to be deli- 
vered to the Subscribers at Half-a-Guinea each^ 
to be paid at subscribing. The Names of the 
Subscribers to be printed. 

Subscripliofts will be received 3^J. Doosley^ Patt\ 
Mall; and J, Bell^ Strand. 



BROOKIANA. 151 

The late Earl of Bristol, Bishop of Derry, 
who had never flattered our poet, at the ex- 
pence of truth, stepped forward on this oc- 
casion, and subscribed in a liberal manner. 
The subscribers were not numerous, but 
Stratford boasted that such a galaxy of 
names, to use his ow n phrase, never appear- 
ed before to any other work ; his hopes were 
once more raised, and it was even thought 
by some, that liis ill stars had shed all 
their baleful influence; this temporary 
triumph vvas somewhat repressed by the se- 
verity of the Monthly Reviewers, almost as 
soon as the poem appeared. His opinion of 
critics in general, and of the reviewers in 
particular, may be collected from the foU 
lowing conversation with a literary gentle- 
man (Capt. C — ri,) who called a few days; 
after tliese criticisms appeared. 

Gentleman, You will be glad to see all 
your old friends, and your old books. 

Doctor. Many of my old friends have sunk 
into the grave, since I left houie. As to my 

L 4 



I 



152 BROOKIANA. 

old books, once more, and oh ! once more, 
I shall turn them over with pleasure. 

Gent, Especially your favorite — <Homer. 

Doctor. I don't know — ^I have a complete 
collection of the Fathers — ^I long to traversie 
the vallies and mountains with St. Bern- 
hard *. Yet books, after all, are but " for- 
mal friends." 

Gent. But you recollect Lord Bacon's ob« 
servation ** Optimiconsiliariimortui,/iArf; 
veritate non parcunt, cum consiliarii vivi 
forte in adulationem lapsi sint." 

Doctor. The observation would be nearer 
truth, if Angels wrote — ^but flattery flows 
from pens as well as it docs from tongues. 

Gent. True : and if Angels wrote, their 
writings would not escape censure. 

Doctor. Aristotle observes, that man is 
naturally a political animal ; and, he might 
have added, that he is naturally a censorious 
animal ; our eyes cannot bear the light of 
superior excellence : Longe proclivius est 
inquit Dio Cassius alios rc})rcheridcre, quam 

^ Berahardus valles, monies bcnedictus amabat. 



BROOKIANA. 153 

« 

sibi ipsi modcrari: You cannot name a 
writer of any note that has escaped censure ; 
that is a tax they are all doomed to. -pay. 
Even the father of immortal song had his 
Zoilus ; and, he whose oral thunders shook 
the .£mBthian -chief, did not escape, ^^ his 
orations smelt of the himp/^ and his rival 
in eloquence, the last light of Rome, has 
found an accusing, spirit in more; than one ^. 
Athenseus snarled at Plato; Aristotle was 
compared to the sepia, or scuttle-fish ; Livy 
had his PoUio ; Terence was attacked by 
Larinus : — Who could build the lofty rhyn^e 
with Milton ? and yet, some shafts have been 
levelled at his aerie. 

Gent. Like the foolish people who shot 
^arrows at die sun. I may say of writers 
jvhat Brooke has said of the fair sex : 

Unhappy race, that only claim 
A being in the breath of Fame. 

And, even the breath of Fame is dis* 
puted : 

* Sec Cicero JMatcix, written by Licinius. 



15* BROOKIANA, 

But where are ail those envious critics now/ 
.Who such dire hatred 'gainst the poets bore ; 
Who strove to tear the laurels from their brow. 
They're dead — they're gone — their vworks tea 
are no more ! 

Doctor. Time undoubtedly has spread his 
mantle over them all. 

Gent. But, when I reflect on the fate of a 
writer, my blood runs cold in my veins. 

Doctor. His fate is too often cast in a rigid 
mould. 

Gent, Through what a profusion of weeds 
must he range to gather his little nosegay ; 
and,, when he has culled his flowers with 
Proserpinian taste, they are chilled in an 
instant with the breath of some invidious, 
and, perhaps, anonymous, critic. He that 
writes for bread, will never want tears to 
moisten it. Time is his estate, and how 
does he spend it ? not in mixed dance, nor 
midnight ball, nor yet at the festive board, 
but in a lonely garret, perhaps ; " far from 
all resort of mirth," condemned to plow the 
snowy fields of rhime, and often obliged to 
wipe away the dew of sleep, if it should fall 



BROOKIANA. 155 

on his eyelids, ere he has closed his noctur- 
nal task, and when he has finished his la- 
bours, the toil of years ; and, when he is 
ready to launch his adventurous bark, 
fraught with Aonian wares — he sees a dan- 
gerous sea : 

Una lunisque notusque ruunt, creberque 

procellis 
Africos^ et vastos Tolvunt ad littora fluctus. 

And, if he should escape, not a bidder for 
his cargo : 

Quis legit haec ? nemo, Hercule nemo, vel duo 
vel nemo 

You bring to my recollection the pathe- 
tic lamentation of Don Antonio, tlie good 
old Bishop of Guad'ix. Vir omnium secu- 
lorum memoria perquam dignus. 

Doctor, I read it when I was a boy *, and 
yet how the good old bishop was misrepre- 
,«ented and abused P ' 



'^ Cumautem p'u aque Grsece, nonnulla etiam La- 
tin^ ; Grsece amicoium ope adjutus, L<itiua propri* 

2 



156 BROOKIANA, 

Gent. So true is the observation of our 
friend, Dr. Campbell : ^' that it was, is, and 
ever will be, the fate of men, who rise dbore 



marte, in vernaculum lin.'uam transtuli cogitet jam 
quisque, quanti Jaboris, Grccca in Latinem, et Latina 
in vulgarem Hispanicam Iingiiam,et ex hac rudius dicta, 
in sermonem eleganicm converiere, Neque enim 
iauium potest dici convivium, nisi epulae exquisitae, et 
grati saporis conditura sit. In fraductndis scnteotiis, 
iu coUocandis verbis, in examinanda phrasi, in casii- 
gandis et pondorandis syllabis quantum in aestate mo- 
lesia sudaverim, quantum hycme aspcri alserim, 
^quantum abstinentia, cum edcndum ; quanix vigilue^ 
cum dormienrdum, quaniae curae fucrinr, cum absque 
curis vivendum esset ; Judicer, qui hujus rei expert* 
menium, si credere mihi noluerit ccperit. 

The greatest part of ali his ( Aureiius) Works, were 
written in Greek, yet he composed many in Laiin j I have 
translated this out of the Greek, aided by my friends, 
and afterwards out of Latin into our vern.icular tongue, 
without any assistance. Judge what I have gone 
through in translating it out of Greek into Latin, then 
again out of the- Roman in:o the Spanish tongue ; and 
out of a rough into a poli^Ued s:a:e, for a banquet to be 
sumDtuous requires pleasant meat«, anil savoury sauces. 
To recal sentences, to marshalwords, to e:;.amine phrases, 
to correct and weigh syllables, what loss of animal spi- 



BROOKIANA. ^57 

the standard of the times they liye in, to be 
first misunderstood, next misrepresented, 
and kt last approved and followed'; but, 
they are followed when approbation or con- 
tiempt are quite indifFerent — when they are 
sunk into the grave." 

Doctor, As to the modem anonymous cri- 
tic, he never makes the least allowance for 
any of those infirmities that grow with our 
growth, and strengthen with our weak- 
ness; he never makes any allowance for 
what Johnson, in his sublime. manner, calls 
llie " casual eclipses of the mind," he looks 
for perfection to an imperfect being — ^he 
should recollect, — nemo dat quod non habet 
— but he docs not recollect : — Sickness, dis- 
traction, and the very wants of the day, are 
struck out of the British vocabulary. ' He 



riti \kV9^ I sustained, in (he hot summer ; what piercing 
cold in the sharp winter ; what abstinence from food 
when I wished to cat ; I waked when I ought to have 
slept; I sacrificed my rest, which I need not have done, 
to inquietude and painful thought.— Let those prove 
that will not credit me. 



I5S BROOKIAKA. 

holds the scales in one hand, his knife in the 
other, and he will have his pound of flesh 
if it is to be had. He never thinks of the 
difficulty of composing a work that is in* 
tended to stand the test of criticism and 
time, 

Gent. These anonymous and vernal mis- 
creants, forget what Pliny says, " Res est 
perquam ardua vetustis novitatem dare, no- ■ 
vis authoritatem, obsoletis nitorem, obscuris 
lucem fastiditis gratiam, dubiis fidem.^* 

Doctor. And, above all, the difficulty of 
pleasing. As Pierrius * justly observes, on^ 

* Scriptorucii intentio semper 
Praecipua^ nt placeant lectori bus : ut simul 

omneis 
Exeroplisque inuent^ et Cecropio sale captent. 
Delectenque iocis, Verum inueuisse, qaod 

omneSj 
Vel quota pars laudent : opus et labor omnis la 

isto 
Artieulo est : aliis alia ut diversa petuntur 
Fercula^ q^ueis stomacbum cunctorum possit 

opirae 
Pascere ? , nam nihil est, omnis ni pascat opime^ 
iVec mica in medio sese iateicludat hiatu« 



BROOKIANA, 159 

is pleased with attic salt, another witH Mi- 
lesian ; one will swallow a camel, and ano- 
ther is choaked with a comma. The Asiatic 
swells on the ear of one, the Laconic can 
only catch another ; a third can only bear the 
Iliad,. and the Odyssey is preferred by a 
fourth. 

As to your moderns, they praiseor condemn 
either by wholesale or retail, in proportion 
to their monthly stipend; and their opi- 
nions, like themselves, ought to be held in 
general contempt ; these are the dangerous 
quacks that adulterate the pure " medicine 
of the mind." O angues, O viperae \ fugio 

Usque adeoingulat vel litera sola poetam. 
Hie Asianus, et iste Laconicus, Atticus ille. 
Hie probat ingenium, versu quod surgit anhelo. 
Quod tonitrum cantu superat : quod uobile- 

bellum^ 
Fortunam Priami, formidatumve Tonanti 
Coniugium canit : ille, solo quae serpere cernit 
Verba, stilo tenui : Troiaest quo ductus Ulysses. 

PIERRICS VALERIAN us. 



leO BROOKIANA. 

vos, f ugio : et tamen vix effugio. NaoGb- 
quid hie remedii ? nisi forte a voti§,.que ab 
imo pec tore concipio. Abite a me Ophio- 
genes*, abite Psyllifj nati venena tantum 
exsugere librorum. 

Ge7it, After what you have said^ I need 
not ask what you think of anonymousttad** 
ing reviewers. 

Doctor, The monthly ministers of ven-^ 
geance and pursuit, the dark lanthom asi« 
sa^sins, the sworn appraisers of merit. It is 
true, one of these scribblers will stab you' 
with the point of the pen, and another, if 
secretly paid, will, at times, anoint you with 
a feather. 



* A peopU? of Asia, near the Hellespont, who, it is 
said, could cure the bite of a serpent, by a single touch 
of the hand. — See Piin. 1. 7. c. 2. 1. 28. c. 3. Strabo, 
I. 13. 

t A nation in Africa, famed for their incantations ^ 
and particularly for the discovery of a medicine that 
would effectually cure the bi:e of the mo^t venomout 
animals. — See Plin. 1.5. c. 4. Suet. ^ug. cap. 17. 10 
Noct. Attic. I. 10. c. IV. Aniob. conir. Gent. J. 2. 
Ilerodot. 1. 4. n. 173. Flat. in. Cat. Utic. Aul. Dio«. 
Cass. 1. 51. &c. 



BROOKIANA. IGl 

Gent. But ten stab for one that anoints, 
becatlse you cannot pay them all ; and, 
miat is more, they stab in the dark too. 

Doctor, These miscreants don't affect mc, 
however ; I know their trade, their tricks, 
their arts, their venality, and corruption. 

Gent. And yet they have treated you very 

unmercifully. 

Docto7\ 

.When Gildon drew his venal quill. 

Pope wishM the vn-etch a dinner, and sat still, 

Gent. The generous, avowed, and learned 
critic, fans tlic ihime. 

Doctor, But the illiterate, illiberal, ano- 
nymous, and venal scribbler, endeavours 
to extinguish it. 

Gaif, The bee extracts liquid sweets from. 
^he meanest flower. 

Doctor. But the wasp draws poison from 
•the fairest. 

Gent. And yet, what professions of can- 
dour. 

Doctor. By their fruit ye shall know 
them. Some of them, indeed, as Congreve 
says, 

VOL. 1. M 



162 BROOKIANA. 



Shew you what is good by what they indtfe^ 
And shew you what is bad by what they wri 



Gent. That i«, they can lay down rules^ 
which they cannot follow ; and yet a Re* 
view, conducted on liberal prin<;.iples, by 
known and learned writers, might be of in- 
finite use. 

Doctor. In diffusing the streams of science, 
in the dissemination of all those arts that 
elevate and embellish human nttture! Writers . 
then would not be condemned that critics 
might dine ^. Many a modest author woul4 
be ushered into notice : 

Be to his faults a little blind. 
Be to his merits very kind. 

Should be the motto of every judicious and 
good-natured critic, especially in a country 
where the sun of patronage no longer shineSr 
Ennius had his Scipio ; Marius, Lucullus ; 
Virgil, Augustus ; Horace, Mecaenas ; Pia- 



* And wretches hang that jurymca may dine. 

Pops. 



BltOOKIANA. 1 6% 

piQiiiSy I>OHdtian ; TibuUus^ Messala ; Auso- 
oift8> Gratian ; butyletitberememberedythat 
2>r.J<^hiisonwrotehisDictioiiary,that elegant 
daasical Thesaurus, without '^ any pa- 
tronage of the great/' Liberal critics would 
then distinguish betwixt those who wrote 
for bread, and those that wrote con amore ; 
betwixt those that wrote at their ease,' and 
those that ran a race, with a rush-light in 
their aerial citadel. This indulgence would 
not be lost on the British reader, whose heart 
is naturally prone to indulgence. The 
writer would then have it in his power to 
say, if I be condemned, I shall be condemn- 
ed by competent judges, and not by a race 
who scarcely glance at the title-page ; but, 
I despair of such a publication in this rust of 
the iron age. 

Stratford did not feel for himself, but he 
felt for his wife and his daughter, and wept 
in secret on their account. He was, there- 
fore, resolved to make a last effort to redeem 
his fame, and to put a little money in his 
purse ; he began to collect all his writings, 

M 2 



164 * BROOKIANA. 

with a view of publishing tliem in one quar^' 
to vohimc. This was a work of some labour^ 
as he wrote a long introduction, in which be 
never so muchuas once alluded to the severity 
of the critics ; nor arraigned the taste of the 
towTi ; nor yet let one unmanly complaint 
flow from his pen. It was allowed to be at 
once a learned and dignified piece <tf writ* 
ing. The earl of Bellarnont wished to s^ 
it, and he sent it to him with these lines out 
of Euripides : 

O jxif vc ea-yXo^ scyiwif sfMry amfm 
O d ov oiTiouos xocp afjiiipoyo; irxreoi 
Zij>»> vtfvKri, ooa-yuri^ tta- ^cku*. 

IlisvLordship returned the book with a fine 
compliment, which Stratford, in a few days 
after, repaid in kind. 

The confinement and labour which the 
completion of this volume required, brought 



* The good- man is truly nobk, bun he unjust man, 
though he should trace up his pcdsgrce to a father, evcii 
beiierihan Jupiter, is- ignoble. 



BROOKIAKA. 165 

• 

0n a fit of sickness, in whiph he set a noble 
fi:&ample of resignation and piety, to the 
few that visited him. In this state he re- 
ceived a letter one morning, without any 
name, containing the following lines, with 
an inclosure of five guineas, to the great joy 
of the garrison, to u&e his own words, which 
was now reduced to the last extrenjity : 

Take, oh ! take this telescope. 
View it with the eye of Hope, ' 

London, at a distaRce fk\r. 
Nought but joy and pastime ther6. 
Now reverse the flattering glass. 
What a curious mf>tlcy mass- 
Hypocrites with canting tone. 
Wealth unwieldy, overgrown ; 
Poverty with cheerless face,.. 
Hunted down from place to place; 
Merit in a garret pining. 
Parasites with lords a-dining; 
Lawyers prowling ev^ry day. 
Worse than any beasts of prey, 

A young Irish gentleman, of slender for- 
tune, but of the most generous disposition, 
having accidentally heard of Stratford's 

M 3 



iffiness, pami him a risit, tJKHigh be 
scarce knownto the Doctor by naane. Ifetold 
hnti, after sosie trifling coarersation> tibat 
he hoped his sickness had cured him of — ha 
had scarce articulated the word ^, when 
Stratford raised his feeble head, and ex« 
claimed, " I am determined to vindicate tho 
dignity of my muse ; her mnnbers shall not 
sleep in duH oblivion." — " Well, but" said 
the young gentleman, " had you not better 
think of getting home ; your native air will 
re-instate you in your health ; then you will 
have time to arrange some plaji, and to put 
H into execution. If you wish to return, I 
can lend you a sum of money that will be 
sufficient for that purpose ; you have been 
tossed, for some time, on a very tempes- 
tuous sea, and it is natural to think that 
you would wish to get into the haven ; then 
you can read your favourite Homer., under 
your own shade." — " Homer," repeated 
the Doctor, with an eye aJmost on fire, " I 
wish I could forget the Iliad, that I might 
have the pleasure of reading it a-new." — 
^^ I need, not tell you, Doctor, that this great 



BftOOKIANA. 167 

chy i$ &e grave of genius.*' — *^ Yes, but 
finn^ and money are synonimous terms.^'-*^ 
^ But prejudice. Doctor, prejudice is the 
Chinese shoe of the mind.— Ay, Doctor, but 
the age of lofty poetry is gone, but it shall 
return again ; the. laurel'd day^ of Sopho-» 
cles, and the palmy days of Terence, shall 
return again ; but caution. Doctor, caution 
is the torpedo of genius. Sir. Well, all 
that I have to say at present is, that if you 
Irish to return to Ireland, my purse is at 
your service." Stratford caught the young 
fnan by the hand, and thanked him with his 
iris tears. When the gentleman was gone, 
the Doctor began to reflect seriously ; and, 
.after several combats with hope and fear, 
the tyrants of human life, it was at length 
4settled that he and his family should set out 
€or home as soon asiie was able to bear the 
fBttigues of travelling. For this purpose he 
began to collect his scattered papers, more 
precious in his eyes than the leaves of the 
Sybils ; but, as he was employed in this task, 
« person called on him, and, having read 
^ lome of them, he was so charmed, or, at least 

M 4 



16S BROOKIANA/ 

affected to be charmed, with the origi-' 
nality of the thoughts, the sublimity of 
the language, and the liuidus ordOj that 
he declared, he thought it was a pity that 
England should be deprived of so pre- 
cious a treasure. It was not difficult to per- 
suade liim that he was the first poet of the 
day, that he was bom to free the British » 
Muse from the shackles of rhyme, and that 
all the dramatic scribblers of the day wbuld 
vanish, as soon as one ray of genius ^bone 
in on the English stage. He had one tra- 
gedy untouched, Darius, the favourite oflF- 
spring of his leisure moments ; and, he was 
deteniiined to resort to every effort to 
bring it forward. The gentlemen and. la- 
dies who had played in Kussel, were now 
scattered in different parts of the kingdom, 
so.thiit he was obliged to beat up for fresh 
volunteers ; and, in a shcrt time, a group 
crowded to bis standard ; time and place 
was appointed for rehearsal, but they could 
never be collected together, except at din- 
ner-time. The Doctor was content, as long 
as they flattered him, and iilled him with 



SHOOKIAKA. 169 

hopes that the mines of Peru would be 
poured into his lap, and that he would re- 
turn to his native soil in a triumphant cha- 
riot. These hopes, however, were not a 
little damped when he learned that the 
young man who was to sustain the charac- 
ter of Darius, was obliged to sail for Ja- 
.luaica : this loss, which at first was thought 
irreparable, was soon repaired := — as the Doc- 
tor was one morning building, as usual, eas- 
tles ii\the air, a young man, of a very ele- 
gant form, entered, and oflered to supply 
hi^ place. The Doctor complimented him 
. on the fineness of his person. I do not wish, 
said the candidate for the buskin, to trust 
entirely to figure ; I will give you a speci- 
men of my voice and gesticulation ; — ^1 will 
repeat a passage out of a tragedy, written 
by the greatest poet of the age, which he 
did in these words : — 

Thou monster, death ! what art thou, king of 

terrors ? 
Thoa goal of life, thou great, uncertain — what— 
Tho:j'rt sure in sleep to end the wretch's pains. 
Thyself ^hat attribute, ascribed to thee; 



170 BlOOKIiiKA; 

Scora'd by the Romads^ courted by. ike bmve; 
*Ti8 thou up£etter^«t our uobody'd miad^ 
Dissolv^st this teuemeut of mould'ring clay« 
That screws the soul to treason's narrow views; 
But loosM by thee« how boundless is her ken ! 
Lost in th* expanse of glorious speculation^ 
Empereal lustre^ and effulgent worlds. 

The Doctor was so enraptured with hii 
Toice, which was undoubtedly very rich, 
that he ran immediately and engaged the 
Lyceum, set a number of carpenters to work 
to erect a stage, &c- and so certain was Tie of 
being able to bring out his tragedy, that he 
sat down and wrote the following prologue 
to it: — 

To view the glorious universe around, 
(For who can strong imagination bound ?) 
How grand a sun-rise of the immortal mind, 
Tho' dimm'd by fogs, and to a speck confined! 
Twilight of Heav'n, where her meridian- rays. 
Shall into cloudless intuition blaze. 
With tow'ring science higher still to climb. 
And backward roll the rapid flood of time. 
Or, like the Archangel, bid the dead arise. 
To quafi'the golden splendour of the skies: 

I 



BROOKIAKAr 111 

How vwst, bow awful to the astonishM Mf^, 
Th* old world emerging firom the depths «f 

night? 
How glorious to the mind ilhiinined few, 
«— Mankind by millions passing in review ! 
And yet^ tho' bold imagination boast 
That she can marshal Heavens unnumber'd ho8t» 
Send time^ like Joshua, to arrest the Ban, 
And angels on her high behests to run : 
Nay, in the wide creation of her own. 
Bid into being, worlds around her throne; 
The tragic muse, by her as powerful art^ 
Calk distant ages home into the heart. 
Here is the wwld of man ! — distempered world! 
By warring passions into ruin hurPd. 
The passions are angels — at command. 
They «weep-like vision over sea and land. 
Terror^— when guilt the human race deforms^ 
Lightens along the gloom of roaring storms ; 
And ghastlier shews the spectres of despair. 
Hell in their eye^ and horror in their hair. 
Pity, when plaintive innocence s^pears^ 
Melts into graceful sympathy of tears : 
And with heart-beating at afffliction's thorn, 
Shines thro' her sorrows like a weeping morn. 
Precept too weak fierce passion to controul^ 
Nought like example harrows up the souL 



Ift2 BUOOKIANAV 

The scream at^ilt — ^the sympathy endiearsy 
For angels are still brighter in their tears. 

[Pointing to the boxes/ 
If yet tUe Muse, too mean for tragic rage. 
Shake with cold epilepsy of the stage 
For pardon from the brave — Darius sues ; 
Darius — ^first weak effort of a Muse, , 
That dares like Phaeton, aspire to fame 
That shallfor ever, burn with freedom's holy, 
flame. 

The carpenters refused to complete the 
work till they were paid : the Doctor pro- 
mised, but that would not do. His actors 
and actresses found that he could no longer 
feast them, so that like his own Darius- 
Deserted in his utmost need. 
By those his former bounty fed, • 

He was obliged, at last, to yield to the 
laws of imperious necessity. He was con- 
strained, at length, to set out for his paternal 
home, where he died a short time after his 
arrival, probably of a broken heart. 



buookiana. ITS 



HISTORY OF IRELAND. 



Mr. Brooke having collected a mass of 
materials for his long promised History of 
Ireland^ published about this time the ^fol- 
lowi^g 

PROPOSALS 

FOR 

PeJNTING BY SUBSCRIPTION 

THE 

HISTORY OF IRELAND, 

From the Earliest Times ; 

Wherein are set forth the Ancient and 
Extraordinary Customs, Manners, Reli- 
gion, Politics, Conquests, and Revolu- 
tions, of that once Hospitable, Polite, and 
Martial Nation ; interspersed and illus- 
*trated with Traditionary Digressions, and 
the Private and Affecting Histories of the 
most celebrated of the Natives. 

Bif HENRY BROOKE, Esq. 



174 BROOK I AN A* 



CONDITIONS. 

I. Tbatlhe whole shall be correctly and bem- 
tifally printed in four volumes, octavo, on a 
good paper and type, each volume containing 
about two hundred pages, and be delivered to 
the Subscribers in half-binding, at three 
shillings English per volume. 

II. That each subscriber for advancement of the 
Work, is to pay six shillings English at the 
Time of subscribing, and the like Sum on De- 
livery of the two first volumes. 

III. The first Volume shall be delivered in the 
beginning of August next, or sooner, and one 
in each succeeding term. 

IV. The Subscribers names to be affixed. 

Subscriptions are taken in by the author ; 
by Mr. Faulkner, printer ; by.all the book- 
sellers and printers in Dublin ; and by the 
booksellers in Cork, Waterford, Limerick, 
&c. 



BROOKIANA.' liH 



PREFACE DEDICATORY TO 

The Most NaMe and Ittustrwus the seoeral 
Descendants of the Milesian Line. 

History may justly be e^emed the most 
•useful of all writing, for, as the biasiness of 
man on earth is the imjprovement of his oeu- 
tore ; so, the'ktiowledge of that nature, and 
the means of such improvement, are no 
where so well discovered or applied, as by 
hiBloricd truths. Man is a mere riddte to 
himself, till he mquires into the heart and 
actions of others ; it is ia this mirror (Mily 
that he can perceive his own resemblance ; 
here he learns to be shocked at deformity, 
and to be pleased with what is amiable, and 
thence he proceeds to dress his mind with 
every virtue. 

Wc may better trust our ship to a school- 
langbt pilot, than depend on the wisdom or 
goodness of the head or heart, that has barely 
conversed with abstracted or philosophical 
■uuums. 



176 ibrookiana: 

The world alohe is the true school of all 
animated and, practical knowledge ; but, as 
the term of life is short, and man's natute too 
changeable and various to be wholly disco* 
vercd by, any single eye, history becomies 
the same necessary, but more universal, in* 
«tructor ; and, as it were, protracting life, 
and enlarging experience, adds character ta 
character, nation to nation, and age to age, 
and thus gives to each man the wisdom, the 
abilities, and this virtues of all that ever 
lived. 

History is, perhaps, of all orators and 
preachers, the roost affecting ; it best shews 
and evinces the just value and estimate of 
things, and argues as well to the heart as the 
imderstanding. For a while it seems to in- 
dulge the vanity of human pursuits, it 
mrxes with the bustle of life, unfolds the 
bla/e of mines, fills cities with noise, and 
ports with traffic, the ocean with fleets, and 
tlie land with arms ; it cements mighty eod^ 
pires with the blood of millions, lifts up 
grandeur as a meteor, and calculates on 
*;arth for immortality ; but pass a few pages. 



BROOKIANA. 177 

that busy world is silent, its structures sink, 
its scenes all vanish, and its glories are no 
more^ while the reader still survives to infer, 
that goodness alone is great, and that no- 
thing is durable but virtue. 

However, the historian doth not always 
leave such inferences to the reader's elec*' 
tion. Sometimes, like the Mentor of Canu 
iray, he takes his pupil by the hand, and 
conducts him in wisdom throughout the 
world ; he sets the countries of the earth 
before his eyes, he introduces him to the na- 
tives, and severally instructs him in the po~ 
titles by which they are governed, the ma- 
ou&ctures by which they thrive, and the 
arts by which they grow eminent. To shew 
the consequences, he opens the causes of 
tilings, he traces the flames of war to their 
original spark, and the movements of mighty 
Viooarchies to the central nave on which 
tfaey turned. He enters yet deeper, he un« 
Mds the heart of man, and grows intimate 
with its complicated and various machinery : 
lie Downetires with his pupil into private 
cfascacter ; be inr^sts him with the success 



178 BROOKIANA, 

or misfortunes of others, he interests him in 
favour of virtue, although distressed; and, 
in the example of some favourite hero, ga^ 
thers happiness from calamity, and derives 
immortality from death itself. 

Without such natural and useful descrip^ 
tion, History becomes a dull and dead letter ; 
what is it to us, when we are told that na^ 
tions, like private men, were bom and ex- 
pired ? When we are carried through so- 
ciety without emotion, and through numbers 
without variety ? in this case we are throwa 
like voyagers on a desolate coast, where Nft^ 
ture is totally divested of her graces, and 
the whole landscape appears flat, delight- 
less, and inanimate. 

Among the various scenes which the world 
exhibits, I have chose to consider and cul- 
tivate my native field, before I attempt a 
further excursion ; the difficulties I have 
encountered, and the little credit which pre« 
judicc is likely toi give to discoveries so vciy 
extraordinary, are discouragements that 
have for some time deterred me in this un- 
dertaking. Who that now beholds Italy 



BROOKIANA. 17^ 

^cantoned into petty states, enervated by 
luxury^ rent by faction, and wholly de- 
praved^ sunk in slavery, could believe that 
she was once the polisher of manners, the 
dispenser of laws, the nurse of heroes, and 
the mistress of the earth ? Who, indeed, but 
that her bs^rds and historians vrrote in a lan- 
guage which -Still obtains and survives, to 
commemorate the glories tliey treat of. 

JreUind also had her bards, perhaps equal 
in genius and execution to the Roman, but 
their works in a great measure shared the 
late of their country, and were either rent 
by barbarism, or suppressed by power ; 
while their remaining fragments of learning 
and eloquence, like beauty in an antique 
tdress, are despised on account of the lan- 
guage wherein they arc conveyed ; yet, 
from the ruins of time and hostile depreda- 
tions, I hope to erect such a pile, as though 
YOU, the natives, like the elders of Jerusa- 
lem, may weep, recollecting her former 
temple, the second shall also endure to ages. 

Neither will tliis appear the bpast of self- 
safficiency, when I acknowledge the supe- 

N 2 



180 BROOKIANA. 

rior advantages I borrow on this occasion; 
The authentic historians and antiquarians of 
Ireland were 'actually fileas or poets, sue* 
ccssively elected by public voice, for their 
pre-eminence of their talents', and their ex- 
cellence in all kinds of learning ; on such 
elections they were supported by national 
appointments, and equally respected with 
the princes of the people. This affluence 
divested them of attention to pri^Tite' cares, 
and such honourable distinctions raised their 
genius to its utmost elevation. ' The chief 
province of these fileas was truly to collect 
all public memoirs, and to recognize the 
genealogies, actions, and achievements, of 
their kings and heroes. The grand, or arch- 
filea, attended the monarch ; each provincial 
prince had also his poet ; and every noble 
house was waited on by fileas of an inferior 
order. Kacli of these reduced to numbers 
whatever related to his particular patron; 
and, as fiction had no place in these works, 
truth, thus harmonized, was held sacred by 
the people, and often repeated as a charm 
against sickness or misfortune. 



Once in ereiy three years these fileas, 
who were esteemed the wise men and coun- 
sellors of die nation, were convened with the 
kings, the nobles, and the representatives of 
tiie people, to appear at the grand feis, or 
fwrliament of Tara ; here their writings 
were produced and examined before the 
whole assembly ; the trivial or impertinent 
was exploded, and the approved and attested 
was entered on record ; and, if it was found 
that any fUea attempted to insinuate a falser 
faoo^, be was fgr-ever barred from any pub- 
lic employment, and the next candidate suc- 
ceeded to bis place. And thus were the 
annals of their nation, and the deeds of their 
mighty men, incontestibly delivered down 
to posterity,, with an imagery and spirit 
which I shall endeavour to imitate, but de- 
spair to equal. 

Whoever considers the nature and efficacy 
of this institution, will no longer dispute or 
wonder at the achievements and glory of 
your ancestors ; what a caution is requisite ! 
How each power must be called forth^ and 
every faculty exerted : where not only tlw! 

N 3 



182 BrvOOKIANA 

present world is attentive to the actions, but 
where it must appear equally excellent or 
ignominious to future s^es; for each at- 
tending filea contained in his single eye, the 
observation, the censure, and the applause 
of all men living, or yet unborn. However^ 
the talents of these iileas were not altogether 
limited to matters of national conceni ; they 
were equally studious of privately instruct- 
ing and improving their patrons, in order to 
subFime their virtues, to a height worthy of 
that eloquence, wherein they are to be le^ 
corded. 

For this purpose th.ey made curious re- 
searches into History and Manners ; they 
t:ollected all the written and traditionary ac- 
counts of the exploits, amours, and adver.-* 
tures of the Irish anceslrv ; these they di- 
gested into their natural order ; they digni- 
fied them by sentiment, varied by fancy, 
and harmonized by verse ; and, when the 
business of the day was pver, and the prince 
f)T chief, with his noble visitants, his officers 
iirid houshold, were seated, the filea rose 
in 'the mid^t 3 his risuig claimed attention 



BKOOKIANA. 183^ 

itill as night ; he began his narration in a low 
voice ; he gently insinuated into the hearty 
of his hearers, now melted them to tears and 
now compelled to break upon liimself witb 
exclamations ; again he tempered with vio- 
lence, and again he rose upon their passions,r 
till, by seeming transported himself^ his 
audience arc truly transported ; the youth: 
are scarce restrained from flying instantdy 
to arms, and the ancients are renewed in the* 
vigour of their former days. 

Thui were the hours of modern gaming , 
and debauchery turned into an entertain- ' 
ment, of all otliers the most wisely and a^t- 
ftiUy . calculated to render a nation social,, 
generous, valiant, and humane, emulous of 
the glory of their ancestors, and. enamouredi 
of every virtue. 

Though such relations are by.no means 
of equal authority with the matters of pub- 
lic importance, and incontestible record ; 
yet, as they have a natural connection with' 
the history, wJiicli, in many places they 
serve to explain and illustrate, I chose to 
Mend them together, as they occur in their. 



1S4 BROOKIAKA. 

order, rejecting only the improbable, and 
marking what is apocryphal with a colon. 

\ also take the further liberty of omitting, 
OP passing over ,^ many things, which, though 
true in fact, are tedious or triBing in the 
narration, and would have swelled this work, 
like a distempered body, with gross and su- 
perfluous matter. 

I shall advance nothing from tradition, 
which is not true in nature ; nor from history, 
which is not so in fact : and I shall sh^ to 
flie most prejudiced and incredulous, that 
your ancestors were deep in learning, pious 
in their religion, wise in their institutions, 
just in their laws, and continued, for many 
ages, the most generous and valiant people 
that lived upon the face of the earth. 
I am. 

With all possible respect. 
My Lords and Gentlemen^ 
Your most devoted. 
And most obedient Servant, 

HENRY BMOKE. 



SROOKIAKA. J 85 



IRISH CATHOLICS. 



Of all the political writings of Mr. Brooke, 
his '* Farmer's Letters" have deservedly 
ranked the highest. Yet this publication 
did not escape the censure of a few, who 
conceived that it contained some sentiments 
respecting the Irish Catholics that were not 
dictated by that justice and liberality which: 
had hitherto guided his pen, as often as he 
had occasion to touch on the political situ- 
ation of that respectable body. The follow- 
ing letter, written by Mr. Brooke, does not 
stand in need of any introduction, and will 
explain itself. 

The Farmefs Case of the I{oman Catholics 

of Ireland. 

In ^ Letter from a Member of the Protestant Church. 
DEAR SIR, 

I think myself indeTated to any occasion 
that restores you to a friend, whom I feared 
you had long forgotten. But I confess, at 
the same time, that the pleasure of hearing 



186 BROOKIANA. 

from you, after a silence of several yeanr,. 
is, in some measure, damped by the censure 
that seems to constitute the chief intent of 
your letter. 

You tell me that you lately happened 
upon some papers that were entitled The 
Fanner^s Letter's, Sfc. which were imputed 
to me as the author. And, after some com- 
pliments on spirit and genius, and so forth, 
in order to palliate, as I suppose, what you 
purpose to administer ; you charge me, By 
implication with crimes, whose smallest ten- 
dency I should abhor in myself j as fn any 
man breathing. 

You say, favourably enough for your own 
disposition, that you have long looked on 
the Roman Catliolics of these kingdoms as 
a discountenanced and pitiable people. — 
That vou would choose to allow to others 
the same latitude of conscience that you like 
yourself. That it is not a part of humanity 
ta break a reed already bruised. That such 
a treatment would be blameable respecting^ 
any individual ; how much more so, in pre- 
judice of a whole people. That those pa- 



BKOOKIANA. l&T 

pers are pointed with <i keenness of camity> 
for which the talents, which you are pleased 
to a^cribe^ cannot sufficiently apologize; 
And^ that you did not think me cs^ble of 
exasperating government and power against 
a set of men who were already under the dis- 
' pleasure and depression of the-law. 

These, my dear friend, are home and 
heavy accusations, however tempered by 
expressions of kindness and affection from/ 
the man whom I sincerely love and respect. 

But, if I know any thing of myself, the 
qual]i:y called ill-nature, is not my charac* 
teristic. I would not exchange one grain 

of good-heart for all the wit of a C d or 

comprehension of a P— tt, independent of 
their virtue. And I may say,^ with great 
truth, that an excess of humanity hath oc- 
casioned all the misfortunes and distresses of 
my life. 

I most solemnly assure you, that when I 
wrote those letters I was in perfect love and 
charity with every Roman Catholic in the 
kingdom of Ireland. I knew that they were 
a depressed people. I had long pitied them 
as such. I was sensible that the laws, under 



18S BROOKIANA. 

which they suflercd, had been enacted, liy 
our ancestors, when the impressions of hos« 
tility were fresh and warm, and whoi pa8«* 
fiion, if I may venture to say so, co-operated, 
in some measure, with utility and reason.— ^ 
I will go a step further. I thought diose 
laws not severe enough to suppress them as 
enemies, nor yet sufficiently favonrable to 
-attach them to us as friends. They urerc 
not so cruel as wholly to serve for quelling; . 
and yet they had a poignancy that might 
tend to provoke. And all this I imputed to 
the resentment that was blended with the 
humanity of our ancestors. Their humanity 
left to Papists a power of hurting, while 
their resentment abridged the inducements 
that might engage them to serve us. 

Believe me, Sir, I never was of a cruel or 
persecuting disposition. I was grieved to 
see the discouragements under which the 
Koman Catholics of this kingdom laboured, 
but these very discouragements made me fear 
them the more. 

Previous to the letters which j'ou censur^ 
so waimly , a dangerous rebellion had broken 
4)ut in Scotland, in consequence of a French 



BROOKTANA. 1S9 

invasion, that was headed by a Popish pre- 
tender to the throne. Be pleased to remem- 
ber, (if it is not too mortifying a recollection 
for a free-bom Briton) the panic into which 
all England was struck by a few Scotch vas- 
sals, undisciplined and unactuated by any 
motive of liberty or virtue, save the virtue 
of being attached to their laird or their 
leader. Millions of English, at that time, 
sunk in the down of a long peace, and ener- 
vated by ministerial corruption and venality, 
feared that a handful of Highlanders would 
win their way to London, and, at one stroke, 
put a period to the boasted strength and 
•grandeur of the British constitution. 

I was astonished at the apprehensions that 
England was under from so contemptible an 
armament. But I deemed the case of Ire- 
land to be highly alarming. The Roman 
Catholics, at that time, outnumbered us five 
to one. They were disarmed, it is true, but 
I was not equally sure that they had reason 
to be reconciled. As they were not admitted 
'to realize their fortune, it consisted of ready 
mdney , and that gave ready power. As they 



192 BROOKIANA. 

which they derived^ in common with 11B9 
from the establishment at the revoIutioQy no 
spiritual or temporal power on earth could 
have tempted them to permit, much less to 
wish a change of a constitution whose equal 
they could not find upon earth. 

Sut as this was very far from being the 
fact, I feared that interest mi^t prove an 
incentive to desire ; and desire equally prove 
an incentive to action ; and, I am not ashamed 
to confess, that my expectations were great- 
ly, though happily, disappointed, by the 
steadiness of their peaceful and loyal de- 
meanour on that trying occasion. 

Believe me, ray friend, at the time that I 
wrote those papers, which have given you 
so much offence, I looked upon the Papists 
of this kingdom, by the patronage of France 
and Spain, by their numbers, by their wealth, 
and by their union with each other, to be 
vastly superior to Irish Protestants, in pow- 
er; and my spirit of opposition rose, in 
proportion to my idea of their ability. But 
neither then, before, nor since, did I evef 



BROOKIANA* 193 

mean to excite any action, or intention, 
against the weak or the oppressed, the fallen, 
or the afflicted. 

When Brutus unsheathed the reluctant 
sword of freedom against his friend, huma- 
nity must suppose that his heart was wrung 
with compunction, while his coimtry ei^oin- 
ed and implied the blow. 

But further, Sir, there is a very wide dif- 
ference between a Popish regency and a 
Popish people. The whole intent and vi- 
rulence, as you call it, of my papers, is 
pointed and levelled against the one, but not 
a syllable uttered, from end to end, against 
the other^ A PojMsh regency, in temporals 
alike as in spirituals, I held to be, by prin- 
ciple, an arbitrary and oppressive govern- 
ment; but I held a Popish people to be, of 
all people, the most amenable and submis<» 
sive to rulers, whatever the form or nature 
of that state may be, under which tfaey shall 
happen to be subjected. And,, on this very 
account, I dreaded them the more, shouldi 
they become passive instruments in the hand. 
of a Papal dictator. 

VOIm I. o 



194 BKOOKXAKA. 

To apply a aare test to the propriety, or 
impropriety, of my apprehensions, at the 
period when I wrote the Farmer's Letters, 
let us suppose that no one of the penal laws, 
which were instituted during the reign of 
her majesty queen* Anne, had yet passed 
into form, but that matters had remained 
in the same situation, in which the monarch 
of humane, as well as glorious memory, had 
left this unhappy people. Well, what would 
Iiave been the consequence ? Would Papists, 
*in that case, have been less amenable to the 
government, by which they had been fiu 
voured, supported, and cherished? Would 
they have been the forwarder to bring da- 
Boage and destruction on a country, because 
their own interest was connected therewith, 
and the fortunes of their posterity deposited 
therein ? Would they have been the readier 
to attempt the overthrow of our beneficent 
constitution, because they enjoyed the pri* 
vileges and advantages thereof? No, Sir, no. 
The absurdity of the supposition is indunve 
of the answer. Had this been the case, the 
Farmer's Letters would not have existed to 



BItOOKIAKA. 195- 

hsLve caused the renewal of our acquaint- 
ance. 

I have read and noted many instances^ in 
firte states and commonweaillis, where liber- 
ty, when fermented into licentiousness^ hath, 
occasioned many partial struggles for power^ 
many broils and factions, and much disturb- 
ance to the community. But very few^ are 
the instances of the insurrection of any 
people, who have not been goaded thereto 
by severity and oppression. The inoffensive 
stag grows formidable when at bay. The 
worm tameth not, till it receiveth a crush. 

I forget the book, though I remember the 
passage> where a prince demanded of his 
&voarite minister, what he should do with a 
number of the commons and nobility, whom 
he had suppressed and taken captive in the 
act of rebellion ? The minister answered, put 
them and their adherents instantly to death. 
No, replied the prince, that were an act of 
§ach bloodshed and barbarity, as neither 
fear tior revenge shall persuade me to per- 
pcltrate. Then, grant them all free pardon^ 
vigoiiied the minister. How ! said the' punce^ 

o 2 



I9(^ BROOXfANA. 

must rebelKon go altogether unpunished? 
There is no medium that can assure your 
0afety, answered the minister; yon must 
eidier pull this^ party wholly up l^ the root^ 
ao as to leave no fibre from whence future 
enmity may grow ; or else> you must change 
that enmity into friendship, by binding their 
gratitude to your pepran and^ interest, with 
the kindliest of all connections, that of your 
goodness and favour. A partial punishment 
will be too little for youjB safety ; a partial 
pardon will not be enough. You must 
either wholly annihilate their power, by 
their death ; or derive strength* to yourself 
from that power, by their friendship. 

By disarming our enemies, the utmost we 
can hope is, to render them: impotent. The 
diminution of dieir power adds nothing ta 
our owu. Repentance b never sa peraia^ 
nent or sincere, as when preceded by par* 
don ; and fiivour is as the polar attraction 
to inclination^^ Is there a man whose love 
and gratitude you desire to engage ? com- 
mon sense will direct you to do him a be- 
nefit. Would you bind him to your service 



BlOOKIANA. 197 

whhlioops of steely yoa must make it his 
interest, as well as his duty , to befriend you;* 
It isy by no means, my intention to ar- 
raign either the wisdom or good policy <tf 
Mr fore&thers. But all men are, in some 
degree, fallible, as well in the congregate, 
as in the individual ; and the shrewd may 
err as much, by over-reaching their aim, a^ 
the ignorant, by falling short, or deviating 
from it. 

• But, had a hundred Pitts and a hundred 
Cecils composed the senate of our ances- 
tors, at the time that those penai laws were 
enacted; had tliose laws been ever so wise 
and so just, so wholesome and necessary, 
and well suited to the season, is tliat a rea* 
son that they should continue so to the end of 
time? In a world where nothing is perma- 
nent, where modes, manners, principles, 
and practice are at a flux; where life is' un- 
certain, and all it contains changeable, na^ 
ture and reason will conform to situation 
and circumstance; and where causes have 
ceased, in any degree, the consequences 
«ought to cease in the same proportion* 

o 3 



I9S BROOXIAI^A. 

It is not now with Rome as it was in the 
days when princes held her steed, and em- 
perors her stirrup. The kings of the earth 
have pretty clearly resmned her usurpations 
and acquisitions of temporal dominion. It 
is not now, as it was when she cried peace ! 
and it became peace ; or, when the breath 
of her mandate kindled the nations to battle. 
Even his Holiness is now but a poor limited 
priqce, pent up within his little Italian de- 
mesne. If some few still acknowledge to 
hold- of his authority, it is a homage of 
words and not of facts ; they will not ac- 
knowledge to hold of his power. He is re- 
stored to the quiet and unenvied possession 
of all the lordship and interest he can ac- 
quire in heaven. But the sceptre, even of 
his spiritual dominion upon earth, is, of late, 
as I take it, most wonderfully shortened. 

Matters are much altered with the eccle- 
siastical world, even since I wrote the lettei* 
that have roused your spleen. Whetl^r it 
be through a decline of the Romish religion, 
in particular ; or, possibly, through a dei> 
cliae of aU religion, in general ; the ponti- 



BEOOKJAXA. 199 

fical md qiiflCC^Hd dictatoniiip and mntlio* 
li^aiewofiilly fidlenfiromtlie chair of in- 
fidiibilityy where they had been sealed by 
•pinion. The sons of the most bigoted an- 
cestois do now perceive, that piety and im- 
moiali^ are not rightly connstent. And, 
even the vulgar and ignorant among the 
Ronum huety, would grumble at departing 
froiAan inch of tlieir property , though the 
priest should advise, and the pope himself 
should enjoin it. 

But, Sir, if the change of times and prin- 
ciples, situation and circumstances ; if the 
change of every cause that produced those 
pcmal laws, have not availed for a change of 
•consequences ; for some mitigation or abate- 
ment of their rigour, toward these my un- 
happy bretliren, the Roman Catholics of Ire- 
land : if no argument, I say, that is taken 
firom changes, may avail for the purpose, I 
will take one firom permanence and duration 
iMeif, that shall strike light and conviction 
to the eye of every beholder ; that power 
. may gainsay , but cannot refutt ; that male- 
volence may dispute, but never can answer, 

o 4 



200 BROOK^IAKA. 

About six generations have now passed 
away, according to the rates of purchase 
and estimate of the life of man, since these 
people have ofiended in word or in deed. 
No riotings have been heard in their hcnues, 
no complainings in their streets ; they hafe 
been silent and harmless as sheep before 
their sheerers. Our parties, factions, and 
insiu-rections, as they are merrily stiled ia 
England, have been all among, ourselvei; 
this people were neither actors nor partakers 
therein. They have offered themselves to 
our fleets and to our armies, to tend our per- 
sons, to till our grounds, to hew our wood, 
and to draw our water. Where we admit 
them to fight for us, they have ever proved 
valiant ; where we admit them to serve us, 
they are found loving, observant, and fiutk- 
ful. Temptations have come to their doom 
and called there forth ; the contagion of re- 
bellion hath broken out among their neigh- 
bours ; they have yet remained quiet, and 
■continued untainted ; still loyal to their 
sovereign, amenable to government, and 
submissive to law; through a long and trying 



BROOKIANA. 20l 

sacceaaon of about seventy years, they have 
scarce appeared to repine in the midst of 
itieir calamities. 

When I look back on the querulous and 
restless nature of man: When I trace the 
boman propensities through the records of 
ages and nations : in all the histories of those 
states iriio had least cause of complaint: 
throogbout the commonwealths of Asia 
Minor, the Archipelago, the Grecian Con- 
tinent, Italy, the Islands of the Mediterra* 
nean, &c. where the rights of nature, 
under forms of various institution, were 

ASSERTED BY LIBERTY AND GUARDED BY 

XJiw: where the assurance of property 
gave most reason for content : I can find 
but few instances of any people who, 
tbrougb such a length of time, have conti- 
oued firm and unshaken in an uninterrupted 
loyaky and submission to government. 

What, then, do we look for further ? What 
proob do ye yet require, of peacefulness 
and attachment at the hands of these our 
brethren ? Is no period to be put to their 
4rtate4if probation? Must they /cr-ev^r keep 



1202 BROOKIANA. 

oat upon quarantine>, witbMit hftrbour or 
hopes of rest or recouciliation ? That were 
hard) indeed. 

If it is revenge that we seek, they have 
aheady suffered enough, not for their ovm 
iiMiltS) but for the hostility of their forefiiu 
thers. If we seek our safety alone, let nx 
chase them at once from country and anm/mu 
nity ; or, put an end to our domestic fearSy 
by giving them cause to defend us. 

Indeed 9 Sir, neither common sense, nor 
sense of any kind, can possibly suppose, 
that acts of kindness which have been, from 
the beginning of the world, the cement of 
friendship to all other people, should prove 
the reverse to these people alone. 

Had they been to us, as the swallow in 
autumn, who forsakes all connections on the 
approach of inclemency, I should never 
have pleaded for any confidence in them. 
But a people, who, through a winter of se- 
venty years continuance, have never failed, 
or forsaken, or given us cause of offence, 
surely merit some consideration, some grate- 
fid and chearing ray to warm them to a 



BEOOKIAKA. 205 

feme limt Ptotestants are not^ by choice, of 
a cruel, onforgiTing, and malevolent nature. 

Lastly, Sir, as I know you to be a gentle- 
man of m communicative disposition, and 
that you were, formerly, fond of exhibiting 
the sentiments of some of your friends ; 
should you impart this letter to any of your 
popish acquaintance, I doabt they might be 
«pt to give me more thanks than I am con- 
Adious I deserve. It is, therefore, but com- 
monly honest, to advertise you and them, 
fhat while I writer in the fitvour of Pa- 
pistSy the interest of Protestants is never 
out of my eye. 

When I thought your favourites most for- 
midable, I shewed I did not fear them ; and 
now that I think them impotent, let . them 
not think I flatter. 

What I have hitherto hinted, is but ft nar- 
row opening to the concerns and interests of 
«n unhappy country, whereof I have the 
mirfortime to be a helpless, though loving 
member. To promote the advantage of 
faelMdy in any respect, would be to me 
^ (Wdinal point of the whole compass of 



204 BJIOOKIANA. 

my ambition ; and a subsequent letter may 
shew how far my observations relate to the 
decline or prosperity of my country , wheiH 
ever you confer the pleasure of an answer on^ 

Dear Sir, 
Your truly affectionate, &c. 

«• • • 

DR. JOHNSON. 

The two last papers were shewn by Dr. 
Campbell to Dr. Johnson, who read them 
with great attention, artd praised the idfe 
And sentiments of both, particularly die 
Dedication, every line of which, he said, 
** breathed the true fire of genius." Doctor 
Johnson lamented that even the vanity of 
the Irish, if their patriotism had been quite 
extmct, did not enable Mr. Brooke to carry 
the proposed work into execution, for the 
Doctor often expressed a wish that some 
able and impartial writer would undertake a 
history of that country. He wrote several 
letters on the subject to Charles O'Conor, 
Esq. Author of a tract entitled *^ Disserts 
tions OB the History of Ireland." The foU 



J3J(00KIANA* 20l> 

lowing extracts from these letters, will shew 
how much the good Doctor had this matter 
at heart. 

" I have long wished that the Irish litera* 
ture were cultivated* Irriand is known by 
tradition to be the seat of piety and lea^rning ; 
and, surely, it would be very acceptable 
to all those who are curious, either in the 
original of nations, or the affinities of Ian* 
guage, to be further informed of the revolu- 
tions of a people so ancient, and once sa 
illustrious. What relation there is between 
the Welch and Irish languages, or between/ 
the language of Ireland and that of Biscay ^ 
deserves enquiry. Of those principal and 
imextended tongues, it seldom happens that 
■lore than one are understood by any one 
man; and, therefore, it seldom happens that 
a fair comparison can be made. I hope you 
will continue to cultivate this kind of learn- 
ing, which has lain too long neglected, and 
which, if it be suffered to remain in oblivion 
for another century, may, perhaps, never be 
retrieved. As I wish well to all useful un- 
ilertakings, I would not forbear to let yoi| 



*206 KItOOKIANA. 

know, how much you deserve^ in my opi* 
nion, from all lovers of study, and how 
much pleasure your work has given me.**^— 
Again, in another letter — •* Dr. Leland be. 
gins his history too late. The ages which' 
deserve an exact enquiry, are those times 
(if such times there were) when Ireland was- 
the school of the west, the quiet habitationi 
of sanctity and literature. If you would 
give a history, though imperfect, of the 
Irish nation, from its conversion to Cbrit- 
tianity, to the invasion from England, yon 
would amplify knowledge with new views 
and new objects. Set about it, therefore, 
if you can. Do what you can easily do, 
without anxious exactness. Lay the foun- 
dation, and leave the superstructure to 
posterity.'* 

DR. Brett's sermon. 

There never was a sermon on any pDoli* 
tical topic, that made a greater noise than 
one preached by Dr. Brett, on the subject 



BftOOKIANA. 2Q7 

of " Wedded Love*." The novelty rf 
the theme, the agef and gravity of the 
preacher, rendered it a subject of universal 
conversation. The Doctor^s health was 
toasted by the ladies ; and, it is said, that 
several old maids, who had long resisted the 
importunities of many a youthful Strephon, 
were socharmed with the discourse,that they 
instantly submitted to the silken tranunels of 
matrimony. It was generally said, that Mr. 
Brooke wrote the dedication prefixed to this 
sermon. It is probable, he furnished the 
preacher with some hints, as he was on a 
very friendly footing with him. This Dedi« 



* Conjugal Love and Duty ; a Discourse upon, 
Hebrews xiii. 4. preached at St. Anne's church, in 
Poblin, Sept. 1 1, 1757, with a dedication to the Right 
Hon. Lady Caroline Russel, asserting the pre- 
rogative of Beauty, and vindicating the privileges of 
the Fair Sex. 

f The Doctor was chaplain to the Duke of Bedford, 
at that time Lord-lieutenant of Ireland. He was a 
rnao U considerable learning, fond of the 

*' Pun ambiguous and conundrum quaint.'* 
Arihe time he preached this termoD| he was upwards 
•f sixty, and a bachelor. 



20S BROOKIANA. 

cation is at present in the hands of so few, 
that the insertion of it cannot fail of being 
highly acceptable to all those who have felt, 
and continue to feel, the irresistible in- 
fluence of female beauty. 

To the Right Hon. Ladtji Caroline Eussel*. 

MADAM, 

There is an Italian proverb f, which says, 
tiiat handsome girls are bom married : the 
meaning whereof is not, what hath been vul- 
garly supposed, that marriages are made in 
lieaven; but that such is the power of 
l>eauty over the human heart, that when 
they will th(iy may : tliis being so, intima- 
tion to your ladyship is to look out, and pro- 
vide for a change of condition ; to remain 
single will not be long in your power ; for, 
beauty that strikes every eye, wilt necessa- 
rily charm many hearts: Nature ordained 
it universal sway, and the corruptions of 
Nature, multiplied as they have been through 



♦ Now Duchess of Marlborough, 
f Le Belle Natcono Mariiate. 



BftOOKIAlTA. 20^ 

a series of 5000 years,, have even yet been 
able to give it but one rival : In the human 
heart, (I speak it to their shame) temples^ 
have been erected to the god of wealth ; 
many fair victims have we seen too, bleeding 
at his altars ; and, what is worse, the very 
hand now writing to your ladyship, hath 
sometimes been the sacrificer. 

To this shameful hazard, happily your 
ladyship never can be subject : what, there- 
fore, you have to learn, is only to chuse 
with discretion ; to maintain with dignity 
the proffered sovereignty, which contending 
suppliants will intreat you to accept. 

At a season, when the mind is just open- 
ing to receive the impressions, which deter- 
mine to happiness, or its contrary, a Dis- 
-course of Conjugal Love and Duty will 
not, I hope, be thought an improper offer- 
ing : a poor one, indeed, it is ; all offerings 
are so, in respect of the divinities to which 
they are offered ; but, it hath that which 
only can consecrate any gift, it is the offer- 
ing of a fond, devoted heart-— not the wax 
but the honey of the hive ; recommended by 

VOL, I. p 



210 BirOOKlAI^A. 

1 

kind intention, to help you forward to fcJi- 
city, and to make that fchcity endless ; to 
make you. Madam, as beloved as you are 
lovely 1, as happy, if tlnit be possible, as you 
are handsome. 

When we talk. Madam, of endless felicity, 
our tiioughts, by early tutoring, are apt to 
look forward to a different scene ; whether 
to the highest, wealthiest, and fairest, should 
often turn their eye, that the opening of 
that scene may never be unwelcome ; but, 
as the religion you possess gives you no oc- 
casion for a confessor ; and, even the honour 
of being your fat!ier*s cliaplain will not en- 
title nic to the saucy privileges usurped in 
that cliaractcr, my discourse must turn only 
upon such incidents ati arise from the scene 
we are in, by a proper representation, to in- 
struct you how to preserve and improve the 
character iniprintcjd in your form. 

In this oddly compounlc J animal and in- 
tellectual system, thn^e things only there 
are, which raise, or give title, to pre-emi*' 
neucc—Sense, Beauty, and Strength. 



BKOOKIAKA. 211 

IF a svstem of creatures coi'M be found of 
only one sex, the latter, I verily believe, 
would always cairv it ; for, even upon t?ie 
supposition that it was female, as partial as 
I am in their favour, I see reason to appre- 
hend, that they might sometimes run to that 
decision, and have recourse to arms. 

If in another, a species of animals witliout 
appetites, irascible, or concupiscible, it 
would probably belong to the first ; because, 
in that case, I see nothing from whence con- 
troversy could arise^ Every one would be 
a philosopher, and probably have that calm- 
ness and impartiality, which now at best Is 
but. pretended-; but, as these imaginary 
worlds, even in Fontenelle's plurality, never 
did exist, to give law, to govern universally 
and absolutely, without controul, is the pre* 
rogative of beauty alone. By struggling, a 
man doth but shew his weakness : rebellion 
against beauty is a sin against nature. 

In a slight survey, from the parade and 
strutting of the little animal, we are led to 
imagine the deceit hath sometimes stolen 
even upon me ; that it is man who guiden 

P 2 



2 1 2 BROOKIAKA. 

and governs tbe universe : by the migbt of 
my power 1 have done this: So he will ^ 
sometimes superbly vaunt, like his proper 
emblem, the fly upon the chariot wheel: 
See, he. will say, what a dust I raise ; yet, 
in every boasted scene, alas! what is he? 
a puppet only, a mere passive instrument in 
the hands of women, edged and blunted, fu- 
rious and blustering, gentle and tame, as 
you their sovereigns will and direct ; thus 
proving what the wise man asserts, that 
pride was not made for man. To pride of 
this sort, he had not title nor tenure : if hq 
rL!.ist needs boast, let him take the apostolic 
pattern, in the plain literal sense, and boast 
of his owp infirmity. 

In the customs of modern nations, there 
are several things which, at first sight, seem 
to make against what is here asserted : but 
what then ? Man was originally upright j the 
inventions, therefore, sought out, be they 
ever so many, or so absurd, prove nothings 
look back to the generations that are passed : 
collect what the usages were in nations most 
renowned for wisdom and prowess, and 



SROOKIAHA. 21 S 

diefice judge what is of right, and ought to 
be ; there we have evidence irrisistible of all 
We contend for. Numerous instances there 
are, of nations in which this doctrine of na- 
ture was never obstructed. 

Thus we read in Elian, that at Carrass, in 
Assyria, there was a temple dedicated to 
Luna, where none were admitted to worship, 
who did not openly profess subjection to his 
wife : aiid I knqw not whether I need repeat 
what every one knows, that Scmiramis had 
estabUshed a law, which for ages was never 
violated in any part of her boundless domi- 
' nions ; that all husbands should be subject 
to their wives. Among the Sauromatians, 
as we are told by Nicolaus from Stobojus, it 
was a fundamental law, that man should in 
all things, both in their ftunilies, and in their 
cities, be under the government of the wo- 
men. And in Egypt, the place where po- 
licy and good government first prevailed, it 
was, as we read in Diod. Siculus, particular- 
ly ordained, that the wife should preside 
over the husband ; tlie women at marriage 
Insisting always on this indispen^ible condi- 

P 3 



2! 4 BIIOOKIANA. 

tlon of their contract^ that tke man was tb- 

be the servant of their will. 

In the too often celebrated states of Greece 
the wife's prerogative seems to have met, I 
own, with no interruption, and not so gene^ 
rally admitted as in other parts, as we may 
collect from that smart reply of the wife of 
Leonidas, wlien interrogated whence it was 
tliat the Spartan women only had authority 
over their men ? because, said she, they only 
beo'ct men. 

At Atliens, Jiowever, it is plain froin the 
Cereal ia Celeb, of Aristophanes, that it was 
dangerous, and had very seldom been 
brought into controversy ; it is from thence, 
];ro])ably, that Kuripidei was the first who 
transgressed in this way. In the opinion of 
Agatlio, the crime was of so high a nature, 
that lie absolutely refused to appear in his 
ilefcMice ; and the sentences passed upon 
Mnesilocus, who had the boldness to un- 
dertake it, probably prevented its ever com- 
ing into controversy again. 

Scalenus Maxim us, however, plainly con- 
fciiseth, iliat tlic ancients in general thought 



BKm)KlAKA. 215 

ft a matter of more honour to be good hus«* 
l>ands than even to be good patriots and 
common-wealth's men ; and> how quiet I 
may obserre, would it make this country 
and state, if the same opinion or sentiment ob-^ 
tained amongst them. How many brawling 
orators would it effectually gag ! and make 
them as meek, modest, and submissive, in 
the senate, as they are at tlieir fire-side. 
And lastly, as to the Romans, how it stood 
amongst them, that ill-natured invective of 
Cato the Censor doth amply inform us ; he 
was perpetually upbraiding them, that they 
who were the conquerors of the world, and 
gai'e laws to all others, were yet universally 
tlie slaves of their own wives. 

Here, Madam, you see, is a large list of 
▼ery respectable authorities, every one of 
them, too, in point to the case we are upon ; 
and yet, if none such were upon record, the 
thing might bo fairly argued and concluded, 
from that often misintcn)reted sentciict* of 
Thales the great Milesian, and one of tlu* 
first philosophers of the world : In his youth, 
being asked why he did not marry, he an- 

P 4 



216 BROOKIAHA. 

■ 

swered, it was not a season : In old age, 
when pressed again, his reply was the same, 
it was not a seai^on ; the true import of which 
was, not what hath been vulgarly supposed, 
that it was a matter of that concern, that 
neither of those states were equal to, and, 
therefore, only proper for the middle stage, 
where wisidom and strength were in their 
prime ; but that, in short, no age or time 
was fit for it, if a man meaned to preserve 
his liberty, and not to resign the dominion 
he had of himself. Since this was the una- 
voidable condition of mortality, that who- 
ever was married, had thenceforward a su- 
perior, whom he must and ought to obey ; 
verifying in this sense what is clearly as- 
serted by an apostle, *' that of whomsoever 
a man is overcome, of the same is he 
brought into bondage ;" and, if a man in 
love, in the act of adoration, is not overt- 
come, 1 shall give up the point, and my judg- 
ment along with it : it was upon this account 
that Alex, ab Alex, telb you, that his father, 
who by being a father had undoubtedly the 
advantage of good experience, never bad 



BROOKIANA. 217 

saying of Thaks out of his mouth, and 
was ever twithing with it all who came in 
his way ; dience proving, that whoever had 
9- mind to be free, had this only way, to live 
single. Nor is this^ Madam, by the way, 
any prgudice against marriage, for the same 
is true of a religious state ; it also is a state 
of servitude : but both are sufficiently re^ 
eonmiended by this : *^ That the yoke is 
easy and the burdien light/* 

It is, in truth, very pleasant to hear often 
very judicious historians assigning the 
epoch, and settling the date of female go- 
vernment, that at such a time, and under 
such a reign, women first began to exer- 
cise their sovereignty, to know the extent of 
their own power, or to be sensible of their 
own importance ; when it is but to read 
their histories to see and be convinced, that 
they have ever known, and have ever 
used it. 

In France particularly, it was not in the 
reign of Catharine de Medicis, as Mezeray 
tells you it began : she, indeed, knew the 
^hole secret of government, and made great 



315 BUOOKIANA. 

improvements in the original plan, <d may 
be seen in her manner of conducting enter- 
prises. In her eclaircissements with the 
princes of the blood, ambassadors, &c; she 
bad constantly in her train a gtotipe of la- 
dies, of the most brilliant beauty ; these 
she played off as occasion presented ; it was 
by such kind of artillery that she demolished 
every fort that stood in her way, cut oflf the 
locks of every hero who opposed her : and 
yet, Madam, even she practised only the 
lessons which in her youth she had learned 
from the example and conduct of Diana de 
Poitiers, her husband's misjj^ess, who, the 
historian says, ^* meloit de touf^ pouxoit font.''* 
Let the instance be specified, and I will 
undertake to shew, however high the autho- 
ritv was carried, that their mothers did so 
before them. From Madam Eve, down to' 
Madam Pompadour, the sceptre hath ever 
been in the hands of the fair ; and the men 
who pretended least subjection, have, in fact 
been the greatest slaves. All tlie great he- 
roes, the most renowned in their genera- 
tions, the Scripture wortliics in particular^ 



BROOKIANA. 21 ^ 

have their Deiilahs, to whose bewitching 
charms they have one and all yielded ; re- 
luctantly some, and fondly others ; these 
proving their wisdom, and those their folly, 
since there is no inchantment against beauty, 
nor any thing which it cannot inchant. . He 
must be something more, or something 
worse than a man, i» e, a god or a devil, who 
hath escaped, or who can resist its power : 
the gods of the heathens could not ; Jupiter^ 
Mars, Mercury, and Apollo, their amour$ 
are as famous as their names. So that that 
sturdiness in human nature, wherever it is 
found, which can resist, argues plainly how^ 
much of the devil is wrought up in the com- 
position: if the native power were not so 
great as it is, so many arts, so many oppor* 
tunities, to soothe and to persuade, would 
make it impossible. 

In a point, then, whereto all history suf- 
frageth and gives consent ; let no vain so- 
phisms juggle you out of your senses"; 
though gloomy pedants tell a different tale, 
that in wedlock you throw off your supre- 
macy, and, imdressing for the marriage-bed, 
divest yourself of power; there is no sucU 



220 MOOKIA'NA-. 

thing, no medium, nor any instance toprore 
it by : see Henry, simamed the Great, — ^in 
the cabinet, how politic and wise, — ^in the 
field, how persevering, valiant, and intre- 
pid! was even he the sovereign of hu own 
will ? no, — but the servant of Madam Gabri- 
elle d'Etrees ; see him attending her in ber 
accouchement, seasoning her graeb, and 
warming her flannels, doing all the ofBces 
of a valet or a chambriere ; his soul, we mtut 
say, was undoubtedly in her hands, she could 
turn it whithersoever she willed. 

But why talk of kings, and such like petty 
and frail mortals? Even the Papal chair, 
when its power and credit were at the 
highest, and no one dared to dispute its in- 
fallibility, gave, in this respect, frequent 
proofs of its subjection and weakness ; nor 
did their character for holiness suffer any 
impair or diminution by having their mis- 
tresses saluted by the title of patriarcfaesse 
and papissa*. 

* As in the instance of Heraclius, and in the liule 
epigram, 

Papa, pater patrum 

Papisse pandito partum. 



^ROdlCIANX. 221 

lo a case so plain, what need of the far. 
ther proof? man, himself, without any te*- 
dious deduction of facts, proves it to de- 
monstration 'y^ every perplexing difficulty 
here is his resource, here he never fails of 
success ; by this means they alternately con- 
found their own councils, and baffle one 
another^s purposes. Whatever is the point 
in view, the wife or mistress gained, the 
work is done ; to get out any riddle of state, 
no more is necessary than to do as you read 
the Philistines did by Sampson. 

In the annals' of a certain barbarous state 
we read, 'indeed, of a queen, to divert her 
husband irom some ill-advised purpose, 
throwing herself at his feet, and rudely re- 
pulsed, with a ^^ madam, we took 30U not 
to give us council, but to bear us children.'' 
But we are to consider where this happened, 
that it was in that frozen clime where the 
-^essays of nature are all rude and unfinished, 
out of the influence of those benign rays, 
which, whilst they are ripening, always 
soften human nature ; and where the people 
4»i course, like other products of the soil, 



222 BUOOKIANAl. 

are ill-flavoured, sour, and liaisti : from such 
samples estimates should never be made; 
nature properly brought up and polished^ 
takes a different cast ; the clay, in one and 
the other hardly seems to be the same. 

Hence, Madam, I have often wondered • 
among people so polite and gallant as the 
French, what could, have given rise or con- 
tinuance to the Salic Law ; originally. Grailie 
it could not be, but of Gothic mode, trans- 
planted from the northern parts of Germany, 
by Franks and Lombards: but why, after 
such repeated, experience of its bad efRects, 
they are so impolitic, I must say,. so perverse j 
as still to adhere to it, I cannot account. 

To bar females the succession, where they 
always preside in council, is oddly inconsis- 
tent ; the example of what happened among 
us, the flourishing state of our monarchy 
imder female government,. might have taught 
them to correct this ridiculous mistake. Let 
any one but reflect what we were in the 
reign of Queen Elizabeth, what in the r^ign 
of Queen Anne, what in the reign of a Mar^ 
garet of AnjoU; what we might have beeon 



tItOOKIANA. 229 

had she not wanted the incumbrance of a? 
priveling husband, and they will find no 
difficulty in concurring with what I say. 

In short, Madam, in all my reading, I re-* 
member but one instance where beauty, by 
the tribute it paid interpretatively, acknow-- 
ledged a superiority in our sex ; for its odd- 
ness you will allow me to mention it, it is so 
much to our honour I cannot pass it over; , 

In the fifteenth century, it happened 
there lived a man in France, Alain Chartier: 
by name, from whose lips so many bont 
mots and fine sentences had issued, that 
Margaret Stuart, then wife to the. Dauphin >. 
passing one day with her attendants througb 
a chamber where the good man lay asleep, 
taking it perhaps into her head, that pos- 
sibly his lips might be as sweet as the words 
that came out of them, gently stooped and 
gave him aiiss. 

" Whether the good man at that time was 
in any sueh reverie as might give him a sehs^ 
of his felicity, as the history is silent in this 
point, I know not ; but this 1 know, that- had 
I b^en Alain , and your ladyship the dau^ 



224 BROOKIANA. 

phiness, though I had been master 6i the 
sentences, I was going to say, even author 
of the Book of Proverbs, I would have ac- 
cepted this honour in compensation and full 
payment for the whole, as of more valacj 
than tho annual prizes distributed by the 
Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres, 
or even those more renowned of old at the 
Isthmian games. 

As upon this little anecdote curious and 
intelligent readers may possibly make some 
shrewd remark, it is fit I be before-hand 
with them, with one of my own ; first inti- 
mating to the fair ladies of this town, the 
instruction easily to be collected from it, 
viz. *' That merit is not confined to certain 
habits, colours, or modes of dress ; that it 
may as often be found under a band or 
a cassock, as under a sword-knot or fea- 
ther." 

The consequence, I must needs tell them, 
is fairly drawn, and to several, now in my 
eye, may be of singular use, by making 
them hereafter more delicate, and more dis- 
creet in the distribution of their favours. 



BROOKIAKA. 2^ 

Tbe learned haye distinguished kisses into 
three kinds*; one denoting duty or the of- 
fice of friendship, another sweetness or the 

office of love, and a third — — or liere 

therefore a controversy is likely to arise 
among critics, under which of these pre- 
dicaments the kiss given by this good lady 
to the philosopher ought to be classed: 
and because the learned are divided about 
the proper idesL marked out by the two 
lastf, after offering to their consideration 

^ Oscula, -Suavia, Basia. 

f The commentator upon Apulcius insists, that 
Basiiim gives the idea of swcctnc&s, osculum pudi- 
corumy and Suavium that of oscuiorum impudicorum. 
Apuleius uses batium in this sense I grant, and his 
commentator to his adds the aurhoriiy cf Caiellus, not 
inconsiderable. But Petronius, as good, or perhaps 
better, authority than either, consianily uses basium 
in the latter sense, as any one may sec from many 
passages in his Satyricon. It is certainly dignus vin- 
dice nodus: and therefore to be hoped, that some of 
the golden asses of the age, who, being initiated into 
the mysteries of the chaste goddess, often at the noc- 
turnal assemblies of the bona dea, and undergone such 
metamorphosis as Apuleius did, will help ufto solre it. 

VOL, I. Q 



226 erookianA. 

the reason of my own perplexity, I stall 
only beg, in defence of the fair, that till it 
is decided, the modest j of the dauphiness 
may pass unsuspected ; for whether she, at 
a proper opportunity, supposing Mohsieiir 
Chartier to have been a Cadenus or Abelard, 
might have been drawn so far into the pla- 
tonic scheme, as to have pUyed the Eloisa 
or Varussa, without judging* from the cha- 
racter of her kinswoman, Mary Queen of 
Scots, presumptively, that certain qualities 
run in the blood, I see no Biediam of pro(^ 
that can lead to demonstration. 

Be this as it will, what I have just now 
mentioned hints to me a reason for express- 
ing a latent serious wish, that whenever your 
ladyship enters into the holy state of wed- 
lock, sonic worthy nobleman of your own 
country may be the happy man: that we 
may liave among us some of that breed 
which stands so glorious in the lists of 
fame, foremost in the catalogue of British 
worthies ; by whose blood tyranny was sub- 
dued, and liberty established upon ever- 
lasting foundations. 



^ROOKIAKA. &27 

" How happy Tirill be the man! How bo- 
lumred will be the nation ! equally honoured, 
but not so happy, I ! — might I be admitted 
the priest of Hymen to light the tordii, and 
tie the sacred knot ! If, as probably, I am 
the first suitor, I hope my pretensions will 
be considered, and that many of my fair 
readers, whose rights I have here [beaded, 
wiU, cm the occasion, befriend me with a 
kind word. To encourage your ladyship, 
I can with truth assure you, that in no part 
of his majesty* s^ dominions, true primitive 
Davideism* is in higher, repute, or more 
practised, thdn in this island; which, for 
ought I knowj may haye been the origin of 
the title it once had of the Island of Saints. 
This prating old mair! Will he never have 
done? Not yet; for to you. Madam, and of 
you, I could prate for ever. Garrulity is, 
indeed, the vice of old age ; the highest 
honorary tribute that youth pays to it, is 
patient attention : we grow fond of prating 
- • ■• 

■ * In many pans of Ireland this term is expressive 
ff the.meekness and subjection of husbands* 

a 2 



228 BHOOKIANA. 

when we are good for nothing else.. It » 
generally the last faculty that leaVes us, a 
symptom of life, when hardly any other re* 
mains; so that it is good-natured ta let us 
live as long as we appear to live, since 
barred of this we would not think we lived, 
and thus intellectual life would go out with 
the animal, which seeing it doth not, is a 
kind of presumptive proof that one may be, 
when the other will not be. 

Besides, Madam, it is, though I am sorry 
to remind you of it, a vice I have observed 
common to both sexes ; old women can prate 
as well as old men ; and the same allowance 
on your part, if ever you come to it, will 
be demanded: and, alas! young, gay, and 
blooming as you are, to this you will come 
at last. Lovely as that form is, it will wrinkle 
an.l wither ; that vermillion will be turned 
into paleness ; those brilliant eyes grow dim 
and faint: in the gazing crowd that now 
surrounils you, notwithstanding the blaze 
you make, the lustre with wiiich you ena- 
mel and gild the spot you stand upon; 
though you reanimate, give life, sensatipzt. 



BnooKIANA* 229 

and appetite, a kind of reprencscence, a de- 
sire at least, a >vish to live und be young 
again; to every thing you touch or loofc 
upon, the meanest of your admirers, even 
I, wizened and worn out by labour, age-, 
nay worse, by disappointments, in th^ 
course of a few suns and moons, will be as 
much respected, heeded, listened to. Pity, 
indeed, it is, but it must be so ! What are 
you then to do? Why, briefly this; look 
as well into youi*self as at yourself, and 
thence learn how to preserve and improve 
the authority which beauty gives, to make 
it indefectable, and as I maintain it, may, 
interminable. 

After aH, Madam, though the doctrine I 
have here inculcated is both so certain and 
so salutary, nothing in nature, experience, 
or history, to be said agahist it, we are 
hardly, I doubt, to hope that it will pass 
without exception, or that no offence will 
betaken; though it is as old as the creation, 
it will be called innovating ; and I am more- 
over sensible, that in some things I have 
touched the tender part with less gentlenest 



fi30 BROOKIANAi 

.than such sore6 are wont to be handled. If 
^onifdaint is made, I know from what quar- 
ter it will come, and what I have to ofler in 
apology for myself is this, that an exter- 
pative^ not a palliative cure, was intended; 
4that the circumstances of the case required. 
^t, and that in the way I have prescribed) 
^nd in none other, that harmony and con- 
f^ord, so necessary to season and give relish 
to all the other enjoyments of life can ever,, 
be secured: that however invidiously the 
thing may be represented or taken, the 
local customs, against which I have dc!clared, 
are confessed usurpations, and being now 
every where found untenable, to advise a 
quiet and peaceable surrender of them, was. 
botJi prudent and friendly ; since to do that 
of choice, which of necessity must be done 
at last, will always be prudent. 

The premises therefore duly considered^ 
1 am now to presume that even that awful 
and tremendous word a curtain lecture^ will 
want littL', if any, apology, whether I was 
rash in estimating and measuring other men*ft 
powers, manners, and tempers by my owa^ 



/BROOKIANA^ SZf 

I know not ; there is a surprising vanity I 
own in the human species, only those can 
receive this "saying, to whom it is given ; 
but still such in general is the condition of 
man^s frail and impotent nature, that it will 
ever be necessary, as long as these mixed 
societies and combinations last, it will havd 
its use and maintain its credit. 

As to myself, all I have to apprehend or' 
fear is, that cursed spirit which condemned'' 
Douglas, and censured the author; from a 
late experiment I have reason to know that 
th« sour leaven is working in some of the 
same pious breed here ; as our ecclesiastical, 
constitutions are some of them very ambi- 
guo^j^ly worded, and often less explicit than 
Slight be wished in determining what is or 
is not hfijesy : somfi inquisitor of the holy 
office, warm in the search, and sagacious 
in detecting it, might possibly take up both 
me and my sermon, and so effectually put 
an end to my prating at any time hereafter, 
unless I am allowed to take shelter under 
^our ladysbip^s wings; there, indeed, I shall 



232 BROOXIAKA. 

be safe, tlicre I will laugh at their reseot- 
iqent, and defy their malice. . 

And as a fair face is always the index of 
a sweet mind, and beauty and good tem- 
per, iii all tlie instances I have ever ob- 
served, go inseparable together, your's must 
be of the softest and sweetest kind, whence 

« 

I draw this comforting assurance, that what- 
ever sentence I may incur from others, you 
will not sUghtingly reject, but patronize and 
kindly accept tlic respects which, are here 
tendered by. 

Madam, 
Your Ladyship's tlien much obliged. 
Now most faithful, and for ever devoted, 

Humble servant, 

THEAUTHOK. 



END OF VOL. I. 



LEWIS 4r ilODEN^ PRINTERS^ P\TERNOSTER-ROW. 



BROOKIAX A 



VOZ . II. 



A BreaM once ppcmiBtii with rrlrBlial Utr 




Printpd for Rirliud Phillips. 71,5.' l^inU tlum-Ulai 



180 1- 



xs 



B,]ROOKIANA. 



GUSTAVUS VASA, 

Amongst the many verses addressed to 
our poet, on the publication of his tragedy 
of Gustavus Vasa, the following deserve a 
place ; especially as they were written by a 
gentleman to whom Mr. Brooke, at the time, 
had not the honour of being personally 
known. 

r 

TO MR, BROOKE, AUTHOR OF GUSTAVUS VASA, 

How different moves the fancy or the heart. 
What streams from genius, and what drops from 

art! 
The soft sweet-sounding kite delights and charms. 
But the bold trumpet animates and warjBs, 
VOL. II. B 



2 SROaKFANA. 

Excites each stronger movement of o«r soqIs, 

The murm'ring riv'let, aiid the flowery mead. 
The mind with easy^ gentle pleasures feed.; 
But when some larger prospect we survey. 
The starry regions, or th' vnbeunded sea. 
Whole tides of bliss, of an exalted kind. 
Flow in, to 611 the wide distended mind. 
Thus the soft pleasures polish'd art can give> 
From Waller*s tuneful numbers we receive ; 
But the strong raptures that ^genius pours. 
We fee) from MiUon's muse, and feel from^our-^. 

UNIVERSAL BEAUTY. 

In 173^5, Mr. Brooke published ** Uni- 
versal Beauty," a poem, without his name. 
It was very much read, £tnd admired for the 
truly religious and philosophical sentiments 
which it contained. The late Rev. Mr. 
Philip Skelton wrote these lines in one of 
the blank leaves of a copy which the author 
?ent him : 



BIOOKIAXA. S 

EX DONO 

AUTORIS 

HENRICI BROOKE, Arm. 

Amki dUectitsimi, ob mmbam eruditiimem^ ingemun 
4iUum, ted prm ommhu, pkUanthrofiam suMm;- 
imdolii mumUttem et pKtatem in tupcrosp semper 
quam maxime estimatidi, diligcndi. p. $. 

There are many passages in this poem, 
which, in point of sublimity, and harmony 
of numbers, vie with any in the Anti-Lucre- 
tius of Cardinal Polignac. Those into whose 
bands this work may* not have fallen, will 
•excuse the foUowing extract, which is the 
first that presented itself. It is taken from a 
-corrected copy by Mr. Brooke ; the altera- 
tions at the bottom are in hi^ own hand- 
writing. 

** Ye learn'd ■' who wisely can deny your god. 
And bani$h omnipresence with a nod. 
In shrewd contempt at final causes stiecr, ^ 

In wilful deafness shut the tortuous ear, i 

Vqt think ii suited to the sounds ye bear, '^ 

B 2 



4 £rook:iana. 

Who in your wisdoms, negatively spy. 
How Tain's the texture of the useless eye; 
AVhiJe fondly thus, prime reas'ners you'd com- 
mence. 
By literally exploding common seme. 
And plead for one concession (only due) 
That Nature must have en-'d— in forming you— 
Approach,. ye sages, to your parent earth 
Much wiser than the clods, on whom she iavrsh*d 

birth. 
* With deepest art her skilful plan she lays ; 

. With equal scale the least advantage weighs ; 
How apt for time, place, circumstance, and use, 

' She culLs all means, that to all ends conduce ; 
Isice to a point, each benefit selects. 
As prudent, ev'ry mischief she rejects; 

• How, even to ihe extent of Infinite Wisd^m^as 
nothing less could be the author, (vide supra, I, 305.) 
all is formed and contrived, and in that contrivance 
adapted, and in that adaption directed, and in that di- 
rection extended distinctly, andinthat distinction entirely, 
for the Hfe, light, and comfort, of the whole, and through 
that whole of every part of this our globe. (Of infinitely 
possible inconveniences) no one avoidable inconvenience 
being admitted ; as of infinite advantages attainable^ 
there is not one (consistent with the nature of tbif 
eanb) left out. 



BaeOKIAKA. 5 

la doe proportions time aod motion metes, 
* Advances to a hair, and to a hair retreats. 
Constant to good, fur tliat alone she veers. 
And with the varyiog beam her oil&pringchears; 
Ceob all beneath her equinoctial line. 
And gives the day throughout the world to shine ; 
The nitre from the frozen pole unseals. 
And to the Tropic ^eeds the pregnant gales ; 
Here leaves th 'exhausted y2i//bu; to recruit; 
Here plumps and burnishes the rip'uing fruit ; 
Superfluous hence withdraws the sultry beam. 
Here, drinks anew the vi vying flame ; 
Betums stiil f^ith&l to the laboring steer. 
Wide waves the harvest of the goldeu year ; 
Trades universal on from Pole to Pole, 
Inspires^ reviveSf and cultivates the whole ; 
Frugal (where lack f) supplies with what re- 

doundsy 
And here bestows, what noxious there abounds^ 
Tiu with the gift, and tlutt the giving, blest. 
Alike, throdghout of ev'ry wish possest. 
J Wrapt in her airy car, the matron glides. 
And o'er the Firmament, ascending rides, 

* And to a hair advances or retreats. 
f All want. 

X The wonderful texture of the air or atmosphere* ' 

B 3 



e BROOKIAKA. 

The sukik ma$8 its copious mantle 0pread|j^^ 

Its mantle wore of ekmental threads ; 

TV elastic flue of fluctuating air. 

Transfused iimsihle, tnfoldt the sphere | 

* With poinance delccate, pervades the wholes 

f Its ear, eye, hreath, and animaHng soul; 

J Active -^■^serene^-'^^omprest •^■^rare-'-'eooVd — or— 

vmrm*d ; 
For life— health— comfort — pleasure -—bns'ness 

— form'd ; 
Useful around— throughout— above— beneath— 
§ By this, the quadrupeds, the reptiles breathe ; 
II This gives the bloom of vegetative life ; 
^ Corrects the seeds of elemental strife; 

* Its surprising subtilty penetrating even deep below 
the surface of the eanh. 

t By which it is as it were one universal sense to 
-this our globe. 

% h% modification, admitting varioiis, contrary, and 
even seemingly inconsistent qualities, suited as well to 
the single and separate interests of every individual, as 
the entire and uniform weal of the whole. 

§ Communicating and continuing respiration to the 
animal creation. 

I As also an inferior or analagous respiration to all 
plants and vegetables. 

% Raising harmony from diiorderi and firiendahip 



* Bioodf t^et the eggt^ m airy caTem hki, 
(Warm'd^ in the down of their etherial bed) 
f GiTes motioa to the swimmers of the flood ; 
X QiweM mxmo to the warblers of the wood ; 
Rebounds in echo from the doubting TtAe, 
And wafts to hesf'n the nndalating gale. 
§ Here hosh'd^ translucid smiles the gentle calm ; 
Jl And here impearPd, sheds meek the show'ry 

balm; 
^ Salubrions here, a lively rapture claims. 
And cptMwni pnre the pestilential steams. 



from eomity,. by fermenting and reconciling heat and 
cold, the fiery and watery particles, for the better con- 
ception and genial prodoction of the beauties of nature. 

* Affording a commodious receptacle or nursery for 
the eggi of numberless animalcules. 

f ■ Coayeying the watery inhabitants in their element 
by the assistance of the swimming bladder. 

f Modulating and composmg as it were one univer* 
til organ for sound,. and music, so as the atmosphere 
becomes an entire harmony. 

$ Affording the pleasure and sweetness of serenity. 

I The nourishment of dews. 

^ And the health of winds, or ventilations that purge 
the noxious vapours, and preserve natiure fresh and 
vigeroos. 

B 4 



S BROOKIAKA. ' 

* Here buoys the bird^ high on the chrystal 

"wave. 
Whose level plumes the azure concaye shave ; 
f Here sits voluptuous in the swelling sail, 
(The vessel dapces to the sprightly gale.) 
% Its varied pow'r to various uses tends ; 
And qualities occult achieve contrarious ends ; 
With generating warmth fomenting breed. 
Or alimental, with nutrition feed ; 
In opposition reconcil'd to good. 
Alike the menstruum, as sustaining food. 



V 

• Wasting the winged tribes in their airy voyages* 
f Aud by a speedy navigation, spreading commerc 

and society throughout the globe. 

* The various influence of the air on all bodies ani- 
mate or inanimate : Fint in the generation of particu- 
lar beings ; then in their nutrition ; thirdly, affordiug-a 
healing balsam to the hunt or wounds of all creatures 
when recoverable, but if past remedy ; fourthly, has- 
tening their dissolution, to rid the world of the nuisance ; 
hy restoring the matter to its original principle of nati- 
vity ; fifthly, to send again the new modelled being, 
blooming afresh in animal life or vegetation. 

For the use of the atmosphere as a medium and 
imrFor> Me Part II. p. 4* 



BROOKIAKA/ 9 

Or there restorative-destructive here^ 
Here Nature's cra(2/tf— there her fun'ral bier, 
(With keen dispatch) on ail corruption preys, . 
And gratefiil, from our aching sense conveys ; 
Returns the bane into its native earth. 
And there revives it to a second birth. 
Renewed and brightenM like the minted ore. 
To shoot again to* life, more gorgeous* than 
before. 



POPE AND BROOKE. 

Letters, selected frmn a Correspondence be» 
twetn Alexander Pope, Esq. and Henry 
Bivoke, Esq, 

TO ALBXAMDEK POPE, ESQ. . 

I WAS much concerned that I Iiad not an 
opportunity of taking leave of you when I 
came for Ireland. I earnestly wished to see 
you, because I feared it was for the last time, 
and I wanted to thank you once for all, for 
much ^ood you have done me, and more 

* Splendid. 



10 BmOOXfiWA'r 

particularly' far r c f wii i y and passing jfmt 
friendly judgmenc upea some Knes of mine, 
that, indeed, were scarcety worth yottr 
reading; keep me from the vanity of think- 

^S y^^ '^'^^ ^^y <^oi'dial regard for me, I 
shouldthen lose the pleasure of reflecting 
that I esteem and most heartily love you, 
without an expectation of any rietum of the- 
like nature, as you have done me many kind- 
nesses, without the possibility of a recom* 
pence. 

I brought over a set of your works, andas 
I hear you every day in them^ I am tempted, 
perhaps impertinently, to put in my word ; 
I always considered you as a very worthy 
man, but I really never knew you till now. 

I remember Mr. Spence and I had a dis- 
pute about you one day in the park ; he as- 
serted you were the greatest poet that the 
world ever produced, but I differed from 
him in that respect ; I told him to the 
purpose, that Virgil gave me 'equal plea- 
sure. Homer equal warmth, Shakespeare 
greater rapture, and Mikon more astonish- 
ment, so ungrateful wiu^ I to refuse you your 



b&ookiana; II 

Aoe pmse, when it was not unknown 'to me 
that I got friends and reputation by your 
saying things of me which no one would 
have thought I merited^ had not you said- 
them. 

But I spoke without book at the time ; I 
bad not then entered into the spirit of your 
works, and I believe there are few who hare; 
Far be it from my intention, and farther be 
it from the power of any man to compluuent 
you ; I only speak the ruder parts of my 
sincerity, and am little concerned how I fail 
in point of ceremony, since I shall never 
fail in my good intentions towards you. 

Any one of your original writings is indis« 
putably a more finished and perfect piece than 
has been wrote by any other man ; there is one 
great and consistent genius evident through 
the whole of your works, but that genius 
seems smaller by being divided, by being 
looked upon only in parts, and that decep- 
tion makes greatly against you ; you are 
truly but one man through many volumes, 
and yet the eye can attend you but in one 
tingle view ; each distinct performance is a^ 
the performance of a separate author, and 



IS SftOOKIAKAi 

no one being large enough to contain yoi» 
in your full dimensions, though perfectly 
drawn, you appear too much in miniature ; 
your genius -is like your sense ; one is too 
crowded for a common eye, and the other 
for a common reader. Shall I dare to say 
that I am heartily angry at it, and that I 
wish all the profits of Homer were sunk in 
the sea, provided you had never improved 
him, but spent your time in excelluig him 
his own way. Is it yet too late ? 

I should not have presumed to express 
myself thus far if it had not come in my 
way, as I was going to speak to you upon 
a matte;* that is much nearer and dearer to 
me than even your fame. I have often 
heard it insinuated, that you had too much 
wit to be a man of religion, and too refined 
a taste to be that trifling thing called a 
Christian ; those who spoke this, perhaps, 
intended it to your praise, but to me it was a 
cloud that intercepted the brightness of your 
character ; I am amazed whence this could 
proceed, and I now feel that they little 
knew you« I had not read your Messiah, 



BROOKIAKA. 15 

your Ode of the dying Christian to his Soul, 
and your Letters to that great and good man 
the Bishop of Rochester, till very lately, 
and that at a time when sickQess indisposing 
me for light thoughts, gave me a true and 
affecting relvsh for them, and I am sure it is 
as impossible for any other than a Christian 
to write them, as it is for the best Christian 
to read and not be made better by them. 

I wish you had wrote more upon divine 
subjects, or that you would go on to make 
your ethics perfect, as I am confident you 
would rathc^ improve a single man to his 
advantage, than entertain thousands to your 
own fame. 

I have had a tedious illness since I saw you 
last, but I think I am growing better with 
change of air and exerciser I have now bet- 
ter health, and much more leisure than usual, 
and it would be no compliment to tell you, 
in my present disposition, that I would 
rather enjoy your friendship than all that 
crowds or courts could give me, for barely 
to say that I care for neither is ta spealk as 
charitably as 1 can. 



14 •SSOOKIAflA. 

May you Uvelongi Sir, to ghre profit to 
tiie woridy and pleasure to your fraends, to 
Jbe tbe shelter of such shrubs as I am, and to 
know that every sentiment I have^ is fall of 
love and respect to you, and that I am, with 
4iU truths your grateful and afifectionate 

H. BROOKS* • 

iTrww Mr. Pifpe. 

2>£ AR siRy JBath^ Dec. 1,1739. 

' Your's came to me no more than Iwq days 
•since, having been at Bath for some time on 
account of ill health ; it is impossible I should 
answer your letter any farther than by a sin- 
cere avowal that I do not deserve the tenth 
part of what you say of me as a writer ; but 
as a man I will not, nay, I ought not, in 
gratitude to him to whom I Owe whatever 1 
am, and whatever I can conf&ss, to his glory, 
I will not say I deny that you think no better 
of me than I deserve; I sincerely worship 
God, believe in his revelations, resign to his 
dispensations, love all his creatures, am in 
charity with all denominations of Christians; 



'hofwevet violently tb^ treat each other, 
taod detest none so much as that profligato 
race who would looeen the bands of moraUtjr^ 
either under the pretenoe of religion or 
free-thinking. I hate no man as a man, but 
I hate vice in any man ; I hate no sect, 
•but I hate uncharitableness in any sect.; 
thia much I say, merely in compliance with 
your desire, that I should say something of 
myself. 

I am truly glad of every opportunity to 
assist a man of your disposition, whose 
mcNfals go hand in hand with their talents, 
. and whose modesty is not spoiled by the ap- 
plause that is justly given to their merit; 
esteem such men I must ; it is no obligation 
on them but on me when I can serve-them, 
and, let me add, that the esteem I bear them 
is inseparable from so much affection as mnst 
.miake me a sincere friend to you, in whom I 
discover as many good qualities of the heart 
a« the head, and from my heart I wish you 
lyeakh and prosperity in every tiling you 
undertake, as I am convinced your ends will 
always be honourable. 



161 BROOKIANA. 

. Yoar accidental mention of the ill use 
some infidels would be glad to make of my 
writings, makes me send you a book just 
published by a person utterly a stranger to 
mci though not to my meaning, in which he 
has perfectly explained me in a vindication 
of the Essay on Man, from the. aspersions 
and mistakes of Mr. Crousaz ; it shall come 
to you by post, in one or two parcels, • 
franked, and I believe will be some satisfaC- 
tion to you and others upon that head. 
' Your's in truth and affection, 

ALEX. POPE. 

» 

To Alexander Pope^ Esq. 

DEAR SIR, 

Your letter and packet gave me the 
greatest pleasure. I have read the notes on 
your essay with attention, and think the 
author, in doing you bare justice, has wor- 
thily served the cause of virtue, and abased 
the triumph of those infidels who would 
fondly have hailed you as their patron. 



BROOKIAKA. 11 

• Upon reading this treatijtei your system 
appears so connected and evident, as by no 
means to want an explanation, and yet to 
assent that I saw thus much before I read it, 
would be to boast an understanding of which 
I am not master. The world could not make 
your poem any other than it is in itself; if 
it had not been just and clear at fust, if 
would never appear so afterwards, and yet' 
toward your readers these annotations h^ve 
all possible merit; their autJior not only re- 
moves those shades and mists that envy and 
ill-designs had interposed, but is also the 
Newton of your system, which he illustrates 
by sharpening and assisting our sight : he 
serves you only by enlarging our minds, he 
leads us on in a farther progression of 
tliought, and not suffering us to dwell upon 
particular beauties, gives us the compre- 
hension and higher relish for that beauty ». 
which results from the whole. 

• I own myself, among thousands, obliged 
to this ingenious writer, and no longer of- 
fended with Mr. Crousaz, from whose dark- 
ness such light has been educed. Indeed^ 

VOL. 11. c 



1$-. BROOKI'AlfA. . 

throtigh yoar wbpole life you faaihs been pair- 
ticalarly happy in your enemies ; yeu Aine 
brighter through the fire of a continued 
malice, than yoU could possibly have done 
from all the additional splendours of ^ulo^ 
gium and panegyric. 

If heaven has given me those talents j'ou 
mention, I am truly humbled in the indifie- 
rent use I have hitherto made of them ; the 
more my reason improves and expands it- 
self, it gives the greatest light to see my 
own weakness, to see the vanity of those 
things with which such an idle creature is 
still but too much embarrassed. Such as I 
am, be assured you hold the warmest place 
in my heart, and are entitled to see v all its 
furniture, its wealth, and also its lumber; 
at once it loves and detests, pursues and 
avoids, approves and despises the same 
succession of follies, empty honours, traitor- 
ous riches, unpleasing pomp, and unsatisr 
lying pleasures, and now is grieved, ^nd 
now is glad, to find that its only business in 
ibis world is to learn to leave it. 



BROOKIANA. 19 

I heartily thank you for that paragraph 
in your letter, which contains die generous 
assertion of your faith and principles. I 
sincerely wish you every acquisition that is 
necessary to your happiness or possible to ■ 
your fame, and only want you to know that 
I am more than ever, perhaps more than 
any man, your very affectionate servant, 

H. BROOKE.- 

Several letters of the above correspon- 
4e&ce have been lost or mislaid. 

CHARLES o'HARA. 

Mr, Charles O'Hara was born in the 
county of Louth, in the year ll?jS; his fa- 
ther, Mr. Patterson O'Hara, inherited a 
handsome landed property in the county of 
Antrim: ss the matiagement of it devolved 
to him when he was young, in consequence 
of the death of his father, and as he was 
besides of a gay disposition, and fond of all 
the. fashionable amusements of the day, he 
was obliged, in the course of a few years, 
to mortgage an estate, which with a little 

c 2 



20 BROOKIAHf. 

economy would have supported him in « 
genteel style. He had received a very good 
education^ imderstood Latin and Greek, 
and was besides well-acquainted with many 
of the best writers in the English language. 
As he had a turn for botany, he came to 
England in order to improve himself. His 
friends, however, forgot him in his absence, 
so that he was constrained to retire to Wales, 
where he married a young woman of a good 
family, with a small fortune. Charles was 
the only pledge of this union : as his father 
could not leave him any patrimony, he was 
determined that he should have a good edu- 
cation, which in those days was held in some 
estimation. Charles had scarce attained his 
eighth year when he was sent to a peda- 
gogue 



■■ ■ ■ Whose blood coagulated crept. 
Whom leaden Saturn at the natal hour 
Beheld congenial from his laggard orb. 
And bound his deadly faculties with ice* 

As Charles was a lively boy, and had 
learned to read and write English under the 



BROOKIANA. 21 

«ye of an indulgent father, -who usjbcI even 
to enter into his childish sports, so that the 
change had like to have cost him his life, 
for the rod, and the iterror in the man's 
countenance, had such an effect upon his 
gentle spirits, that he ran away from school, 
and was discovered by mere chance, in a 
wood, almost starved to death with hunger 
and cold. The schoolmaster, in a letter to 
Mr. O'Hara, represented his son as the 
greatest dunce that ever opened a Latin 
grammar, and that it would be mere loss of 
time and money to send him to any school. 
The father, however, entertained better 
hopes of the talents of his son, and as he 
found that he had a propensity for figures, 
he put a book of arithmetic into his hand, 
which he read over with so much avidity 
that the old man exclaimed, *' My son was 
born for things and not for words." As Mr. 
P.O'Hara had still a hankering after old Lily, 
be prevailed on Charles to venture a second 
time to the Lathi school, which he did, uftder 
a promise that his master would treat him 
with all the indulgence consistent with, the 

c 3 



22 BROOKIANA. 

neeessarji disoipline of thb school. Oki 
Synta:^ kept his word, it is tftte, but he had 
transferred the birchen gcepti^ to his son, 
whose rery Iboks were almost, sufficient, to 
tutn the trembling schoblbby into stone* 
Charles made his eseapis from school a sew 
cond time, but took care to leave the fol- 
lowing copy of verses behind him^ otk the 
hopes of the schoohnaster^s &mily. . 

The batter only profits by his bead. 
And if the plumber waits nntil he's dead, 
H'll have his brains— ^^nd they're of solid lead. 

His eye-brows vie in colour with the fox. 
With eyes like snails half-bury'd in their box; 
To what can I compare his lousy locks. 

And then, as to his teeth, full well I trow. 
They're in and out, and blacker than a crow. 
And you have heard, no doubt, of Rotten-row. 

But how shall I describe his walk and shape ? 
Unless that you have seen some half-starvM ape. 
Iff Madagascar's island, or the Cape*. 



♦ Cape of Good H6pe. 



•' 



BftCdklANA. is 

The scboolboy's tears^ ah ! theyVe his choicest 

drink. 
His heart is fill'd with gall; as black as iiik» 
Of e?'ry dirty vice^ the stagnant sink. 

His highest pleasure is to flog and rail^ 

With ghastly grin^ and cheeks as ihin and pale 

As >f grim Death had let him out on bail. 

' His father placed him under the tuition 
of Mr. Currin, in the town of Ardee, an 
exceUent mathematician, and a man of the 
most amiable manners. The facility and 
the felicity with which he communicated his 
instructions y formed such a contrast with 
young O'Hara's last teacher, that he felt his 
mind perfectly at ease, so that inclination, 
joined to talents rarely found in boys of his 
years, endeared him to his master and to all 
his schoolfellows, who could be won by gen- 
tleness of manners, and a readiness to assist 
them in their studies. His pursuits were not 
confined to mathematics alone ; he was pas- 
sionately fond of the English poets, his- 
torians, &c. and as he had an excellent me- 
mory, and a judgment that outstripped hii* 

c 4 



%4 BROOXIAHA/ 

years, it was difficult to hit upon a sub* 
}ect that he could not discuss \nth logical 
precision, and uncommon force of wrg^ 
ment. His fiather translated Livy into Eng- 
lish for his use; and his remarks on the 
prince of Roman historians are said, by 
judges who have seen them, to be irery 
good. Mr. O'Hara took a farm near Ca- 
bragh, in the county of Cavao, and as he 
had inspired his son with a love for botany 
and gardening, Charles quitted school, and 
came home to assist his father in planting a 
beautiful spot of ground, which he called 
Apple Walk. He was not long in this situ- 
ation when he married a Miss Hargrave, 
every way worthy of his hand: they wer© 
said to hit the handsomest pair in all the 
neighbourhood. This union, which was 
founded on mutual affection, promised a 
great deal of happiness, but what are our 
hopes! Mrs. O'Hara died in child-birth, to 
the great affliction of the best of husbands 
and a large circle of friends. Mr. Chailes 
O'Hara remained a widower for many y^ars^ 
tiU a4 length he found in Miss £)eanor 



BROOKIAMA. 25 

Smith,, daughter of Edward Smithy Esq. 
those charms of mind and person- of which 
deathhad deprived him. Mr. Charles 0*Hara 
was very mnch attached to Mr. Brooke; on 
the publication of his Fool of Quality, he 
wrote some observations on it which were 
very much. admired: he also wrote several 
pieces of poetry, many of which no doubt 
are now lost. The following is transcribed 
from memory, and, of course, not so correct 
as it jQowed from his pen. 

On the Death of the late Earl of Chatham. 

m 

WiiBN time, devolviog to our future sods. 
Shall spread the historic page> transmitted 
Faithful down of these ungracious days. 
Whether they tread these isles, now verging 

quick 
To all the horrors of despotic rule j 
Or range full free Columbu»*s fertile shores. 
Where liberty now rears her standard high, 
Chas'd by a servile, a corrupted crew. 
From this ungrateful land, where late we breath'd 
The gale of freedom, flung joyous from ten 
Tbousaiul wings, and ev'ry heart exulted. 



26 fillOOKTANA. 

WiN they belieye a people once jo blessed; 
So hoQour'd^ so renovroM^ as to their eye 
Shall then in shining tints be pictur'd out. 
Would sporn the glorious boon of Heaven, 
QrantM to heroes? Will they believe that men^ . 
Who boast fair reason as their dearest gnide, 
la this illumin'd age, assujne her port 
Of heavenly mien, and dictate as her sons; 
Who, placed on high, to serve at freedom's 

shrine. 
Support her throne, and guard the sacred dome; 
Instead of minist'ring sweet peace from thence. 
With base infernal art, would use their pow*r 
To sap the vast foundation of that pile, 
Eais'd and cementM by their country's blood; 
And that amid the general wreck in view. 
Their own must be involv'd with all their sons : 
Posterity will dash the seeming falsKood 
Down, and s^vear 'tis all a lie. 

But when all-awful to their wond'ring sight 
Thy character, O Pitt, and glorious deeds 
Appear, how will the attentive eye be drawn. 
And dwell with rapture on the page! He whose 
Comprehensive mind, active, deep, and strong. 
Ready to see events from causes 3'et 
In embrio, and catch with instant hand 



BROOKIANA. 27 

The ofFer'd good ; or, with preventiTe arm. 
The hidden mischief to oppose. Or if 
Impending dangers o'er his country hung. 
What, tho' full-charg'd the storm, tho' light^nings 

play'd 
And thunders rolPd,— his penetrating eye . 
From pole to pole quick glancing, saw from 

whence . 
The rising ruin sprung; nor<7allia'8 wishes * 
Nor secret foes at home could ^scape its beam. 

With energy divine he weighM the state 
Of things, thence drew his schemes of vast 

design. 
And sudden as the bolt of heaven, the well 
Concerted plan was launch'd against the foe ; 
He gave th^ word, and willing thousands flew, 
Victoria with the hardy legions joinM, 
And Bourbon trembi'd to her inmost seat. 

. When from his lips the nervous periods flow'd. 
Such as of old iramortaliz'd thee Rome, 
Attention sweetly hung upon the sound 
Imbibing truth and strong conviction ; 
For truth and reason stampt him for their own. 
No deep evasive wiles or arts were his. 
No tricks of slate, mysterious to theworld ; 



M BROOKJAHfA. 

Wrapping in night deceit and tyranny. 
His country lean'd upon his (honest breast. 
Nor was deceiv'd : safety and glory theft 
Were her's, and ev^ry heart and ev'ry tongue 
Were his. But oh ! humiliating thought 
To men and Britons; this wond^us man. 
Lent us by heaT'n, to be the guardian 
Of our land, when foes grew high, and raised it 
Far above the nations round. 
When this accomplish *d, by exalted means. 
And Albion singing high and loud his praise. 
Joined by each section of the listening globe^ 
Must it be told that he was cast behind. 
Rejected, railM at, by the men he sav'd ? 
O let the day be blotted from the round 
Of time, or tenfold light enwrap jt close ! 

As he of Gaza in the temple stood 
And tore, with dreadful force, the pillars down, 
Whence horror rous'd, and ruin did ensue. 
So England, when thy Chatham was remov.'d, 
A mighty pillar crackM in Fielidom'sfame; 
Whether rent or ruin followed since 
A western world, quite lost, can best proclaim.; 
When a pliant venal haughty senate 
Aim'd at boundless rule, and arrogating 
Powers unknown before; 



BKOQKIAKA. 19 

Ministers of base renown^ whose names will 
Stink till Yirtue^ vice^ and Britons^ are no more. 
Chatham arose^ and 
CalmM it for a while ;•— again it came^ 
With tenfold fury, in bearing him dov^n. 
And all who nobly join'd. The giant strides 
Of power, with anguish deep he saw, and all 
The dismal train behind. His health impair'd. 
His influence gone, his virtues quite forgot. 
And ruin hanging round, 'twas quite too much : 
The horrid scene he could no longer bear. 
Yet tried to make one effort more. 
His breast was agitated high, and his 
Big heart began to burst, too greaf the conflict 
And too great his soul, was struggling to get free. 
He fell, and Britaia mournM, and ever will, the 
faU/ 

Hie Stiestionj inscribed to Lady . Caroline 

Jtussel^, 

■Y MR« BROOKl* 

From our frail sire, who first knew sin. 
Thro' every stage of age and youth. 

The world's Grand Question still hath been, 
" Whence is Beauty, what is Truth ?^ 



ii> 



* The present Duchess of Marlborough. 



sot BROOKIAWAr 

This to resolve, or to inquire. 

Employed the Icarn'd of every age; 

Alike perplexM the son and sire. 
The dull, the subtle, and the sage. 

At lengtli, impatient of delay. 

The world agreed no more to wait ; 

But cast disputed truth away. 
As well from practice as debate. 

Then Beauty, on unrivall'd ground^ 
Sole cause of contest, stood alone ; 

And every kn.igbt hath form'd, or found, 
A favourite Princess of his own. 

To magic itumberis, one confines 

The castle where the chaiftner dwells; 

And one, to corresponding lines 
Of angles, cubes, and parallels. 

By sounds of soft attraction led , 
Her power the man of music feels: 

The scholar dreams she's in his head; 
The dancer swears she's in his heels. 

In pleasure some, and some in state. 

Their* cloud-composed .Enchantress spy; 

And, from ambition's toyrery height. 
She catches many a wishful eye. 



^ Ixion war enamoured of a cloud that represented 

Juno. 



BKOOKIANA.: St 

Id 8yiniiietr]r> disoerners riew 
A glance of Beauty's real Qoeen ; 

And nearer, by a chosen few. 
The Sentimental Fair is seen* 

But each, like knights of old emprize, 
(Whatever his present flame) requires. 

That all should find conforming eyes^ . 
And join to bow— ^where he admires. - 

To fix this fire of wand'ring love. 
Supernal Power resolvM to shew. 

That yvhat was Truth in Heav'n above, 
Alone made Beauty here below. 

For this. He purposed to condense 
What angels felt of good or bright. 

With Sentiment to strike the sense. 
And giv^ the Charm of Soul to sigiit. 

At length the Plastic Power descends 

With Heaven's select ingredients fraught; 

To earth his beamy flight he bends. 
And into substance features thought* 

From Zembla's frozen clime, he chose 

A quantity of virgin-air. 
For Lucid organs, to compose 

The moving fabric of his Fair. 



SS BtOOKIAHA* 

With this he blends the portion doe. 
Nine mhr rays of moroiag light. 

To give a blush of chastest hue. 
As deep and warm, as pure and bright* 

From .HybJaV sweets^ that breathe in* fame. 
He press'd the prime of bloom and blood ; 

And, through the soft transparent frame. 
He poux'd the aromatici flood. 

Sphered in the center, as a sun, 
Within he hung the cordial freight^ 

Which from Eternal Truth he won. 
And bid the EmbosomM Heaven to beat. 

From number^ music, sisters twin. 
He .caught the magic of the face; 

And, from the sentiment within. 
He pictured motion^ mien, and grace* 

Thus folding, in one radiant frame, 

£ach beauty .humanly-divine» 
Fie gave his system up to fame. 

And mortals call hep— Caroline* 



iit(K)icrAKA. 3:$ 



MIU ROGER COX. 

Roger Cox, of facetious itiemoty, was 
parish clerk of Laracor, when Dr. Swift was 
inducted into that vicarage. The Dean was 
very well pleased with the native wit of his 
clerk, but' still more so with his good hu- 
mour, which was never known to be clouded 
under any misfortune, of which he some- 
times had his share. Their dispositions 
in many respects were similar; their reU- 
' gious -and political principles the same ; 
both fond of a pun and a joke, if well sea- 
soned, even with Milesian salt; so that, to 
use Roger's own expressions, the pulpit and 
the reading-desk were always on the best 
terins, though they used to havo word abfeut 
with each other. Roger was a boon compa- 
nion^ a welcome guest at every feast and 
drinking-bout, the last to call for the reck- 
oning; and the first to pay it. Mr. Brooke 
always spoke of him with great affection : 
he' intended at one time to have given a bio- 
gtaphical sketch of him, for which purpose 

VOL, II. D 



34 BROOKIANA. 

he had collected some materials, which, in 
all probability, are now lost. 

The reader will judge of his poetical ta- 
lents from the following : 

The Landlord. 

my JLOGBR COX. 

Dear Pat, of late you seem so sad. 

The times I Icnow are very bad ; 

Take courage, man, they can't be worse, 

I wou'dn*t give a single curse 

For one that lets his spirits sink. 

When he can sleep, and eat and drink. 

For drff'rent wounds we're different salves. 

You've still three cows, and they have calves. 

You have a mare as black as jet. 

You have one lamb, and that's a pet ; 

Ypu have some barley in your barn. 

And three good webs of home-spun yarn ; 

You have a suit of cloaths for Sunday, 

And you'll begin to plough on Monday ; 

Your family are all in health. 

Why, Pat, you wallow in your wealth; 

Then, tell me, why of late so sad ? 

5 know the times are very bad. 

But when they're at the worst they'll mend» 

Speak out, yoa know that I'm your friend I 



BBiOOKIANA. S$ 

Pat heard his friend with patience out. 
And only begged heM turn about ;— 
Yen see that house on yonder hill, 
I swear then by St. Columbkill. ; 
Long as that house is in my sight, 
I cannot j^est by day or nighty 
Mv landlord riots 'neath its roof. 
His heart is steel'd, its musket proof; 
In matiners he's a perfect bruin. 
His whole delight his tenant's ruin ; 
The widow's tears can't quench his thirst. 
Of all men breathing he's the worst : 
Long 418 that house is in my sight, 
I cannot r^st. then day or night ; 
It brings to mind the half-year's day^ 
The cash, or all is swept away. 

Interest like Rust. 

•Y THE SAMt* 

Th«y say that gold can never rust. 
Oh ! these are words as light as dust ; 
For you w^ll know, my dearest honey^ 
That interest is the rust of money, 
A rust that preys like any canker, 
I'll leave it now to any banker. 
A rust that gold cannot escape, 
hi any weight, in any shape. 

D 2 



36 BROOtCIANA. 

And now, td prove what IVe wfstrted. 

By facts that can't be controverted, 

Tom Smith, you know, lent me ten |Hnind, 

There's music in the very so^nd. 

The time ran on from day to day, 

Tom never ask'd me when Pd pay ; 

It then ran on from year to year. 

At length he whisperM in ray ear, 

'* Dear Rory don't forget, you know*^— 

I won't forgot— it shall be so-*- 

So sure as Swift sticks to his text. 

So sure Pll pay you Monday next. ^ 

I kept my word, and brought the cash. 

And as I thought to cut a dash. 

Put twenty guineas in my purse. 

Long hoarded up by ray good nurse * ; 

Tom handed me a long account. 

But can you guess 4he whole aoiount ? 

Why, then, to save yo« all that trouble. 

The whole I swear was nearly doubie ; 

At first, in truth, it struck roc dumb, 

I found it right, and paid the sum. 

Henceforward let it not be t^ld. 

By young, by middle ag'd, or old. 



* Hit Wife- 



XHOOKIAKA. 37 

Tlfit purest gold is free from rust^ 
No, interest is a canker^tf crust, 
Tbat prays on gold and precious stones. 
As some disease preys on the bones. 

The Deserted Fair. 

BY THX SAMS. 

How could you part, dear Ned, with Bell, 

I question if yourself can tell ? 

I thought you cuu'dn't live without her. 

Have you heard any thing about her. 

That lessenM her in your opinion? 

Where will you find so fair a minion ? 

Her lip a cherry bath'd in dew, ^ 

Her cheeks, I canH describe their hue. 

For e'en the rose-bud will not do; 

Her hair, the dawn of orient skies. 

And then, again, her sloe-black eyes^ 

Enough to set a saint on fire. 

What more would mortal man desire. 

Verses- written in the Marriage Hegistn: 
Book of the Parish of Laracor. 

BY THB IAMB. 

Sam Butler was a man of wit. 
And ev'ry sentence that he writ,. 

D 3 






8S .IROOKIAKA. 

• 

Was founded on some well known practieeV 

" No argument Kke natter of fact is ;** 

Well^ Sammy says^ and who can doubt it^ 

Unless you say too much about it. 

That even wedlock is a beast^ 

(I hope I quote him right at least) 

That's always doom'd to carry double. 

And to encrease bis weight and th)ub]e ; 

Still in a dirty way that's worse,, 

I'm sure I pity the poor hoft^. 

Or ass, or mule^ or beast of burden,. 

But let your poet clap a word in :— 

This case may happen yery oft. 

But I can tell you fair and soft, 

Pve known myself exceptions to it 

Though some may say they nerer knew it. 

*Twas, Pm sure, on Monday last,. 

That Kate and Ned were tied so fast. 

That Time himself, tlio* he should try it, 

I*m very sure will ne'er untie it. 

And' Death will scarce dissolve the bands. 

That bind such mutual hearts and hands; 

They both were tied by Dr. Swift, 

And Kate had put on her best shift ; 

With cap and handkerchief as white. 

As snow on a December night. 



SROORIANA. 39 

And Ned was drest just as he should be. 
In home-spun clolh as neat as couM be* 
The roses bloomM on Kitty's cheek—* 
Dear ! I could think of her a week ; 
So youngs so innbcent, and fair, 
I neyer saw so blest a pair. 
This marriage, sure, was made in Heay'n, 
And free from matrimonial leayen : 
To see somie brides, whom I haye seen. 
Eat up with vanity and spleen^ 
As Hymen with a sickly torch. 
Conducted them into the porch ; 
The groom, as he approachM the altar. 
Appeared to drag her with a halter. 
And scarcely seated in. her carriage. 
Not half an hour afler marriage. 
In spite of all her sacred vows. 
Of soft submission to her spouse^. 
She claim'd the breeches as her due. 
And wore them from that moment too. 
But Ned, thy case was different quite. 
Hymen for. thee prepared a light, 
A saffron robe, a. smokeless torch. 
Nor did he quit you in the porch. 
You never thought of line or halter, 
With modest step you sought thealtur,. 

D 4 



40 BltOOKFAVA. 

You led 6a Kate, and aothiDg loath». 
The Bector smi4'd apoa you both : 
I love to see the Doctor amile« . 

For its the sun-shine of (Mjir isle. 

• «•••••♦• 

Catcra desunt. 

As the subject is parisib*clerk poetry ^ it 
may not be improper to close tbb article 
with the following : 

Lints fmmd in the Publication JRegisicr of 
St. Marys Churchy Lancaster, 

BY THS PARItH eLlRK»1799. 

A WEDDING is a serioujj thing. 
Yet grist unto the church doth bring ; 
The gentle god of soft desires. 
Like miller's hath his wings and stycrs; 
His legs and arms for sails he tries,. 
Each gust of passion air supplies. 
That turns around the whole economy. 
Like vortices in Carte's Astronomy : 
For love like mill sails answers most,. 
When at due intervals 'tis crost. 
To make the wings revolve with ease^ 
Dame Fortune must supply hec grease^. 



BKOORIANA.' 4t 

And draw from horn of plenty spoils. 

As razor-grinder draws his oils. 

With which self-interest anoints. 

Intestine members, limbs, and joints. . 

Th' allusion boldeth good in sails, 

Alas ! in other things it fails ; 

The miller, when it is his pleasure 

Can stop his windmill at his leisure ; 

He needs but use the methods proper. 

And straight he silenceth the hopper ; 

Bqt women's tongues, which make, alack ! 

As all men know, a louder clack ; 

lo^eild of stopping, run the faster. 

The foefe they're check'd by lord and master 

Hot yet can wedlo<;k make a shift. 

Unfruitful tares from wheat to sift ; 

Or wiiiaow out the chaff with wind ; 

But Heathens painted Cupid bhnd« 

He that of wedlock takes his swill. 

Becomes ag fast as thief iu mill. 

If he hath knotted once the noose. 

Struggle he may, but not get loose ; 

Venus hears sighs but nerer groans. 

And priests themselves are deaf as stones. 

Would I could cry with holy Paul, 

** Women ! I do renounce yoo all!'* 



42 SBO0Kf4KA. 



DEAN SWIFT. 

Mr. Brooke was introduced to Dean 
Swift, by Mrs. Fleming, of Belleville, in the 
county of Cavan, a lady of great wit, but of 
great prudence in the management of it. 
The Dean was heard to say a few days after 
the introduction, " that Mr. Brooke wa3» a 
young man of genius, but he was sorry to 
find that genius incline to poetry, which, of 
all other pursuits, was the most unprofit- 
able.'*^ Swift took notice of him in company, 
and as he could easily discover that Brooke 
was very diffident of his own talents, he 
always spoke to him in a friendly tone of 
voice, and never asked his opinion of any 
matter that he thought beyond hiis powers, 
or that might in the least embarrass him; 
This indulgence was not lost on Brooke ; 
he could not discover any thing of that 
austerity in the Dean, which was generally at- 
tributed to him, especially in a circle of coun- 
try 'squires, or those that affected to know 
more than country 'squires. He saw that the 



BRaOKIANA. 43 

Dean treated all those with silent eontempt^ 
as conscious of the superiority of his own 
powers, and the rank he would one day 
bold amongst diQse wba were capable of 
appreciating those powers. Brooke also re- 
verenced the Dean for his patriotism, which 
the enemies of the Dean would insinuate to 
have arisen from disappointment ; and, when 
they found that they could not lessen his re- 
putation as a patriot on this ground, they 
even attacked the moral character of the 
man, and thought to enlist the sex on their 
side ; but, the Irish ladies \votdd not desert 
the Dean on any account, as they said, he 
only held up a mirror to them, in which 
they might dress their minds, as well as their 
persons, to the greatest advantage The 
lines on Hamilton's Bawn furnished hi:$ 
foes with a malicious story, that had not the 
least foupdation in truth. Mr. Brooke 
thought himself bound to scout it in a paper, 
which was published in a periodical work, 
called, " The Shepherd ;" but, as that 
paper is not at hand, perhaps the following, 
by Dr. Campbell, will put that invidious 
^e to rest. 



44 BftOOKIAKA* 

^^ As Swift was a writer , cujus gbria mqm 
profutt quisguam htudando, nee vUuptnmd^ 
obfuit, I should only have mentioned his 
name, had I not seen a letter of his, and 
never published, which entirdy acquits him ^ 
of that breach of hospitality laid to his 
charge, from s^me passages in his HamUUnCs 
Banm *. The letter was written to that Dr. 
Jeimj/j refMresented in the poem as' looking 
so like a Ninny ; the purport of it is, to ao 
quaint the Doctor (then Rector of Ano^h, 
in the neighbourhood of which he spent the 
summer) bow he passed his time. Among 
other amusements, he mentions that of writ* 
ing this very poem, the motives which ex- 
cited him to it, and the effects it produced ^ 
and, so far was it from giving umbrage to 
the lady, or jealousy to the knight, that 
every addition be made at night, came up 
with the bread and butter, as part of the &^ 
tertainment next morning, and all parties 
ex]!$re9sed the utmost satisfaction* One of 

* Naw in the posseMioa of Lord Cremoae.. 



BROOKIANA. 45 

the misrepresentations of this afFair, gave 
occasion to the following epigram, writtein 
by the curate of Lord Orrery's ovm town of 
Caledon : 

A sore disease this scribbling itch is^ 

His lordship in his Pliny vein. 
Turn* Madam Pilkington in breeches. 

And now attacks our patriot Dean. 

What ! Kbel his friend when laid in ground ; 
Nay, geod Sir, you may spare your hinta^ 
. His parallel at last ts found. 

For what he writes George Fai^i^vner prints. 

Had Swift provoked to fhis bchaviouf. 
Yet after death resentmeat cools ; 

Sure his last act bespoke his favour^ 
He built an hospital for— fools. 

This alludes to St. Patrick's Hospital for 
Lunatics and Idiots, for the founding of 
which Swift bequeathed bis fortune ; or, to 
use his own words. 

He left the little wealth he had^ 
To build a house for fools and mad. 
And shew'd by one satyric touchy 
Ko nation wanted it so much. 



46 BROOKIANA. 

Mr. Brooke presented Swift with a tr&ns-- 
lation into the Italian of the verses which 
Lord Boyle sent with the present of a book 
to the Dean, on his birth-day, as well as 
those which Dr. Delaney sent with a silver 
ink-stand, on the same occasion. They 
were composed by Mr. Thomas Barry, a 
clergyman then resident in Rome. As it is 
not known they were in print, those who are 
lovers of Italian poetry, and proud to read 
that ibe fame of Swift even then had flown 
beyond the Alps, will excuse the insertk)n 
of them. The Dean thanked Mr. Brooke in 
the kindest manner for his communication. 

Poema di My Lord Boyle, per secondare la 
pratica che trovai introdotta da' suoi amici^ feci 
regalo al Dottore Swift, pel giorno sno nata 
lizio di un libro di carta bianca, riccameqte le- 
gata ; e scrissi nella prima pagina i versi se« 
quenti. 

CoNTE Di Orrery, lett. 15. 

Diletto Amico, quest! intatti fogli 

A Te ne mando, e il don piccolo, e yero ; 
Ma, Tu, benigno, lo ricevi, e accogli, 

Che amic<|i^ quei, che Te io invia, sincero* 



JI&OOKIANA. 47 

Questo povero libro essere indegno 
Delia tna cnra non pensar ; che.poi> 
.Se del tuo gradimento il rendi degno, 
Chi sa qual pre^zo mai dar Tu gli puoi ? 

Benchd pomposo adesso, e di Tirilla 
Simile al^olto, in fronte colorito, 
Che quale orpello lucido scintilla, 
IH mendicate grazie rivestito; 

Benchi^ simili a veste ornato d'oro^ 
Splendino le coperte, veder fasi^ 
A«hi riguardanelP interno loro^ 
Che una tabula ^asa in quelk stas^i ; 

Ha se poi Bna venal corotta etade 
Provocasse.gianunai lo tuo furore, 
Od -i Tj^zi modeimi ; -o se |>ietade 
B disesa chiedesse al tuo gran core. 

Qoalche Paese al precipizio appresso, 
Nel sao fato imminente, o qualche stato, 
Che dall' orgoglio altrui restasse oppresso 
Ti reqercasse per ilsuo aTvocalo ; 

AHora noi Tedrem, con meraviglia^ 
Queste carte n«trir gravi pensieri. 
E, con sorpresa delle nostre ciglta, 
Spiej[ar^ .^arlauti, seotimenti alien. 



4^' MOOKSfAKA. 

ArricchiH^ogtil 0paiMo, di elo^eam, 
La vetSL foTzt, ed il sdi^ V/^rxMO 
Del tup graa spirto> e della tua ^iensa 
Dispensera^ che in lui m trotaa«co66. 

Informer^ il gmdi^io, e i cor pA a^ietti 
Animera d' iBSoHto ardiiAento ; / 

E i tuoi sacri, politic! precetti ' 
Compartira coHo suo mqto accefito. 

Le dorat« coperte, che d* ttiganno 
Furo alia squardo col rtluiier l^vo 
Con pompa vaiva^ piSnoiv \^ moMio; 
Ma> gnideranci a quelle miiie d' oro. '' 

Ove nel suo nativo ahno spleadore, 
L*alma tua'grande tatta ne scinti!la> 
E del too spirto il cclestral fulgore, 
E il gran saper, che il hibro tuo distilla. 

Cosi, qualora wn' amorasa Bella, 

Che abbia il froF di beltade in se facc&lto, 
Osserva Foechio, che ne ammira ia qtiella 
Col la forma gen til, Tarra del volto. 

Ma quango mat creece i^piacerch* ei profa- 
Tra tante gvaeie, e in contemplaado qtfeste, 
Se tutt« snperate ei le ritrova, 

■ 

Con'suostupfji'^da an sprrito <;eieste« . 



\ 



BROOKIAVA. 49 

RiPOSTA del DoTTORE Swift. 

Di carta bianca un libro 
Da Bc^k ^ a me inviato^ 
Che e troppo ben dorato 
Perch^ io Pabbiaad imbtattar j 
. Argentea scrivania 

Delany ancor mi dona 
Or che la destra mi a 
Non k quasi piu biiona 
La penna a maneggiar. 

Di una Musa defunta . 

Intorno al Mausoleo, 

Piuttosto per trofeo 

Debbono alzarli un di. 
E ogni encomio eccellente 

Che in lode avranno scritto 

•Del mio spirto languente, 

Che sconsolato^ e afflito 

Da gran^tempo parti. 

Incidin da ambo i lati 
In colonne^ e ci6 fia 
Vie piu d'ogni opra mia^ 
• YOL, II, B 



50 BROORIAKA. 

A me di gloria, e onor « 

Affinche di furore, 
D'invidia, odio e dispetto* 
Scoppi pel gran dolore 
Ai vandali nel petto, 
Dei Qostri tempi il cor. 

INSCRIPTION TO DEAN SWIFT. 

As Mr. Brooke was one day trayelllng on 
the Chester-road) on his way to London, he 
chanced to alight at a neat public-house, 
near Murden-well, known in those days by 
die name of " The George in the Tree?* 
The neatness of the parlour, and the civi* 
lity of the host, did not escape the notice of 
our traveller, who, notwithstanding the 
many cotnpliments of the kind, which Boni- 
face, it seems, was in the constant habits of 
receiving ; yet, he was so well pleased with 
those of Mr. Brooke, that he ran over the 
names of many respectable characters, who 
had called^ and even slept at his house ; and, 
amongst the latter, he raised his voice in a 
degree of exultation, when he mentioned the 
name of Dean Swift. " Yes," added he. 



BROOKIANA. . 51 

** D,ean Swift slept a night beneath this 
humble roof; and, if you read what is writ- 
ten on that pane of gbtss, you'll find what I 
say to be true.'* Mr. Brooke read, with 
pleasure and surprize, the following inscrip- 
tion, written by a person who had slept' in 
the public-hpuse on the same night : 

J» S. D. S. P. D. hospes igiiotds, 

I&tne (ut nuDC est) plusquam rellet notui 

Tempestate pulsus^ . 

*His pemoctavit 

A,D.17— '' 

That is, Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Pktrick^s, 
Dublin, an unknown gnesti but in his own conn« 
try (sach as it now is) more known than he 
coqld wish to be; being driven by a storm^ 
lodged here all nighty iu the year of our Lord 
17—. 



X 2 



The following f^erses were written by aiftMig 
Scottish Geritleman (Mf. R-^y) , an tntu 
mate Acquaintance of Mr, Brooke. 

[On St. Andrew's Day, and the Dean's Biitb-day.] 

, All hail 1 propitious day ! \irhose sacred btamsj 
Shed bliss on different realms^ by various streams. 
Scotia^ through death, her life and power main* 

tains. 
And Life, this day, Hibernia frees from chains. 
The martyrM saint, i;vith looks of pityiirg grace. 
Discerns his charge, while prayers supply his 

place. 
The saint on earth, to vows joins active zeal, 
.And blessings wish'd, his hands are taught to 

deal; 
Let Scotia bliss expect froiii jTHirew's shrine, 
Our hopes of Life, O Swift ! are wrapt in thine. 

MR. JAMES R — DS. 

In the list of the friends and admirers of 
Mr. Brooke, it would not be fair to pass 
over the name of Mr. James R— -ds. He was 



BROOKIANA* i»S 

born in Hertfordshire, and came with his 
father to Ireland about the sixth year of hi& 
age. As his father did not entirely depend 
on the harvest of th^ next year's sickle, he 
was determined to bring up his son a phy* 
sician, as many of his ancestors had been 
successful in the healing art; but Nature 
iat^ndied that he should excel, with a littlef* 
cultivation y in that science which may be 
called the soul of all the rest, namely, music j 
the father, whose ear was only attunM to the 
plowman^s whistle, thought that a little time 
would wean the affections of James from a 
pursuit, which he deemed excuseable in the 
blind only, or in women who were too feebly 
to bind sheav^^^imake cheese. The son 
was determined to follow the bent of his ovvn 
genius ; and, as he thought he would not be 
missed out of a large family of girls and 
boys, he gathered the little he had together, 
and set out for Spain, unknown even to his 
mother, whom he loved beyojnd his own life. 
He had an uncle in that Country, who re- 
ceived him with great affection ; and, though 
he was a merchant, and of coui:Ke kn^w ijif 

• JE 3 



I»4 BROOKIANA. 

Talue of money, yet he did not upare any 
expence to have his nephew instructed in 
music and the Spanish language. At the 
end of ten years, he returned to his father^s 
farm-house. The whole family wept over 
him with tears of joy, which had such an 
effect upon him, that he declared he would 
live and die with them. Mr. Brooke was 
very kind to bim, and he has been known to 
say, ^^ that the happiest moments of his life 
were those he passed in conversation with 
the author of the Fool of Sualiiy?^ He was 
fond of reading books of Travels, which en- 
creased his natural propensity for visiting 
foreign countries to such a height, that, not- 
withstanding all his declarations and resolu- 
tions to live and die at home, he set out in 
nsi for Hungary, with a design of tra- 
velling through that country on foot. As 
his relatives have received no account of him 
for some time, it is probable he now enjoys 
that peace and harmony, which he loved, in 
the kingdom of spirits. Of his epistolary 
correspondence, the followiiig are, perhaps, 
the only remains The two first letters are 



BROaKIANiU 55 

written to Mr. Brooke, and the tlurd to Dr. 
Stratford, already noticed in this work. 

Clonesy May 8. 

• MY VERY GOOD SIR, 

I DID not expect to write to you till I 
got to my journey's end ; but, as it is likely 
to raiath« whole of this day, I think I can« 
not employ my time to more advantage than 
in vmting to you. If Monaghan was a ma- 
ritime county, I should like to live in it ; but, 
jis it is, I should like to visit it once a-year, 
especially in May, which has always been 
my favourite month in every country ; for, 
if it is not the first it is the direst in the 
year ; so says the great high-priest of all the 
nine. This county has been very aptly 
< compared to a dish of green codlins in sum- 
mer, and to a parcel of eggs in salt in win- 
ter.* At the foot of every hill there is a 
brook , or a river, witli a few lakes that expand 
their silver beds over many hundred acres *. 

m i - ■ - - . . > — 

* The lakes of Kilcrow, near Coothilly and JSarraCx 
near Caitleblancy, are beautiful and extensive, 

E 4 



56 BROOKIANA. 

Clones is the capital of the beautiful barony 
of Partray ; it is seated on an eminence, and 
abounds with many remains of antiquity: 
such as tumuli, a round tower, &c. In those 
days, when every castle was haunted, when 
every hall had its fairies, every cave its genius, 
and every chimney-comer its lares, the 
curate of Clones was patronized by St. Tm^ 
gemach *. Mr. Roper is rector of the ex- 
tensive parish of Clones ; be is very much 
beloved, and deservedly, for he is a man of « 
peaceable disposition, and unUmited bene- 
volence. As far as I have travelled, I have 
observed more orchards in this county than 
in any Other in this kingdom,; and as they 
are in general well sheltered, t am sure they 
must produce a great deal of fruit, but I do 
not fitid that they make any cyder of them.; 
they brew good ale, which I prefer, even to 
the Latin grape. The farmers, who have 



♦ Sir James Ware itates, that in the library of St, 
Sennet's College, Cambridge, there is a life^f this 
saint in manuscript; but, on enquiry, it is not found (o 
be there. . 



BEOOKIANA. 51 

long leases, are very industrious, but I don't 
find that they have made any experiments in 
agriculture ; they are content to tread in the 
steps of their fathers ; if you talk to them of 
any writings on the subject, they laugh at 
you, and cbcclaim, What can a book-man 
know of farming ? The Protestants and the 
Roman Catholics live in very friendly terms; 
I am gkd of it. — We worship one God, and 
we honour the same king : Now, the deity 
mttst tie pleased to find fellow-worshippers 
live in brotherly love together ; and the king 
must be. plea^seii that one class of his sub* 
jects would not wish to lord it over the 
others : — God forbid — the tenets of protes- 
iuktismi are written in milk, and I hope that 
wik. will never be stained with blood. I am 
ndt ^ufrprised that all the poetry Spencer 
wrote in Ireland, abounds with such, exqui- 
site imagery ; for, I don't know* any coun- 
try in which he could meet with 50 many 
.fine shadows, gently swelling hills, purple 
meads, and mis-shapen mountains. The 
fair sex, especially those of the higher order, 
ju'e as fond of dress as their neighbours, and 



Heaven knows they hare little -occasion for 
it) as Nature is uncommonly bountiful in 
figure and complexion. As to their minds, 
I canH say much, for I have convcf)rsed with 
Tcry few of them. It is said, there are fewer 
old maids in this county than in any other 
throughout Ireland ; this is a proof, at least, 
that love and matrimony are on good terms. 
The roads are good, and the hedges are well 
planted, so that it is pleasant to travel, either 
t>n foot or horseback. I called «m Dr. 
Campbell *, at Kilewen ; he received me in 
€L very kind manner, and enquired after your 
"health in the most affectionate terms. A man 
of modest demeanour, facetious conyersa- 
tion ; a healer of breaches, and always ready 
to relieve the distressed. He gave me the 
lines which he promised you, and with which 



■* Thomas Campbell, L.L. D. Rector of the parish 
of Drumswordt, and Chancellor of St. Macartia 
Clogher; author of the Philosophical Survey of the 
South of Ireland ; Strictures on the Eccletiattical and 
Literary History of Ireland, .&c. 



BUOOKIANA; 59 

shall close this letter, with my very best 
vwishes, fcc. 

JAMES R--rDS. 

Inscription for a Statue of Chaucer^ at Wood- 
stock, 

Such was OFd Chaucer^ such the placid mien 
Of him who 6rst with harmony informed 
The language 6f our fathers. Here he dwelt 
For many ^cheerful day. These ancient wsills 
HaiVe often heard him, while his legends blithe 
He- sang; oflove, or^knighthood, or the wiles 
Of homely life; through each estate and s^e> 
The fashions and the follies of the world 
tWith cunniog hand pourtcayitig. Though 

perchance 
From Blenheim's. towers^ O stranger^ .thou art 

comcj 
Glowing with Churchill's trophies ; yet in vain 
Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold 
To him, this other hero ; who^ in times 
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse 
tTo tame the mdenesis of his native land. 



60 BAOaiUANA. 

From the Same id the Same. 

MY VERY GOOD SIR, Moj/ IS. 

I RECEIVED your very kind letjber oe 
Friday evening last, and would have an- 
swered it tlie moment it came to hand, if I. 
could have given you any assurance of pr(>- 
curing the seeds which Mr. Young has pro- 
mised to leave for you in Yirgioy, in his 
way to Dublin, some day next week. — 
Monaghan is a pretty town, if any town can 
be pretty that is seated in a holl<»i^ ; but the 
environs are channing. A shopkeeper in 
this town, of the name of Burn, who was born 
deaf and dumb, has contrived, at the same 
time that he settled accounts with his cus- 
tomers, to settle accounts with Father Time. 
He has published a chronological work, and 
notwithstanding it is chiefly collected from 
Newspapers and Magazines, yet, in all pro- 
bability, he will make more money of it, 
than Simson ever did of his huge Belgic 
folio, for he has a long list of subscribers to 
it. There is a newspaper also printed in Mo- 



BROOKIAN^.. 61 

mtgban, truly eliaracteristic of the Irish, for 
there is a vein of humour, even in the ad- 
vertisements ; and, as the insertion is cheap, 
the colunms stream with every thing that is 
losty stolen f or strayed^ throughout the coun- 
ty. Some of them are in rhyme, and some 
of them sparkle with quotations from the best 
^ English writers, especially the descriptive 
parts of farms, and " straw-built sheds;" 
and rivers which, ^* through airy channels 
flow.'* The printer told me, with an air of 
pleasure, that his journal flew over the face 
of the earth, and that the inhabitants of Mo- 
naghan would rather have a daily paper, than 
their daily bread.*' I find there is some 
truth in^this last part of the story. I passed 
by a well the other day, which was annually 
visited in the days of superstition and igno- 
rance, by an immense crowd of people, 
under the idea that the waters would wash 
away their sins. This was not a new opinion, 
for Julius Firmius says, that the Egyptians 
put up prayers and petitions to water for the 
same purpose; and Herodotus and Strabo 
tell us that the Persians paid divine worship 



63 brookiaka; ■ 

tb the sams element, and held it' imptom to 
pollute any running streams. I am sorry that* 
the great landed proprietors are not more 
addicted to planting in this couhty, espe- 
cially the oak, which ought to be the favour*, 
ite tree' with every one that glories in th6 
British navy, for sure it would be pleasant t» 
cryoutc^ 

The lofty, masts^ that bear oar flag on higb^. 
Grew in our soil^ and ripen'd in our sky* 

There are many beautiful' seats in thii 
country : Dawson's Grove is the noblest and 
most extensive; but the stately mansion 
seems to mourn the absence of its hospitable 
chief, Lord Viscount Cremone. Here his 
lordship has erected a handsome mausoleum, 
to the memory of his first lady, whose statue, 
with those of her two children, are finely 
done in white marble, as large as life. The 
Inscription runs thus : 



brookiana; es 

SEured to the Memory 

Of the Right Hon. Lady Anne Dawson, 
Sixth Dairghter of Thomas Farmor, Earl of- 

POMFRET, 

By HteNRTETTA Louisa Jeffreys, his Wife. • 

With all the External Advantages 

That continne to form a shining Distinction on 

Earth, 
She constantly practised in their Sublimest 

Excellence, 

All those Evangelical Duties 

Which improve and adorn the soul for Heaven, 

A mere particular Description of her exalted 

Virtues, 
To such as were Strangers to them. 

Would appear extravagant^ 

While all who were witness to them. 

Would feel it to be defective. 

May those Virtues remain fixed in the Remem* 

brance. 

And imitated in the Lives, 

Of her surviving Friends ! 

To the World she can never be completely 

known. 
Till that awful Day, 



£4 BROOKIAKA. 

When ill the sight of Men and Angels, 
They wiU be proclaimed and rewarded. 

Of her two Children, 

Richard Thomas survives her. 

Henrietta Ann, who lived long enough 

To justify all the fairest Hopes of a Mother, . 

By her Death afforded a triumphant Exercise 

To the Resignation of a Christian, 

« 

Ob, March 1, 1769. 

In a grateful and affectionate Sense 

Of the Blessing he enjoyed in such a Wife, 

This Monument is raised 

BT THK EIGHT HON. THOMAS DAWSON, LORD 

DARTREY. 

The ladies are fond of music — the (iddle is 
the favourite instrument ; so that the harp, 
the sign armorial of Old Ireland, is hung on 
the willows. The plaintive has few captiveSj 
it is the sprightly note that wins the ear. — 
.A young bare-footed woman, who had just 
danced on the green, told me that she pre- 
ferred those strains that played at hide and 
seek with each otiier, and that recovered at 
the very instant you'd think they were dying. 



I flhaU pick tip aome old songs if I can^ one 
or two will repay all the inconvenienciel 
that I havemet in my journey. 

Your'js, wherever I go, 

JAME3 R — D». 

TO THE REV. DR. STRATFORD. 

Lissany^ July 28, 1784* • • 

HY VERY GOOD FRIEND, 

W^ have been looking out for you these 
two nuHithS) but, I am sorry to say, we have 
looked out for you in vain. You promised, 
whibt the infants of the spring were yet in 
their silken folds, that you would be with us^ 
and, behqld they are uow attired in all their 
glory, and yet there is no sign of you : 
^* Hope deferred nviketh the i^cart sorrow- 
ful ;"-^need I say any more — I will not if I 
can. Your father, it is true, is in good, 
ligalth ; but, remember, be has seen many 
aummers, and I am sure you would never for- 
give yourself, if you did not close his eyes ; I 
am certain, frona your own account, you must 
be sick of London, and I tliink a litde coim- 
try air would cure you ; you luive met with 

VOL. II. 9 



66 BROOKIANA. 

many disappointments, I am ready to. own^ 
but I know you will bear them like 'a man. 
If your tragedy had even succeeded, what 
would have been the result? Why, your 
name would be handed down to posterity; 
and, you might live, for you are still youjig, 
to enjoy a great portion of living fame. 
Think of Seneca, and smile at these things. 
There is no fear of your fame, the press wiH 
do you that justice which the theatre has de- 
nied. You might have made moneys and 
that would have led you into a- more expen- 
sive mode of Ufe, to which you are not a 
little inclined ; your table would be encircled 
with flatterers: come home, and your table will 
be encircled with friends, and you will hear 
vour songs sung by the milk-maids, and your 
verses repeated by the peasants. These are 
the people that can appreciate your merit. I 
have read enough of Roman history to know 
the degraded taste of every empire in its 
wane ; and, I dare to say, this minute, that if 
Shakespeare rose from the dead, and wrote a 
tragedy that angels might act, it would b© 
hissed otf the stage. In the miJ&t, perhaps. 



I 



BROOKIANA. 61 

of some distressing scqne, or pathetic speech, 
the audience would start up^ and call for 
bulls, bears, and dogs. Though I never was 
in London, nor ever wished to visit ** The 
sink of Paris and of Rome," I think this 
would be the case. Do not be grieved, then, 
with a nation that can neither bear the disease 
nor the remedy. Return to the country, and 
there you wUl find honest hearts, pure air, 
uncorrupt taste, and a hearty welcome where- 
ever you go ; we will spend a pleasant winter, 
ril warFant you ; we have built a new. house 
since you left us, in the dirnple of a hill ; I 
have laid out a room for you with two 
windows, one to the south and r.nother to the 
norA. 

The Hungarian 

Cendeman still remains in our neighbour- 
hood ; I never knew a man of more amiable 
manners in my life; full of information, 
and extremely communicative; I light my 
farthing candle! at his lamp as often as I can 
without being troublesome. He is rather 

F 2 



«8 KltOOKIAHA. 

partial to our cusVhv^ 9tid m^sm^itih^noilSiaf 
otheir tsaveUers 

Tbat '' come o'or here^ with half aa eye. 

peruse us. 
Embrace us, eat our meat, and thea abuse u».'^ 

He haa travelled through the east, and 
loany other parts ; and, from his accouat 
of those places, which I can depeAd on^^ 
I would not exchange our blue skies, dewy 
stars, and spotless moons, for sdl theijir. golden 
siinsi^ and golden fruits; I now fuad wl^ 
Cuspiniauas says of the natural wealth pf 
Jtjungaxy to be true *. There vegitatioa ba<i 
found a soil congenial to all its luxuriancy 



• Matalla omnis generis haec terra ubertim producit: 
Ut hinc plane dijudicet optimus quisque solam, Huiu 
gariam possidere abundantissime et locupletissime tot 
aoetalia, quot ali<s regioncs plures,' paulatim ei parce 
producuat. &t ut a minimis ordiar» affluit haec regio 
yitriolo, cinnabarii, lapide lazuli, luercurk) vivo,t f^rro* 
plumbo, cupro, tanta abundantia ut muitas regioaet 
alac mercibus variis: argeiUQ purissimo, ^icidipcri ^t' 



BROOKIANA* 69 

«iid pride *, their meadows are cloathed witk 
w^ading verdure, as well as our own. Their 

Language 

Is as fertile as their fields. The stru<iture easily 
points out its eastern descent, it has nothing 
in common with any other tongue in Europe, 
save about twenty words with the Turkish, 
and about eight or ten with the Finnish, 
though some writers do not scruple to say, 
that is a sister dialect of the Finnish ; but, 
vour etymologists will dream as well as other 



\tmx\y quod triplici repitttr forma. Sic et aufo qiiod 
«ffbditir in aurefodinis copiose, et puriseiminn in sum- 
1A0 gradu. Item quod in aquis lavatur ingeniose, et 
ex arenis colligitur, et quod in mantibus veluti quaedam 
ramenta copiose nascitur. 

CusriNiAN. 

•#De pratorum in Hungaria luxurie Busbequius ita 
scribit : Hungarian^ nobis ingressis eA altiiudine gra- 
iheft fecit, ut praecedeniem currum saepe posterior non 
tWerk. F»ni imprimis ni>llum pretium : Sumere 
eoicfu^ licet, de pl^nis pratis, quantum velit, secaadi 
modo labor et rcctorra impntatur. 

F 3 



10 BROOKIAKA. 

writers. Be it as it may^ the Hungarians 
can bring half a million of words, at least, 
into the field ; their compounds are cu- 
rious Felesegy which signifies a woman, lite- 
rally means, the middle part of our substance; 
the same word that signifies a woman in 
Finnish, means also a hearty so that woman 
and heart are synonymous in that language, 
and so they ought in every other ; for what 
signifies a heart unless it is impressed with 
the image of one of those dear creatures. 
My Hungarian friend, and I'll call himyour's, 
for he is very anxious to see you, is of opi- 
nion, that his countrymen brought letters 
with them into Europe ; but I think the 
daughters of heaven would not be willing to 
travel in the company of such a race. He 
confirms the account which Professor FroU- 
chius gives, of the curious MS. in the Duke 
of Florence's library*. Heaven help us! 



* In Bibliotheca ducis Florentiae exiat liber Hun- 
garicorum characterum, cum Abyssynis Hebrsicui 
Sy risque afiinitatem habentium, et a dextra ad sinit- 
tram more istorum scriptorum. De hoc libro scribit ita 



BROOKIANA. 71 

the more we read, and the more we think , we 
find that every point in history is still dis- 
putable ; as for Etymology, I never expect to 
see that lady's acconnt settled. He is now 
translating a poem out of his native tongue 
into English, in which he has made an asto- 



Zamosius. In Bibliotheca magni ducis, Hetruriz 
Florentix extat volumen valde vetustum, siculorurn 
typis et mirandis incognitisque Europae literarum* 
notis, eharta libri non est epistographia, sed ad- 
VeriatantBin parte conscript a : verumita papyri subti- 
litatem tralucent omnet iiierse, ut a versa quoqu^ parte 
noQ minui quam ad versa legi part iter quean t. Non 
€ lineis cbartis, quales hodie in usu, sed Nilotica pa- 
pyro volumen constat, nee calamo est exaratum, sed 
typo impressum, ubi versum avro^x^oc dependulae sin- 
gularibus lineis, per quaelibet interstitio insenis inter 
•eie distinguunter. Nee vero ipsi tantum characteres ; 
•ed toties etiam <odex multam vetustatem omnibus ar- . 
gumemit prz sefert, uijam deslnant gloriari £uropaei 
de sua Cassiterographia nuperrime inventa, cum hie 
liber ante multa secula impressus, literis huic •rbi 
incognitis Scyihicis, ejus rei auiores manifesto pro- 
clamec. Quod Paulus lovius, ab oriente per Scythas 
ad Euripoeos venisse jam pridem scripsit. 

Frolicu. 
r 4 



nnshiiig progress. The figures «re ftr]f 
lofty. In one page you ibmk you are hfed- 
dering through a fidd of flowerB, in die next 
through dreary -forests, and shapeless rocks, 
with caves yawning on every side ; in ano- 
ther, you find yourself in an enchmted castle, 
with music that would arrest a ty gress in pur- 
suit of her stolen young. This will be a 
treat for you ;— come home ! come home ! 
and enjoy a little of hi^ company. We ^^all 
have a fine fire, a pinch of snuff, a glass of 
generous wine, and a tune on the bi^-pipes, 
at intervals. 

Come home! come home! Life is un- 
certain; you are in good heahh, but you 
may be called to your audit, in a moment 
when you least expect it, and laid in some 
neglected spot ; without a stone — ^nay^ 
without the " liieed of one mdodious tear." 
^— I have a tliousand things to say ; but I go 
on as if you had as much leisure to read as I 
have to write. A word or two of domestic 

affairs, and then adieu for a-while • • # 
• •••««•••• •## 



BROOKIANA% 73 



MISS BROOKE, QUEEN OF TH£ iF-AlRltS, 

IF the Easterns had their genii, the people 
of the north-west of Europe, Celts and Goths, 
had their fairies. From the tales which axe 
told of this aerial race, even at this day, in 
Ireland, one would imaginfe, that** the Island 
of Saints^ was the place of their ** dearest 
ftbode." The ancient bards of that country 
h^ve handed down a regular series of theit 
kings and queens. Miss Charlotte Brooks^ 
daughter of Mr. BfeootCE, and the heiress of 
his poetical genius, began to collect all the 
poems that were written in the Irish Ian* 
guage^ on " th* Green-skirted faes." Queen 
Allans Lamentation is the most popular of 
these poems. The outline of the subject is 
this : Binna, her royal spouse. King of the 
Fairies in the northern district of Ireland, 
invaded and conquered the dominions of a 
neighbouring fairy prince, and, Uke Seba&b 
tian, King of Portugal, he was never heard 
of after. His disconsolate queen is sup-» 
posed to have given vent to her anguish, ia 



74 BROOKIANA. 

the following plaintive strains, literally trans- 
lated from the Irish : 

Queen Alla*i Lamentation. 

All on the margin of some flow'ry stream. 
Consenting Zephyr sighs, the weeping rill 
Joins in the plaint melodious ; mute the grovesy 
And hill and dale, with all their echoes, mourn* 

Akensidi. 

How solemn is the hour of night ! when all 
things listen to the voice of Joye ! Welcome ye 
awfal shades^ all hail jour placid gloom. JBlut^ 
hark ! is it the lark that calls upon the morn ? 
The note unfolds the ear of night ; and see the 
young-eyed messenger of day in twinkling notes 
sing on the breast of HeaTen. while the star- 
dropt waves of Allen seek tcS pebbled shore. 
Sweet were your charms, ye moon-tinged waves, 
ye hazel wilds, ye rocks and willows green, 
when gentle Binna smiled upon you all, as on 
his lips love budded in a thousand forms ; the 
song of Salla rested there, sweeter than the 
breath of roses. 

Whither art thou fled from thy disconsolate 
q;iieen ? listen ye rocks and willows to my song. 
O thou that art beautiful among the children of 



BROOKIANA. 75 

spring, return to thy disconsolate queen ! The 
rocks listen to my sorrows, and the leaves arc 
attentive to my sighs ; but thou art absent and 
cannot hear. My eyes hang on thy return, and 
my sighs steal to meet theel O thou, that art 
fairer than the visions of the morning, return, 
and light up joy once more in the soul of Alia ! 
My ear drinks in the breezes; but thy accents 
are not there. O where shall I fmd thee, or 
whither bend my flight? perhaps Venus has 
espied him asleep. O Venus, return my lover j 
his kiss shall add perfume to the rose of thy 
cheek ; nay, let a thousand kisses be the ran- 
som ; but, detain not my love from my arms : 
it may be that he has joined Diana's train ; Oh ! " 
chaste goddess, detain not my prince, or if th« 
rose has borrow^ the tincture of thy cheek to 
meet the nightingale, return, thy charms are yet 
too abundant ; or if the sweet-briar has torn thy 
lips for perfume, return, and let the kiss of thy 
disconsolate princess heal the wound. The que^n 
of Farra detains thee ; her charms have be- 
witched thy soul. She has lulled thee on her 
bosom, and the melody of water-falls prolongs 
thy dreams ; the linnet sprinkles the air with 
notes, the breezes steal thy breath; and the roser 



IS BROOKIANA. 

« 

thy complexion. I see, I see thie blushes ciiai» 
son thy cheek ; I see, I see ; Ah ! cease to iip> 
braid ; thy prince is true, no eye invites his 
constant soul ; his queen alone employs his 
thoughts ; nor whisper this complaint, ye listew* 
ing winds, that Alia should suspect her Biiina's 
faith. O ! torn from love and nie, say, whither 
art thou fled ? Has Sela's straggling host seized 
oa my love ? Yes, thou art seized ; I see thee 
bound ; I hear thee call ; but ah ! in vain, I 
cannot help ; no pitying spirit there to lend its 
aid. I hear thy name, yes, sure I do; the . 
breezed tell me thou art there. 

Oh ! why on out- return did I desert my 
J)rince, to prepare the rosy wreath, the cooling 
liquor, and the shady bower : my dreams fore* 
warned me of the sad event ; ike wrea^ toe 
withered, and the morning's tears shone faintly 
on the violet pale, and joyless was thy solitary 
bower. Perhaps now in the bower of death, 
new-cropped, you lie the loveliest flow'ret there; 
the dart of Dana pierced thy bleeding breast ; 
it did, thy ghost glided by me, on the pinions 
of a dream, like a flake of snow on the blast ef 
winter. I felt thy kiss cool as the dews of April, 
I grasped the vision, and it melted into air. Ah ! 
why did I leave my prince in the valley of Arva? 



UOOKIANA. TT 

I'here the dart of Daaa sought thy bosom ; 
there the thicket bid the foe. Ah ! why did I 
leave thee when danger was Digh ? I should 
have shared it with thee : my ardeat breast 
should have interposed^ and shielded thee from 
the enemy : we should have fallen together^ and 
the bards would sing our loves, and the virgins 
of Corra weave our garlands^ O thou, that was 
fwift anaong the roes of Barra, pleasant were thy 
stfeavis, O Barra! There I first beheld my 
prince. Assist my plaint, ye streams of Barra ; 
fa thy banks I first beheld my love ! Thy mur- 
mora invited him to sleep, and thy willows 
watched over his slumbers. His cheeks spoke 
the language of roses, and his countenance was 
the h^binger of love I His hair was spun from 
the J)lostoms of Edur ; beautiful were thy flow. 
img k>cks, like a flight of linnets ! Thy forehead 
shone, smooth as polished yew, and mild as the 
^P^oii^g gleam of water : thy chin was like a 
lose-bud, and thy lips of the fresh cut sallow 
root : thy limbs lay careless like the branches of 
the new-fallen oak ; thy charms sunk deep in 
my heart, and my eyes floated in mist. I be- * 
held thee, like some fUir fbrm'in a vision, and 
the music of thy voice meked my soul ; for it is 



78 BROOKIANA. 

far sweeter than the streams of Barra : and sweet 
are thy streams, O Barra ! Oft let the floweret* 
shade thy blue-eyed margin ; oft let thy circling 
wave reflect the wandVing moon, for on thy. 
banks I first beheld my love. 

But thou art gone, and the dreams of mid- 
night shew me how you fell amidst the enemy, 
far from thy unhappy queen. Tby eye sought 
me as it sunk in death ; but I was not there to 
close it. Had I been there thou hadst not died-; 
my tears would have softened death ; nor would 
his dismal shade have been spread over thee: 
but thou art fallen far from the presence of. thy 
queen ; thou didst not sink upon her faithful 
bosom; no weeping flowers expired upon thy 
breast, nor mint upon thy feet. The stranger's 
finger closed thy eye ; no friend was t^here to 
woo thy check to life. O thou that wert beau- 
tiful among the flowers of Pinna ; thou, whose 
accents woo'd the linnet, thou art pale, and 
Si^k in death ; thou sleepest amon<{ the sons of 
youth. No, thou wilt not speak to thy princess, 
she bedews thy cheeks, but thou kissest not 
away her tears : thou dost not hear her sighs, 
uor do^t not press her palm. Th<ni art lovely 
iu the amu of death ; thou art pale* as the fresh 



BROOKIANA. 79 

pour'd moon-beam ! No more thy smiles light 
up my soul* Ah ! sure thy spirit is not fled ! 
thy latest sigh would have reached me here. 
What.trembUng motion of the troubled air now 
wafts, on ful'-spread pinions, sounds of woe ? 
How every d'jwer droops low its head, nor 
chearful linnet swells the morning note. O thou 
that art beautiful among the valf s, return to thy 
princess; receive the gift wrought withthy much- 
Jov'd hair, through which ti»y snowy shoulders 
would appear like the lilly shining through the 
dew- spun fairy- web of eve. Still on my lip I 
feel the parting kiss, sweet as the drops of wil- 
low-buds : O canst ih' u leave thy queen in the 
valley of Arva. In sighs she wears the night 
away ; the sickly lute, the dying string no more 
shall charm the grove, nor soothe the heart of 
Alia. 

Will not the spirit of Binna return on the 
wings of love, and Lover o'er his dying Alia? 
Will he not sigh to hear her plaint ? O thou> 
that wert straight as the furrows of Ed ur, and 
beautiful among lu . breezes o! the morR, whose 
fingers were like the joints of Lorra's reeds, and 
eye- brews soft as the down of wijiows. No 
more 1*11 listen to the airy harp of Allen. Ah ! 



90 BftOQKliUiA. 

whither art thou fled? the mkly primr^^t 
droops for thy rsturnf por eaa the suQ-^bean^ drj 
her tears., On friendahip*s wing you ftsw to tht 
Tale of Corra, and didst return. On the wiijtgs of 
battle you rushed to Barra, and dtdst retura* 
On pleasure's wings you sailed to Allen, and 
didst return ; but now thou art gone, and will re» 
tarn no more ! O then, farewel, ye banks of 
Birra ! Once more adieu, but still flow o& T Oh ! 
Barra's banks fiu-ewel ! 



MR. BROOKE AND FAMILY. . 

"XheJhUffwing Letter was written by a Gen* 
tlemekn to his Friend. 

©EAR SIR, Jime 1, 1115. 

You know I told you some time ago, that 
I believed either my brother or I should have 
occasion to call on Mr. Brooke ; the lot feB 
on me, and I am glad of it, not that I wished 
to deprive my brother of that pleasure, 

*' But when a )ady*s in the case, 

" You know all other things give place.** 

Whesn I came within six or^ seven myites of 
Mr. Brooke^s, I was afraid I should mistake 



BROOKIANA. 81 

my way in such a wild part of the country, 
so that I asked abnost every one I met, man, 
woman, and child, '^ Is this the road to Cor- 
foddy ?" every one knew Mr. Brooke, every 
one praised him, and wished he might live ' 
for-ever. As I knew that the author of Gus- 
tavus Vasa had written a great deal in praise 
of agriculture, I expected, of course, as I 
approached his house, that I should find it 

" BosomM high in tufted trees/' 

That his hedges would be covered with flaunt-' 
ing honey-suckle ; that I should find his gar- 
den a second Eden, and that his s^rotto would 
exceed Calypso's fabled one. To tell you 
the truth, I never was so disappointed in my 
life ; not a tree on the whole road to shelter 
the traveller from a shower ; not a hedge to 
be seen, and the way so bad, that I am sure 
it must be impassable in the winter. His 
house stands on a barren spot, and the only 
improvement 1 could see, a litde garden in the 
front, shaded with a few half-starved elms, 
that seem rather to have been planted by 
chance than design. I was told that he had 

VOL. II. G 



S2 BROOKIANA. 

just walked out ; and, a^ k was unceFtain 
which way he went, the old man that took my 
horse, advised me to stay till his return, as he 
was sure his master would not be long out, 
^s he heard him say that he had a great deal 
to do that day. I took his advice ; — ^I was 
led into the library by an old woman, who 
told me there wasi pen, ink, and paper, if I 
wished to write, and that she would be very 
happy if I would accept of any refreshment 
after my journey. The library was small 
but weil-furni shed with the best English and 
Roman Classics, and a small shelf of the 
most pious books in our language, such as 
the works of the author of the ** Whole 
Duty of Man," Dr. Watts's, and the works 
of Bishop Kenn, with the following distich 
on the fly-leaf, in a neat female hand, pro- 
bably by Mr. Brooke's mother : 

" My son, peruse the works of pious Kenn, 
" The best^f bishops, and the best of men.** 

Several papers, in the hand-writing of 
Mr. Brooke, were pinned round the room ; 
as they might have been copies of letters^ 



BKOOKIAKA* SS 

or as they might relate to some private af- 
fairs, I did not feel myself entitled to read 
them. There was one, however, written in 
a band in imitation of print. I found it was 
a passage out of Addison's Cato. As I had 
nothing else to do, I took a copy of it, which 
I send you ; and, when you have nothing 
else to do, you may read it. The Italian 
translation, which immediately followed, 
was, no doubt, composed by Mr. Brooke 
himself, as I know that he is a perfect master 
of that tongue. 

Let me kdvise thee to retreat by times 
To thy paternal seat, the Sabine field, 
, Where the great censor toil'd wijth his own 

hands. 
And all our frugal ancestors were blest 
In humble virtues, and a rural life. 
There live fetir'd, pray for the peace of Romey 
Content thyself to be obscurely good. 
When vice prevails, and impious men bear 

sway. 
The post of honour is a privatfs station. 

G 2 



84 BROOKIANA. 

Prendi da me consiglio, e ti ricovra 
Per tempo di Sabino, a' patri campi, 
Che il gran censor colle sue mani istesse, 
Coltiv6 un tempo, e dove i tuoi grand' avi 
Kella frugalita nel lustro umile 
Delle virtu, d' una campestre vita 
Visser lieti, e felici. In quei retire, 
Figlio, vivi a te stesso, i voti impiega 
Per la pace di Roma, eti contenta 
B'un' oscura virtu. Quando prevale - 
li vizio, e regnan gV empi, allor d'onore 
Una vita privata-e ii sommo grado. 

This passage, no doubt, referred to some 
circumstances in Mr. Brooke's life ; for, it 
is very likely that it was a rooted disgust to 
the venality of the times, that first threw him 
into the arms of solitude and retirement. 

To tell you the truth, I was charmed with 
the manner in which he received me. I was 
scarce half an hour in conversation with him, 
when I found I could trace him in all his 
writings. He was dressed in a long blue 
cloak, with a wig that fell down his shoul- 
ders, a little man, as neat as wax-work ; with 



BROOKIANA. 85 

ah oval face, ruddy complexion, and large 
eyes, full of fire. In short, he is like a pic- 
ture, mellowed by time. Mrs. Brooke is in 
a very ill-state of health, she is quite ema- 
ciated, and so feeble, that she can scarce 
walk across the room. I never saw so affec- 
tionate a husband, and so tender a father, in 
my life. Out of two-and-twenty cliildren, 
there are only two alive, a son and a daugh- 
ter, Arthur and Charlotte. I did not see the 
son ; the daughter inherits a considerable 
portion of the countenance of the father; 
but, she is aS' pale as a primrose, and almost 
as thin as her mother. Our conversation at 
dinner turned chiefly on the customs and 
^ manners of the inhabitants in the neigh- 
bourhood. You would really think that Mr. 
Brooke was talking of his own children, they 
were all so dear to him ; he prayed for them 
and blessed them over and over again, with 
tears in his eyes. — Miss Brooke dwelt on 
their talents ; ready turns of wit ; their pas- 
sion for poetry, music, and dancing; she 
•gave me some specimens of their poetry, 
but I have mislaid them, I hope I have not 

G 3 



S€ BEOOKIANA, 

lost tb^QQ ; fbf^ alfio gave me the fottowiag 
£opy of a 

L(we Letter f 

Which was actually written by a youog mas 
in the vicinity, to a very handsome young 
woman , to whom he was afterwards married, 
to the great joy of all the pariah. 

** MY DEAREST NANNY, 

I write this with the quill of a virgin goose, 
on paper almost as snowy as your breast 
This is a compliment justly due to your 
maidenhood and innocence. It is now so long 
since I saw you, that I begin to think you 
have entirely forgotten me. If your lovely 
image treated me as unkindly as you do 
yourself, I should die of despair ; but, it 
does not desert me, sleeping or waking, in 
or out of company. My companions can- 
not conceive what it is that makes me 
so pensive, they little know the cause, 
and, perhaps, ff they did, they would only 
laugh at me ; for, if your finger aches, there 
are a thous»and remedies prescribed for it in 



BROOKIANA. 87 

an instant; but, when your heart is con- 
• sumed in all the tender flames of love, not 
one can be found to sympathize with you. 
I think I have already given you many' 
proofs of the sincerity of my passion ; I don't 
want your pity ; the beggar lives on pity — 
I want your hand and your heart along with 
it ; it is this alone that can make me happy, 
and restore my mind to that tranquillity 
which it knew till those unfortunate eyes of 
inine first met your's. A line will revive 
my drooping spirits, and give my soul a 
holiday, which it has not enjoyed since you 
left this place. 

I am, my dearest Nanny, 

Your sincere Lover, 



T — D — Y." 



Ill the evening we walked into the garden ; 
his favourite flowers were those that were 
planted by the hands of his wife and daughter;- 
I was astonished at his skill in botany ; he 
dwelt for some moments on the virtues of 
the meanest weeds, and then launched out 
into such a panegyric on vegetable diet, 

G 4 



88 BROOKIA^A. 

that he almost made me a Pythagorean ; 
especially after the* conversation I once had 
with that amiable and learned man, Dr. Hill, 
on this subject.* Having traversed the gar- 



* The bare mention of the name of Dr. Hill, Regius 
Professor of Physic in the University of Dublin, will 
be a sufficient apology for introducing any thing that 
he has said or written on the subject of botany, a 
science with which his name will be always coupled, 
as long as it is cultivated by men of taste and research^ 

" A transient view (says the Doctor) of the cata- 
logues of those substances that constitute the materia 
medica, will be sufficient to shew how very large a 
portipn of them is drawn from vegetable productions. 
It is the ordinance of divine wisdom, that that depart- 
ment of nature, from which man deduces that aliment 
which is most esculent, most salubrious, and best adapted 
to his temperament, should also yield him the safest 
and principal means of retrieving the integrity of his 
natural functions, when debilitated and impaired by 
the ravages of diseases. Few and dangerous are the 
medicines supplied by chemical operation, from the 
mineral division of natural bodies ; ihe animal scarcely 
produces any that deserve attention. It has been 
strongly asserted, and, perhaps, with perfect truths 
that all such morbid derangements of our natural 



BROOKIANA. S9 

den, we came to a little gurgling stream ; 
Mr. Brooke gazed on it for some moments, 
and then repeated these lines out of Metas- 
tasio^ I believe : 

Copre in van le basse arena 
Picciol rio col velo oudoso, 
Che rivela il fondo algozo. 
La chiarezza dell' umor *. 

When the conversation turned on the 
Poets, I expected that Miss Brooke would 
have shewn me some of her own poetry ; 
but the, diffidence and modesty of all her 



powers, as can be aflfectecl by the sanative virtues of 
medicine, may be redressed exclusively, by such as 
are compounded by the rules of Galenical pharmacy, 
and borrowed from vegetables; and that, if we fail 
in the accomplishment of such purposes, the deficiency 
is rather to be attributed to an ignorance of the pro- 
perties of plants, than to the want of any heaUng virtue 
in the plants themselves." 

* In vain the 'little brooke covers the low sands with 
a wavy veil ; the transparency of the water discovers a 
weedy bottom. 



90 BROOKTAKA. 

expressions, conrinced me, in a short tune, 
that I was not to hope for that favour — ^I say 
favour, for, I am told by a lady of refined 
taste, who is very intimate with her, that she 
has written some verses that breathe, if I may 
use the expression. Promethean fire. She 
was kind enough, however, to give me the 
following lines, written by a young lady, 
who had read only a few English books, and 
who had never seen the city in her life. 

• Felicia to Charlotte, 

Let those whb tread the trophyM roads of fame. 
Enjoy the sweets ambitious ardours yield ; 

Let heroes emulate each glorious name. 
And reap their laurels in the tented field. 

Far other joy from social friendship flowsy 
Far other feelings from this source arise. 

E'en love to thee sweet power submissive bow^. 
And kindred bands are loose to friendship's 
ties. 

We oft, Charlotta, share its heart felt joys. 
Its brighter influence animates the mind ; 

How fi-ail to this are courtiers gilded toys. 
Blown with the gale, the sport of ev'ry wind ! 



SftOOKI ANA. 9 i 

WbeB Sol withdraws the golden beams <^ 
day. 

And planetary worlds around us shinei 
When in the concave glows the milky way. 
And nipping frosts the watVy plains con- 
fine* 

How pleas'd we close about the genial fire. 
Within the little cot, the seat of age— 

Of chearful age that can the scene admire. 
When mirth and innocence our thoughts 
engage. 

Then glows the heart, soft as the melting snows. 
More free, more open, than the halcyon's 
plumes. 

Enyy, a hated guest, the dome ne'er knows. 
Nor Malice here her consequence assumes. 

» • 

Hail happy days of innocence and peace. 

Of health and favoured ease, and all that's 
fair. 
The w«h to cherish and the power to please; 
These, these we taste, and frcedwn's genial 
care« 



&2 BROOKIANA. 

Perhaps^ when age hath silverM o'er our hair. 
And hoaxy time^ with pinion'd haste hath 
flown. 
Reflection back again those scenes may bear. 
And sweet remembrance stamp them for her 
own. 

I am, dear Sir, 

Your's, &c. 

N. W. 



EARL OF CHESTERFIELD, LORD LIEUTENANT 

OF IRELAND. 

As soon as it was publicly known that 
Philip, Earl of Chesterfield, was appointed 
Lord-lieutenant of Ireland, every counte* 
nance in that kingdom beamed with joy. 
All parties looked up to him as the vital ge- 
nius of the country, the emanation of their 
beloved sovereign, and the friend of the long 
neglected muse : nor were the people dis- 
appointed in their expectations ; he poured 
oil into the wounds of the afflicted, tempered 
the sword of justice in the tears of mercy, 



BROOKIANA. 93 

revived and cherished the useful arts ; and, 
if he had been permitted to have held the 
vice-regal reins, even a little longer, . he 
would have put all the strings of the Irish 
harp in tune. Every man of genius and 
learning in the kingdom, found himself at 
home in his court. The poets peculiarly 
shared his smiles. Notwithstanding' Mr. 
Brooke was amongst the first to hail the 
dawn of an administration that promised so 
bright a day ; yet, he was amongst the last 
to pay his personal respects to a nobleman, 
adorned 

With elegance and attic wit. 

Nor did he offer his lordship any excuse 
when he was introduced to him, beyond that 
which truth would have justified. Dr. Dun- 
kin, in a letter to one of his friends, says, 
** that the conversation, at the time Mr. 
Brooke was presented to Lord Chesterfield, 
happened to turn on the following passage 
in the Pastor Fido. 

" Se '1 peccar' ^ si dolce 

£ ^1 non peccar si necessario ; b troppo. 



1^4 BROOKIANA. 

Jmperfetta natura, 
Che repugni a la iegge : 
O troppo dura legge, 
Che la Datura ofieadi/' 

The lines being explained to Jones ♦, who 
happened to be in th6 circle, he immediately 
Wrote down the following translation : 

^' When Nature fills our hearts with soft desires, 
lu law, alas ! they^re call'd forbidden fires ; 
The law is surely hard that would controul 
The softest movements of the youthful soul ; 
jLet Heaven in pity to a feeble creature. 
Repeal that law, or change our nature.** 

Mr. Brooke also translated it on the spot, 
with a delicacy that removed the objection 
which Cardinal Boromeo once niade to tlic 
original verses, namely, that they connived 
at sinning. As this translation is not at hand, 



* Mr. Jones, author of the Earl of Essex, a tra- 
gedy, was bred a bricklayer. His poem to the Earl 
of Chesterfield, on his arrival in Ireland, is said to have 
been the first effort of his unlettered muse, and evinces 
the power of an uncultivated mind. 



£ROOKIANA> 95 

the following turn of the same tJiougfat, in 
French and Latin, by the wits of those days, 
may be amusing to the classical scholar, 
especially as the first Latin one, with the 
answer, is said to hare been composed bj 
Mr. Brooke, some years afterwards. 

J)e la nature un doux penchant 
Nmis parte d la tendresse ; 
Mais on dit^ que la lot defend 
/>' avoir une maitresse; 
' Ou la nature peche en soi^ 
Ou la lot est tiop durt\ 
Seigneur, rejormes voire loiy 
Ou changes la nature, 

Dum natura homini molles inspirat amotis^ 
Lex data furtivo pascier igne vetat, 

Aut natura si hi nimiucn se praebet iniquam^ 
Aut ni-mis iila gravis lex et acerba foret^ 

Eripe vel cordi, quae tori*ent viscera^ flamma^^ 
Vel> Deus^ has \%ge% Gorrige> magne tuas. 

RESPONSIO. 

Dum natura homini teaeros inspirat amoref, 
Ni queat humaauHi di^periisse ^enus^ 

£t mens et ratio, justique scientia noc^tt 
Quam natura simul cordibu* imposiMl 

1 



36 BROOKIANA. 

Castos^ nee ruptis laxos jubet esst repagti9> 

Brutaque vel quorum paeite padere queat. 
Nod amor est iascivus amor^ cassusqife pudore, 

Ille mera est rabies^ est furor ilie brevis* 
ErgO; nisi malis te mentis egere, fateri, 

Et furere, et turpem vel magis esse feris, 
Aut foedis actus circum tua pectora taedis, 

Injice naturae fraena modumque tuae, 
Aut tua Tartareas, agitant quae viscera 
flammas 

Tartarese exstinguent mox Acherontis aquae? 

ALIUD. 

Bum caro, dum sanguis dulces iafundit 
amores, 

Mox divinae animum legis imago snbit. 
Cogito, quam Veneris sit foeda nocensque 
voluptas^ 

Et, quam memento concldat ilia brevi. 
Hinc subeunt lacerae fastidia tristia mentis, 

Quse secum longo syrmate moesta trabit ! 
Judicis inde tremens flammantia cerno seven 

Lumina, cuncta qui bus nuda, retecta patent 
Mox-subit a tergo mortis serpentis imago. 

Ultima terribiiis judiciique dies. 
Mox stcbit innocui Jesu morientis imago. 

Cum tulit in dira crimina nostra trabe ; 



^ulnent mox snbeunt, clayiqae Yepfesq«a» 
cruentus 
Sudor, et in sanctum Terbera jacta caput. 
'Turn mecum ; Subit ah ! t^mtos patiturque 
^dolores f 

Proiiostrk Christus victima (acta mails, 
-Atque ego tam ^urco me involvam crimine 
Is^tus, 
Et Domini aagebo verbera Terberibus ? 
^unc Tursus spinis pungam, scindamque fia- 
gdlis, 
SimqueilH angbris causaque parque novi ? 
'Sic ero vel sesva mage tigride saevus^ utausim 

Vulnera flagitiis tot renovaare meis ? 
tSit Procal 1 ante poli flammis ultricibus urar, 

£t fiam tacttts fulmine nigra cinis. 
Sjus' amor potius Stygios delebit amores, 
£t Phlegethontaeas flamma superna faces ! 

T. D. K. 

'COKRADE, ATRAGM2NT, 

BT M«*llKOO|Cl* 

The tale of Hugon forms the most inte- 
resting featnre of this fragment The intro^ 
•duction to that pathetic story, is scattered 
^ YOU II. H 



48 hUtfOKXAXOi. 

.with so many poetksl flcywars, tfatftitl^ 
appear too long only to those tvho have no 
relish for such beauties. ComiADS, the 
head king of Ireland, famed for his personal 
prowess and humanity, fought the Romans 
in their own fields, and bore off the Isturel in 
every engagement. On his return to his 
native country, he gave a great feast at his 
palace in Ermania, to those who had bled 
by his ^ide from Rhodane to the Po. In 
the midst of their festivity the king called 
on his son to sing to the ^^ strijags of stocy,^ 
the toils ajid dangers he had shared in a dis- 
tant clime, whilst yet a stripling. As the 
ear of a hero lists not to his own praise, the 
prince took the harp and si»g the following 
strains to it : 

The Tale of Hugon and ElipJiene, 

[Ptoiu a corrected Copy.] 

Our tent was pitched amid the fmlds of NarboB, 
The dead lay wide around, the night came on 
To veil their ghastliness; no^tar appear'd. 
And the moon sickening «t the sight of blowl. 



Had shrewded op her Ti8age.^-*Through this 

Mine ear was stricken With the voice of wailing. 
Sad as a thou^nd »ghs, when the dark winds 
Sob through the yew that stands amid the grave* 
Of ArneL Forth I went to seek the mourner* 

Through the night's glinapse that struck upoa 
bis mail, 
I saw a warrior, tall and fair of stature ; 
Upon his strenuous arms, he lightly bore 
The corse of his companion, on a bank 
He laid the body down, and sunk beside it^ . 

Art thou, then gone, he ccied, for ever gone. 
Companion of my soul, in whom I lived. 
Thou dearer self of desolated Hugon ? 
Wilt thou no more arise like light upon me. 
Nor give the smile of friendship to mine eyes. 
Nor cheer my spirit wirfi thy voice of music ? 

Why didst thou step before me in the battle? 
Wast thou Hot safe behind my wheeling sword. 
As IB the fort of Delmari— That my breast, 
O, that my naked breast had met the dart 
That slew my brother !— Thou hast left me, 

Berith, 
With grief alone companioa*d« O stem grief. 
Sad is thy fellowship, I will not bide it, 
I will overtake thee, Berith, we will live, 

« 2 



100 BROOKIANA, 

Perchance in happier climes, or in one gra^e 
Silent lie down and sleep in peace togeth/er. 

Look not, my mother, from the wonted pride 
Of thiue high battlements to see t!iy son. 
Returning in the front of all his trophies. 

Mistake not Arden^s forest for his flags. 
Nor the winds western clangor for his trumpet^ 
Thou shalt look upward with a tearful eye. 
And sigh to see how empty is his armour; 
Thy hall it shall be hung around with blacis;. 
And one lone lamp to light thee. 

Straight >by the accent of the hero's tongue 
I knew him for an eneoiy to Comrade ; 
But well I knew that Conrade was the frienH 
Of human-kind, with gentle voice, the voice 
As of a brother, I the chief accosted. 
Mylieart, great warrior, takes a kindred 4ihare 
In all your sufFeringSi— In the field, indeed. 
My faulchion rises in my country's quarrel ; 
But mv Jjoul knows no warfare with the brave. 
The good, or the unhappy. — Know, greatt 

Hugon, 
TJiat the distress^ are-h^ld assonsand brother^ 
To Conrade and Slemfannon.— — — Lo, our can^p 
It is at hand. Allow me, mighty chief. 
Thither to carry your lamented friend^ 



BROOKIANA. 101 

Your lovM companion. There we have a leach, 

Nearly of potency to raise the dead, 

Should vital warmth, remain.— ^e answered 

.not, 
Sare, that a grateful and assenting clasp 
Convey'd me to his bOsom 5 straight our souls. 
Mingling their friendships, coalesced togethec 

I calFd taan attendant ; tomy tent 
We bore the eor^e, where, gently on a bed 
I laid him back, and from hia bosom rent 
The steely corslet ; instant wonders rushed 
On my astonishM sight, two polished rounds. 
Twin orbs of beauty j straight, I ween, my 

blood 
Flush'd through my face and' body, back I 

shrunk 
Abash'd, and senfr the women. — Then Tturn*U 
Where mighty Hugon, smothering up his grfeft 
-$at with my sire,— ill panting haste LtoW 
The wonder. — ^h ! the hero cried, His she, 
*Ti8 she herself, it must be-Eliphene* 
My heart contessM her,. though my ey^s refused 
Its attestation, turning love's fierce ardours 
To friendship's gentler flame.— At once 'they rose 
And followed, where the beauteous body lay, 
P.«£ent in, virgin .sheets.--* We sent' m haste,, 

H 3 



Andcall'd Elphener^ sovereign of all 

And acts for healing-^— under th^ right pup. 

He found the deadly wound, that still ooe^ 

purple. 
As a. rose springing midst a bed of liliei* 
He pondered on the pulse, the TJtal heait. 
Unwilling to forego iM^ lovely mansioo, - 
Still feebly held the center ; stiUa thread 
Of life gave faint pulton. Straight the leacb^ 
From his eiixer^d chryMal, dr(^ by drop. 
Between ^ whited corals, cautiously 
Tnfus'd the cordial. Thus, whilft^doubtfU Ii& 
Hung, fearfully suspended ; gen'^ieus Hngon 
Addressed my Sire.— — 

Q Conrade, cried the chief. 
Thou dread of tyrants^ hateful to oppressors, 
lBut, to the feeble and oppressed, a name 
^f 8ure Asylum.— IiOY*d of all the valiant ! 
Yes, Hugon swears the valiant love fhee,. 

Conrade> 
fiv'n while as f^es they draw the sword against 

thee ! 
O monarch lend th&^ar of thy compassion. 
Thine ear, still open to the tale of mourning. 
Lend it a while to Hugon ! —He's a Tuscan, 
By clime and birth thine enemy« — Although* 



UOOKlitN:*. lOS 

His kindred spirit, long has held thee dear^ 
Even while the dearest.— List, I lov'd a maid. 
That pale, that orphan'd maid, of noblest lineage. 
But, by her late bequeathing parents left 
To colder guardianship. -^She was addressed. 
By all th/e poteatates \^hos« station waria^ted 

To lift an eye £K> lofty, 1 was then 

Inforeiga climes, op travel.— -I r^tarnM* 

Upon a stated festivai, the chiefs 
4^Qd princes of the land, with princely dames^ 
Convened, a galaxy !— I too was there, 
J^ud there was Eliphene, as the .star 
Of beauty >. regent, midst the smaller sparklers. 
Straight she compellM my fond attraction to l^er. 
As the touchM needle to the frozen north. 
For so 1 did misdeem it.r-From that day, 
Amidst the noblest of her princely sgitors, 
!> too pEcfer*d my claim.: — She first rec^iy'd me 
With smiling, kind^ encouraging complacence. 
But iMon her looks grew, more constrained ;-^ 

whenever 
Her eyes met mine, she blusliM, and. turned: 

aside. 
As wishing po avoid me. To all others. 
She loek^'d ^n elegance of ease, and spoke 
In . terms as fuee as air. To me ■■ alone 

H 4t. 



104 BRaOKIANA. t 

She spoke by monosyHables, and look'd' 
[Regards of downcast prohibition.— Stung 
^ith scorpionM jealousy, I, to my sool, . 
Thus spoke indignant. What bave these Uh 

boast. 
These favour'd lirak, jo^r rejected Htagon? 
Does their pre-eminence consist in shape, 
Orfeatare? eyes, that are not Eliphene's, 
Will answer, no. And, as to feats of prowess, 
ComparM with me, they're nameless, 0> shame,. 

shame. 
Shame on this weakness, thiis degrading passion! 
Henceforth I will wage war on my own heait,. 
And conquer it, or perish ! 

At the time. 
The tidings of your dread' invasion reach'd us, 
Quick at the name of Conrade, my whole soul 
Kindled to generous rivalship. Yes, yes. 
Thou shall be met, thou mighty one, I cried. 
Thou shalt be met ; thy best esteemer shall 

Oppose thee front to front ! 1 askof heav^ 

No boon, no other bounty, than to have 
My death ennobled by the arm of Conrade. 
Straight I addressed for war ; but love, uncallM,, 
Obtruded, whisp*ring to my secret soul. 
First take thy last adieu of Eliphenel 



BROOKIANA. 106 

Pride, haughty champion, rose with stem 

rebtike 
Against the gentler pow'r.-— H^ frown'd, and 

cried^ 
What, are we not, as yet, enough debas'd ? 
Shall we add further forces to the foe ; 
And furnish arms against our nobleness. 
To the tried scorn and insolence of beauty ? 
Dire was the contest.<-*Love long kept hi& 

ground;' 
But pride, in fine, was prevalent.*-*! rent,. 
1 tore myself away from my belov'd. 
From my true lover.*— 
As a self- felon, desp'rate of his state, 
Makes^ ar dtvorce betwixt his soul and body. 

I lay encamp'd, my legions tented round me. 
When word was brought that a youqg cavajier. 
Of graceful mien, and more than matchless^ 

beauty, 
Desir'd admission. — ^To my presence calPd, * 
He bow*d submiss ; and, blushing, pray'd tk^ 

grace- 
Of being privileged to do me service. 

My heart straight took acquaintance with hi» 

aspect;^ 
Aad deem'd him for some kinsman of my love,, 



106 MBJOOKIAHM^ 

So striking was the dear sinulitiMie 
^wixt bim and Eliphene.— For, a tboogKt 
Never so much as biated to my soul^ 
' That she herself should seek the man she hated> 
Should Test her forai of loFeluie«s iq ateel^ 
And trace her Hagon into deatk and dengeM. 
Install our heart commaiiced ft frksdahip* 
tender. 
Fondly inTioIate». as eatight together 
By hooks of golden grappling.-r-I, no more. 
Sought Conrade on the periloys edg% of conflict; 
I now had one to care for. Still n^ eye. 
My guardian eye, parsu'd and watch^ hi» 

motions. 
On this side> and on that.<»-In this day's battle, 
IchJargM him> on his duty, on his love. 
To hold him rearward.*— Still I turnM, and. 

turned. 
E'en as a timid deer, accompanied 
By her lov'd fawn,, to try if he was near. 
But yet, alas, in fear of losing fame, 
I led my friend too deeply into dangers* 
At length, toward eve, for who can cope with 

Conrade, 
Your host prevaiKd.— -Indignant, I opposed. 
And would have reinforced the fight/— when, lo,. 
A random shaft rusK'd rudely through the mail,. 



BEOOJRfAKA. tot 

The Cght framM mail ef my beloT^ eomjMtaion^ 
And tinged hi« arms vvith blood. Upon the 

" instant. 
Our legions sounded'a retreat.— -Then, then ; 
Can he believe it, Hugon trembled.— Straight,,, 
Into my arms I caught my best belbvM^ 
A^ fled the biiid«x>st-'— ^igbt caoie d^wu 

apace 
And parted all afiray.^i^-*Upon a bank* 
I laid my dear one, and, with loud laments. 
Between the doubtful glimpses of the moon, 
IJtter'd my wailings.— Then, our bvM SIem< 

fannon 
Came, prpTtdent «f comfbrts, to console; 
And did console, by feeJHng that, on earth, 
S«eh yirtue still was extant.— 4iere, the hero> 
Closed his mkwrn'd narrative. 

tfean-time Elphenor^ pendent o^er the cosse, 
Repealed his elixir, when, at lengjth. 
The beauteous form began to move, at once,. 
All rose exulting,, ev'ry heart around 
Bounding ^ith expectation ; soon her eyes^ 
Open'd their faint refulgence to the lights 
LoQk'd wild around her, with a sickly Kleam^ . 
Tbfm cloned theii' or b« &c ever. 



108 fiROOKIAK](U 

It is presumed the subject of the folloifv 
ing letter will plead the insertion of it. 

LETTER TO HElfRT BROOKE, S8Q. 

siRt Ftb. 14, 1749.. 

You may thint it a litde strange when I 
tell you, that some of your writingfs haye 
found their way into this part of the country ; 
and, I assure you, that they have shortened 
many a winter's night. Now, Sir^ I send 
you an article that I thinS: will be very ac- 
ceptable to your Muse. It is a pity that jour 
great writers should pass over deeds of this, 
kind ; misled by a false ambition, they spend 
their precious time in celebrating heroes, 
wlio think they lengthea their fame- in pro- 
portion to the number of widows and or- 
phans whom they leave to drag out a mi- 
serable existence, in the countries that 
those sanguinary heroes have wasted with fire- 
and swords 

On Saturday night last the wind blew so 
violently , that even, the lonely cottage could 
liot escai^»e iij> fuiy. We were on our kncG^ 



BROOXrANA. t09 

^ night ; but our prayers were chiefly sent 
up for those that were exposed to the rage of 
-the sea, of a dark night, with not so much as 
"the'twiiile of a star to light them on their 
way. AS8 soon as the dawn appeared we ran 
to the shore; 'the storm had abated, but the 
• sea. ran mountains high ; we saw, at the dis«> 
tance of about' two miles, a vessel struggling 
'With* the waves. The hands, five in number^ 
had got. in to the shrouds. Derby Fleming 
immediately, laundhed his boat, crossed him« 
sdf, stepped into the boat ; his -three sons, 
three of the finest young m«n in the parish, 
-stripped off their coats, tied their handker* 
chiefs round their waists, and, without say- 
ing a single word, leaped in after their old 
ifather. The boat flew as if she had 
wings ; now she was out • of sight, and our 
hearts sunk ; now she appeared on the top 
't)f thewavcs^ and our hearts rose again. 
Atlengtfcthey reached the ship, and assisted 
the poor fellows to get down, that were al« 
most . frozen to death with cold and fear ; 
and, &ough the. sea seemed to swell with 
^rage as it were, that it was likely to. lose its 
jprey ; yet, they cut .their waj, and left a 



1 to BsobicrAinu 

stream cf froth fa^hmd tfaepif thst feM9^ 
a flock of sheep* When thejr reached tte 
^ore, jroQ nerer saw mieh an aflEecdng eeeMS. 
The y6ung girls ran up, kisaed die dd nail 
and his three jKins. We found to otir gfcafc 
joy, that they were five Englishmen, in the 
floarer ^f yonth ; they looked found aiid 
round, but could not speak* Thecaptnaat 
length found utterance, and cried ont/^^ Oh 
the gallant Irish for-^erer ; this glorious deed 
shall not pass unrewarded.^ We ksFe givoi 
^hem some refreshments, and sent theni to 
is^d. I will let ymi know the result by the 
first hand that I find going your way. Now 
don'^t you think tiiese four brave fdlows axe 
worth all the heroes recorded in Roman 
history *. 

I am. Sir, with deep r^ard. 

Your very bumbie servant, 

J. FKILAN, 

Parish Priest of Farighf* 



■**— >1^ H I l***^— «li ■ 1 ■ — *^<bd 



* Jt M not known whether Mr. Brt)oke ever g«- 

cified the wish of the writer or nou 



f la Abe vfctt of Ireland* 



'3ROOKIA1IA, 111 

^HEN the following papei^ was first handed 
9bout| it was generally ascribed to Bn 
Swift. Some circumstances, however, in* 
daced many to change this opinion in favour 
<xf Mr. Brooke. The insertion of it wifl^ 
perhaps, enable the reader to trace it up to 
its.true author, especially as it is allowed to 
be worthy of the pen of Swift or Brooke^ 
«id wrkten by #ne of them. 

New Art of Criticism. 

^tJLE I. 

-Pind faulty at first sight ^ with emery thing 

that is published. 

This is the first and fundamental rule of 
^ good criticism-; and is itself founded 
•«ipon doUd reasons. For, 

Ist. It is ten to one but yon are in the 
right ; there being at least ten bod productions 
published every day, for one good one. 

12dly , Because finding fault implies a plain 
superiority of genius. 



11^ BftOOklAKA. 

And what a fme light< is a man seen in, 
when his genius is asserting to itself a bold 
superiority over every other! the very 
claim is a good foundation of eminence* 
Claim boldly, then, for criticism hath, in this 
respect, some resemblance to calumny ; and^ 
indeed, is so lil^e it, in some hands, that 
none but an adebt can distinguish them ; 
and you know the rule, cdumniare fortiter 
(in English criticise boldly) and something 
will certainly adhere, both to yourself and 
to your author. 

Besides this, such a conduct is a strong 
presumption of right; for, who can be ima- 
gined so impudent as to ckim, without 
some colour of justice ? and, therefore, the 
bolder your claim is the better ; if you are 
importunate and persist, it is ten to one but 
the world and the author too, will be glad at 
length to compound the matter with you, 
«pon the foot of an Irish reference, and give 
up one half to secure the xest. 

It is a clear consequence from this rule, 
yoii should -always censure those works viost^ 
which are thought most io exceL 



BROOKI ANA^ US 

For, since criticistn is a claim of supe- 
riority, what have you to do but to raise 
your claim as high as you can, since your 
right must always rise with it ? no man ever 
arrived to any great eminence above ot^iers, 
frcHn the back of an ass, or ^ shoulders of 
a dwarf. , 

A true critic is a true emblem of that 
stately, majestic animal, who never fails to 
raise his crest, burnish his gills, distend his 
dewlap, and swell his breast with a becoming 
indignation, at the first sight of that proud 
colour, that should pretend to glow with 
more glory than his own : and, no wonder 
if, in consequence of such a presumption, 
he assault it with a just degree of rage v and, 
if possible, trample it under foot. 

Ob;. But, here it may be objected, what 
if you should be in the wrong ? 

Ans. 1. To this it is obvious to answer; 
1st. That, if you are*early in your outcry, 
it is ten to one but you damn the thing 
at once ; and then you can never be in the 
wrong. 

VOL. 11. I 



114 BROOKIAKA. 

2dly. If you should be found so in the 
end, it is ten to one but the discovery comes 
too late. For the author may be dead, or 
undone long before ; and so may you too. 

3dly . It is time enough to retract, when the 
rest of the world are convinc'd. Your delay 
will be placM to the account of your delicacy •■ 

And, in the last place, if the worst comes 
to the worst, singularity has a thousand ad- 
vantages to balance every thing that can be 
said against it. There are instances wherein, 
one man has been known to be in the right 
against all the rest. — Athanasius contra mun^ 
dum — is a glorious situation. 

Vi<itrix causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoai. 

RULE II, 

If you find it too adventurous to prormince 
any Writing stuff and nonsense^ at first 
sight; yet you may y safely enough^ shrug 
your shoulders y and cry^ ^' There's no- 
thing in it." 

Reason may be answered with reason, 
and disputes are dangerous, it is impossible 



BROOKIAIJA. 115 

to say where they will end ; but, a shritg is 
a short decision ; a shrug can never be 
baffled ; a shrug is absolutely unanswerable. 

Suppose, for example, that the question 
were about the merits of a dialogue just pub- 
lished, and your adversary should insist, that 
it had every tiling requisite to the beauty 
and perfection of that kind of writing : and 
should talk to you of politeness, and case, 
and elegance, and God knows what — let liim 
talk, and do you shrug. If he shoifld grow 
noisy and pedantic upon you, and pretend 
to quote examples from Plato, and authori- 
ties from Aristotle; let him quote on, and 
do you shrug. If he should persist in his 
impertinence, why then you have nothing 
to do, but to shake your head, and echo 
bis last words; " Ay, ay, Plato, Aristotle, 
eas^, elegance,*' &c. — then smile a little, and 
by degrees laugh out loud— my life for 
your's, his business is done at once. lie 
hangs his ears, and you hear no more of 
him. 

I consider a critic as a creature \vith wliat 
physicians call a strong acid upon bis sto- 

I 2 



116 ' BTROOKIANA. 

mach ; which, though it helps digestion,* 
in general, yet it is too apt to turn some of- 
the noblest foods and perfect nourishments* 
of nature into cholar ajid indigestion. And 
therefore, when critics censure any per- 
formance whatsoever as empty and insigni- 
ficant, all that can be fairly inferred from- 
thence (if they should chance to be mis- 
taken) is only this, that there is nothing in 
it to their taste, or nothing but what they* 
dislike and disrelish ; and under this dis- 
tinction- a good 'critic may, very often ^ with^ 
a good conscience pronounce upon the best* 
performance in its kind, that there is nothing 
in it. 

RULE III. 

If your own authority is not sufficient to 
quell opposition^ and carry your point; 
why then, two or three of you join forces^ 
and call yoursekcs the world — and the 
work is done. 

This is every day experienced with won- 
derful success^ Lady A. tells her friend^ 
" That the world makes very free with 



Bnoq^iANA. 1 17 

Mrs. M.'s reputation : that Lady L. was seen 
to slip into her house in the dusk of the 
evening, and steal out again at one in the 
morning." The friend tells the same story 
to her cousin, the cousin to her sister ; and 
all four hurry to all their visits that very 
ev^ng, to tell the news, under the strongest. 
ties of secrecy. And, in four-and-twenty 
'hours, Lady A. is justified in eteiy syllable 
«he said : for, by that time, the world docs 
.really make very free with Mrs. M.'s reputa- 
>tion; and she is infamous from that moment. 

But suppose people uhould be provoked, 
and tell you plainly, ** That any one of 
those things, which you vilify, hath more 
wit and sense, and fine thiilking in it, than 
all the critics in the world could extract 
•from all the writings of you, and all your 
'associates put togetlier." 

Why, the answer is easy. What is that 
to the purpose? What have critics to do 
with wit and excellence in writing ? a cri- 
tic is a judge; and every oive knows, the 
•business of a judge is, not to draw up 
pleadings, but to pronounce sentence, 

I 3 



118 B/IOOKIAIM, 



RULE IV 



Write nothing but Satire, — and satirize nom 
but persons of eminence. 

Satire is the pine-apple of wit ; it hits 
every taste; and contains every flavour of 
every other fine fruit of the mind. The 
vicious and the worthless are glad to see 
others brought down hy it some degrees 
jiearer to their own demerit or insignifi* 
cancy : the wise and virtuous, unhurt, take a 
secret pleasure in the untarnished lustre, and 
untainted purity of their own perfections; 
and the rabble are delighted with it, be- 
cause it humbles their betters, and brings 
them nearer to their own level. And indeed, 
satire is, next to death, the greatest leveller 
in this world: and, like that too, can rob 
every man living of every ability, every 
beauty, and every blessing of life, and not 
only so, but can convert them all into de- 
formity and filth ; and by that means make 
the most amiable creatures alive, the ab- 
liorrence of their best friends. 



BROOKIANA. 119 

The lustre of an high reputation diffuses 
such a hght round the- owner, as gives the 
satirist (together with the aid of his own 
obscurity) all possible advantages of wound- 
ing him wlicrever he likes. lo vain docs 
the mangled wretch roar out, like furious 
Ajax in Homer, for day and. the enemy : he, 
safe under the protection, of Nox and Ne- 
mesis, his guardian deities, slinks, like Mil- 
ton's hero, to his covert, after he hath 
wrought his vengeance; and waits the re- 
sult of his bold achievement in security 
and silence.. 

• 

RULE V. 

Whatever head you satirize any man under ^ 
before you have done with hi}?i, be sure you 
charge him home upo7i the head o/^ vanity. 

For this is a vice which is. sure to render 
every man living obnoxious to every other. 
And, as every man living hath a competent 
portion of it, every man will admit your 
charge with ease, and join in it with eager- 
ness. 

I 4f 



120 SROOKIA^A. 

If the vanity you censure is ilI4bun<)ed, 
it will raise the more indignation in your 
readers ; if otherwise, the merit of the au- 
thor will make it easiei^ credited, especially 
if he be a candidate for fame, or -honoizr, 
or preferment of any kind : for then, the 
whole crew of competitors will be sure to 
join in the cry against him. And indeed, 
nothing more infallibly incenses any num- 
ber of men against the most deserving man 
in the world, than the least appearance or 
suspicion of a claim of merit ; a& nothing 
can be more provoking than to boast oneV 
wealth among a brotherhood of beggars. 

muLE v:^ 

Whenever you censure any man^s works or 
abilities in one character, be sure, if pos-^ 
sible, to praise him and them in another. 

For example; if the same man should 
rise to reputation both in preaching and in 
])oetry, when you censure his poetry, be 
*ure to praise his preaching at the same time ; 



BROOKIANA. 121 

fbr tlriswill give your criticisms the charac- 
ter of candour and ingenuity, and your cen- 
sure will, by that means, carry more weight : 
add to this, that diere are twenty good judges 
of preaching, for one that pretends to any 
judgment in poetry ; so that, an attempt upon 
him that way, where you might meet a thou- 
sand people, in every quarter of the town, to 
contradict you, would but destroy your own 
character, instead of hurting his. 
" And what greater injury does a good cri- 
tic to any man, in denying him diflferent ex- 
cellencies, than whatiiature herself hath done 
to almost all mankind. Are not different ta- 
Jents, almost always, draw-backs upon one 
another ? is not a fine imagination often ol>- 
served to hurt the judgment ? and wit to im- 
pair the memory ? how unreasonable is it in 
any man to pretend to excel in many things, 
when so few excel in any one ! Will it be any 
imputation upon any man now alive, to say 
that of him which was undoubtedly true. of 
Cicero r I own, indeed, that the warmth and 
elegance, and elevation, of a true poetic spi- 
rit are some of the noblest ingredients in \h% 



122 BROOKTANA*. 

composition of a Christian orator: wliatthen^ 
are not many men deemed good preaqhers 
without them ? what have you to do then^ 
but to follow nature, and give good- quaU- 
ties as sparingly as she uses to. do. 

If it should be still ui^jed, " That some of;' 
this same man's poetic works are allowed 
to excel ; and that he hath received^ high 
compliments on that head from some of 
the greatest geniuses of the age, &c." — • 
What is all that to you ? Do you still fol- 
low nature, and bestow with a wise fruga^i. 
•lity. But above all, be sure you never be-^ 
stow, but under this. prudential direction: 
let the bounty of your praise always go first, 
like Pharaoh's years of plenty ; and then, 
let the frugality of your criticism follow fast 
after, like the years of famine, even though 
it should be thought to devour all that- went 
before it. 

Give and take^ is the great critical apho- 
rism; that is, give all that you cannot take 
away^ and take awajj all that you cam 



BROOKIANA. 1*23 



MRS. GRIERSON. 



Mr. Brooke has celebrated the learning,, 
piety, and virtue, of Mrs. Grierson, in a 
poem which he wrote on the Art of Print- 
ing. This lady was born in the city of Kil- 
kenny*. Such is the vanity of man, tliat he 
thinks he pays a sufficient compliment to 



• The city of Kilkenny it seated on the banks of 
the Viver Nore, and may be said to survey its chief 
beauties in the limpid waves of that sweetly winding 
river. The city and the borough of Canice, form one 
large town. The houses are embellished with black 
and white marble, the most beautiful of the kind, with 
which the neighbourhood abounds. It contains about 
1^,000 inhabitants. It was one of the first cities in 
that country, inhabited by an English colony, drawn 
thither, in all probability, by the beauty of the situa- 
tion: and the common saying, which is in a great mea- 
>ure true, that it can boast of three qualities beyond 
that of any other city, namely, air without fog, water 
wiihout bog, and fire without smoke. Mr. Ledwich, 
author of the Irish Antiquities, has written a history 
of it. The free-school, whichrhas been lately rebuilt, 
is^oue of the finest structures in the kingdom. Coa- 



124 BROOKIANA. 

woman, when he says, she has a masculine 
xnind, whqn, in truth, it is known that there 
are many females on record, who have ri- 
valled the lords of the creation in every 
branch of science, and department of learn- 
ing. In this constellation the name of Mrs. 
"Grierson will shine with encreasing lustre. 
Her father observed, that his daughter, while 
yet a child, was very fond of books, and not- 
withstanding his circumstances were narrow, 
he was determined to furnish her with all those 
that he thought were suited to her years; 
but he soon found, to his great joy, that her 
capacity was not to be measured by her years. 



greve and Dr. Baldwin, some time Provost of Tri- 
nity College, Dublin, received the rudiments of their 
education in this college ; and Swift is said to be in- 
debted, for part of his, to it. This town is thus de- 
scribed by Mr. Mouiraye, a foreign writer, in 1730, 
** Kilkenny, a large town, and capital of the county, 
is one of the best built in the province of Leinster ; its 
streets are paved wiih marble, of which they have 
many quarries in the neighbourhood ; the cathedral 
church is an handsome Gothic building, situated on a 
«mall height, and near to it is a lofty round tower.*' 



BftOOKIANA. ] 25 

it fl^w before them ; and that her genius and' 
inclination would triumph over every diffi- 
oulty , even without the aid of a master. In* 
a tiihe that is almost too short to be men- 
tioned, she was allowed, by competent judges, 
to be a perfect mistress of the Greek and Ro- 
man tongues ; and whilst other young women 
were proud of carrying the keys of closets, 
&c. she parried the keys of science, which 
she unlocked and surveyed, not with a tran- 
sient eye, but with the v^armth and constancy 
rf one that fell in love with tlieir beauties, 
and could duly appreciate their cbarms, so 
that all her attainments may be said to have 
been dictated by nature, aided by lavJdable 
curiosity and industry. She was early mar- 
ried to George Grierson, Esq. the king^s 
printer. As he had a good library, she had 
an opportunity of indulging her literary 
pursuits. Her edition of Tacitus^ which 
was dedicated to Lord Catbcart, when lord- 
lieutenant of Ireland, is a proof of her criti- 
cal knowledge of the Latin tongue : she also 
published an edition of Terence, which she 
inscribed to his lordship^s son. She died at 



1 26 BROOKIANA. 

liie Age of twenty-seven, in the year 175S, 
For some time before her death, as often as 
an ill state of health would permit, she wa« 
preparing the works of Sallu^t for the press. 
This copy, with a number, of MS. notes on 
the margin, came to the possession of Lord 
George Germaine, and was purchased by the 
late John Wilkes, Esq. at the sale of his lord- 
ship's books, in Pall Mall, some 3^ars ago. 
Mr. Wilkes spoke very highly of it, and con^ 
sidered it as one of the most valuable books 
in his classical collection. Mrs. Grierson 
wrote several pieces of English poetry, that 
found admirers in every reader, but as they 
did not please herself she burnt them. Some 
few pieces, however, escaped the Aames. — 
The tv<^o following will sei've as a specimen 
of the rest. 

Lines addressed to tlte Hon. Mrs, Percival 
with M)\ Hutcheson's Treatise on Beau- 
ty and Order. 

Th* internal seases painted here we see. 
They're horn iu others, but they Ike in the«. 



JSROOKIANA. 127 

0-were our author with thy converse blest. 
Could he behold the virtues in thy breast. 
His needless labours with couteut he'd vie\T, 
And bid the world not read, but copy you. 

'On the Art of PrintiJig. 

BY MKS. GRIERSON. 

Hail mystic art, which men like angels taught 
To speak to eyes, and paint embody 'd thought! 
The deaf and dumb, blest skill, relievM by thee. 
We make one sense perform the task of three. 
We see, we hear, we touch, the head and heart. 
And take or give what each but yields in part; 
With the hard laws of distance w-e dispense. 
And without soimd, apart, commune in sense ; 
View, though confiu'd, nay, rule this earthly bali. 
And travel o'er the wide-extended all. 
Dead letters. thus with living notions fraught. 
Prove to the soul the telescope of thought. 
To mortal life immortal honour gives ; 
And bid all deeds and titles last and live 
In scanty life — Eternity we taste. 
View the first ages, and inform the last. 
Arts, history, laws, we purchase with a look. 
And keep, like |ate, all nature in a book. 



t2S JURODKIAKA. 

The perusal of the foregoing- verses^ gare 
birth to the following, written by a gendie- 
man who esteemed the worth and talents of 
Mrs. Grierson. 

On Printing. 

Long had mankind with darkness been op- 
pressed. 

And scarce one petrarch nine whole- centuries 
bless'd : . 

The conquered world, and e*en imperial Rome, 

0*erwhelm*d in ignorance, shared an equal doom : 

Vandals^ and monks^ enflam'd with impious 
rage. 

Drove, J ike a torrent, learning off the stage : 

To native skies religion slighted fled. 

And heavenly science veil'd her blissful head; 

Mysterious jargon then devotion seemed; 

Greek, pious ideots heresy esteemed ; 

Yet Latin oft was read — not understood ; 

For none but pray'rs in sounds unknown were 
good. 

M^hen some k4nd power, (who now propitious 
smiles 

With sweet indulgence o'er Britannia's isles,) 



BROOKIANA. 129 

ExpeU'd aroond the gloomy Gothic night. 
And cheer'd the world with dawniag rays of 

light. 
Inspir'd by him, first Fau^t^ sagacious mind i 
Th€ great discovery opeo'd to mankind : 
Rude characters on wooden tablets made^ 
And of the printing art the basis laid : 
Till fusile types, invented by his skill. 
With num'rovs tomes th' admiring nations fill. 
Vast his attempts, immortal is his fame. 
While Ment2 reserves the great auspicious. 

name, 
lo spite of Haerlem'sy or of Strasburgh's name. 
Thence was the art transplanted to our coast^ 
(Whose generous sons ingenious Caxton boast •} 
IroprovM by various hands in ev'ry stage. 
Till Aldus rose, th' genius of the age ! 
First, by his care, behold leam'd Greece arise. 
And thfi thick mist remove from mortal eyes ! 
See her fam*d works in native lustre shin^ ! 
See Athens once again the world refine ! 
While pleasing scenes o'er Europe's realms ggj- 

pear. 
And joys, uncommon, every mortal cheer. 
No more transcribers' negligence is blam'd 
For faulty Iliads, or a Tully maim'd* 

TOL. II. K 



ISO BHOOiCtAKA/ 

No more did Horace^ bard of sprightly tire. 
Mourn ruder hands : or Bentley's wit require l 
No more the scholar^ press'd by adverse fate. 
Procures a Livy with his whole estate. 
Swift o'er the world learoM volumes were dif* 

fused. 
And thousand bibles for one missal nsed : 
Divine iEneads each museum grace. 
While Plato's works assume a Scotus' place : 
Each needy student shews his classic store, 
And boasts such treasure kings scarce new before. 
Hail, printing ! hail, thou thrice illustrioas art * 
Which cleared the head, and which reformed the 

heart. - • 

Bless'd with new light a superstitious age. 
And purgM the relicts of barbaric rage. 
From thee celestial streams df learning flow. 
And to thy pow'r we pure religion owe. 
By thee assisted, Luther lash'd the crimes 
Of Rome's vile clergy^ and reform'd the times; 
While off their reverend mask Erasmus drew. 
And ev'ry pious fraud expos'd to view; 
The labour finish'd, by thy friendly aid. 
Which Hus and Wickliff long in vain assay'd. 

But see, ye learn'd, from far a genial ray. 
Dawn in the east, and promise rising day ! 



BROOKUKfA. 131 

Ste, diftaiit climes, in this auspicious hour« 
Bec.eive with transport, learniDg's sovereiga 

pow*r ! 
Behold this art in famM Byzantium rise. 
And barb'rous sultans hail the mighty prize: 
High it advances, o'er the mufti's rage. 
The* priests the ruin of their craft presage, 
O ! would indulgent heav'n by this restore 
To eastern lands* the arts they lost before ; 
By this make Turks their native rage forego. 
And the vile frauds of Mecca's prophet show : 
While Asia*^ realms enjoy a milder doom. 
While Greece its Athens boasts, and Thrace A 

second Rome; 
O'er distant worlds while truth and freedom 

shine, 
Jjid conscious nations bless the art divine. 



THE FRIAR OF. ORDERS GREY. 

Amongst all the fragments of English 
poetry, " The Friar of Orders Grey" is 
allowed, by all readers of taste, to be one 
of the most simple and affecting. This 

K 2 



13d BROOKiAKA. 

ballad is said to have been taken from 
Beaumont and Fletcher. Mr. Brooke in- 
troduced one or two stanzas into it, which 
cannot be distinguished from the rest. 
The friar and the hermit^ in the Vicar of 
Wakefield, bear so close a resemblance to 
each other, that many suppose Goldsmith 
could not let the former out of his eye, 
when he wrote the latter- Edwin*, like the 
friar, appears to have feh the scorn of his 
'Angelina's pride, and to have retired from' 
the worlds to mourn over the disaster of 
his love. Chance also leads towards the 
retirement of the friar, the footsteps of his 
mistress (but Angelina differs here, being 
habited as a youth) ; they meet, and they 
converse ; she unfolds her story, and la- 
ments, like Angelina, the effect of her cruel 
pride, which had banished him for ever 
whom she had really loved, and whom grief 



• This was written by a gentleman well qualified, 
i» every respect, to draw parallels of this kind. 



BROOKIAKA. 133 

had long since sunk into the grave. The 
friar says : — 

Within these holy clel^ters long 

He languished,, and he died^ 
Lamenting of a lady's love, 

An4 'plaining of her prid«. 

AngeUna says — 

TiH, quite dejected with my scorn. 

He left me to my pride. 
And sought a solitude forlorn. 

In secret where he died. 

The friar and the hernait seem here to 
have suffered equally from the same cause. 

The poem goes on with much pathetic 
beauty, and the lady, weeping, says 



But, first, upon my true love's grave . 

My weary limbs ril lay. 
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf 

That wraps his breathless clay. 

And art thou dead Tthou much-lov'd youth ! 

And didst thou die for me ? 
Then, farewell home 1 for ever more 

A pilgrim I will be. 

K 3 



Angelina says- 
Bat mine the folly^ mine the fault. 

And well my life shall pay ;' 
I'll seek the solitude he sought. 
And stretch me where he lay. 

And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, 

1*11 lay me down and die ; 
Twas so, for me, that Edwin did. 

And so for him will I. « 

Th^ friar now discovers himself to the 
lady, with the same sudden surprise that 
Edwin does to Angelina : and says- 
Yet stay, fair lady ! turn again. 

And dry those pearly tears 5 
For, see, — beneath this gown of grey. 
Thy own true love appears. 

Edwin says — 

Turn, Angelina ! ever dear ! 

My charmer ! turn to see 
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 

RestorM to love and thee ! 



B&OOKIANA. 135 

JACK F — H AND GRACY P — T. ' 

Mr. Brooke once intended, as it is re- 
lated, to have written a novel founded on 
£act, the Loves of Jack F — ^h and Gracy 
P — ^t. The young man was descended of 
a respectable family. His father rented a 
small farm, and as he was industrious his 
children followed his exatnple; so that he 
was enabled to give them an education suit- 
able to, and even beyond their condition. 
Jack was the favourite of every one in the 
neighbourhood ; he could read^ write, cast 
accounts, and had read Virgil under the 
care of an indulgent and sensible teacher. 
Gracy was the daughter of a proi^d upstart 
'squire ; and as every one was happy in the 
company of Jack, she thought she ought 
to enjoy it as well as others; but unfor- 
tunately for the youthful pair, her father 
was not of the same opinion, and as he 
was of a morose temper, and looked on 
money as the. summian bonum of this life, 
he placed his daughter under the guaivUau- 
ship bf his sister, a vinegar-visaged old 

K 4 



136 BltOOKIANA. 

maid. But Jack had kindled a flame in 
Gracy's bosom, that absence rather en- 
creased than extinguished. The lover, 
however, resolved that his residence in the 
country, should not deprive an amiable 
daughter of the least beam of paternal af- 
fection. He resolved, dear as he loved her, 
to bear her image, which was imprinted in 
his bosom, as his guardian angel, to distant 
climes. After a few years he returned, with 
a handsome fortune, which could only en- 
title him, in the eyes of the father, to the 
hand of his daughter. The lady died a 
few years after their marriage, and the hus- 
band, out of affection to the memory of so 
dear a wife, remained a widower the rest of 
his life, upwards of forty years. Their loves 
gave birth to the fojlowing songs, which 
Mr. Brooke afterwards transplanted into his 
Opera of Jack the Giant Queller, in which 
the word sister is substituted for sweetheart, 

SONG I. 

Tune. — *' Lochaber nomore,'*^ 

Jack, Farewel to my Gracey, my Gracey so sweet, 
Uow painfol to part !^-but again we shall meet. 



Tby Jack, he will languish and long f^r the* 

day. 
That shall kiss the dear tears of his sister away« 
Tbo' honour, in groves of tall laurel, shall 

grow; 
And fortune, in tidesj shall eternally flow; 
Nor honour, nor fortune, thy Jack shall detain. 
Bat he'll come to his (xracey> his sister again. 

Again, at our door, in the morning of spring. 
To see the sun rise, and hear gold- finches' sing; 
To rouse our companions, and maids of the 

Mav, 
In copses to gambol, in meadows to play. 
Or, at questions and foirfeits,. all ranged on the 

grass: 
Or to gather fresh chaplets, each lad for his 

)ass; 
To sing, and to dance, and to sport on the plain. 
Thy Jack shall return to his Gracey again. 

Or alone, in his Gracey *s sweet company 

blest. 
To feed the young robins that chirp on the nest. 
To help at her raed'cines,and herbs for the poor. 
And welcome the stranger that stops at the 

door. 



13S BROOKIANA. 

At nighty o'er our fire, and a cup of clear ale. 
To hear the town-news, and the traveller's tale ; 
To smile away life, till oar heads they grow 

hoar. 
And part from my sheep, ahd my Gracey n« 

more. 

SONG II. 

Tune.—" Drenumdoo.*^ 

Grace, O now he has left me, what care 
shall employ. 
What object afford me the shadow of joy i 
To a heart so overladen, all sorrows are meet; 
Misfortune is welcome, and mourning is sweet f 

Away, ye companions ef daily delight. 
And pastimes that gently could steal on the 

night. 
Away, ye fond sports of the wake, and the fair f 
Your pleasures are ranish'd no brother is 

there ! 

Of the ball, and the hurling, the dance, and 
' the race. 
His skill was the victor, his person the grace: 
The maidens throng'd round him, delighted to 

see. 
And wish'd they had all been his sisters, like me. 



BROOKIANA* IZ9 

Thus, every dear scene of my former delight,. 
To my mind will recal him, but not to my sight; 
The trees will all droop, and the meadows look 

lone; 
And all say— poor maid! thy companion is 

gone! 

D&r» Come, come, my grrl, this fmitleis. 
sorrow cease. 
Let hope and Tirtne give thy bosom peace. 

ICELANDIC PASTORAL, &C. 

The following pastoral was translated out 
of the Icelandic language by a young man 
who was enabled, by the friendship of Mr. 
Brooke, to study that language. 

Lodirtf Kennorj and Einary 

A PASTORAL. 

Lodin. Why such haste ? — the day is yet 
young— we're young ourselves — what haste till 
the lusty sun has chased away the clouds that 
bang upon the mountain's hrow* 

Kennor. But mark, those verjr clouds will 
melt in tears when that bright sua throws aside 



iiO BROOKIANA. 

his shadowy mantle^ and saili thrmigh that wide 
86a of Heaven^ whose margin now is lightly girt 
with blue. 

Lodin. That bright sun did you say f 

Kcrmor. ' Yes, raild and brrght. 

Lodiiu To your eye. 

Kemwr. Yes, and to youp's too# Erery thing 
should appear beautifiii in the eyes of youth. 
The sun should seem all gold, the moon 
silver, and the stars like so many drops of 
tivinkling dew^ Then as to Ingis^ltej you 
should see nothing but lilies and roses on her 
eheek, fiyi^ng afteF one another in wanton pl^y, 
with her hair playing on her neck, like the 
shadow of a wavy pine on a wreath of new-- 
fallen snow. 

Lodin, But if Ingialte turns her eye askance 
when you> attempt td gaze upon her cheek. 

Kennor. Then fly ia pursuit of others. The 
roses of Adelvig are fair ; but the roses of Isefiord 
are as fair. But conle, vou soera to be lost in 
thought ; let us bend our steps to the house of 
Einar, he has got a new harp, and it is he that 
can give the fame of heroes to the wind. 

Einar, You are welcome, friends^ — sit down 
upjon this mossy bank, and I will sing same 



BROOKIAVA; 141 

Dew ▼«]:;^s that Biaina the Scald of Holmo has 
lately composed. 

Lodin. Some spirit, Einar, taught you that 
note ; it is sweet to my ear,-— it is sweeter thaa^ 
the Tocal reeds of Hiortsfiord. 

Einar. There's music in the very soul of 
man^ land if the god of lo^e should string h\8^ 
bow with golden, wires, the heart itself "would 
teach the •artless hand to sink upon the swelling' 
strings. The roughest storm that sweeps along 
the lofly top of yonder wood, is softened to li 
breeze by the voice >of music. Because the 
genius of the wood delights in music, 

Lodiu, That genius is a king. 

Einavn He is king of ail the flowery race, of 
all the trees, and all the birds that wing the air« 
He never feels the balm -of sleep lest some poor 
bird should be robbed of her young— lest some 
rude hand should pluck the infant buds, and cast 
them to be trodden under foot—- or lest the lilly 
should be soiled with the breath of some false 
lover. 

Kermar, Were I a kiug, I would give a 
Hiousand shields to sing his pcaises, and the 
voice of music should never cease. 

Lodiu. I love miisic, but not those plaiA«- 
tiye strains that call forth tears at every 4y» 



I 

• 



142 SROOKIANA. 

kig fall; The fitigenr of the Scald should 
dance upon the strings like a sudden >shower <^ 
ra|n on the Lake of Briga. The pleasures of 
the chase should swell the song— -the foanihi|^ 
steed— the sun« with all his chariot^wheels on 
fire, and echo with a thousand tongues. Then 
let the notes ran in. mazes, like the windings of 
^e subtle fox. 

Kennor. Were I a king, I would raise a 
cottage of verdant turf, — the ivy and sweet- 
briar, in friendly twine, sh6uld creep along the 
wall. My table should be daily covered with 
fish and fruits, with all that cheers the heart 
of age and youth, and mead in cups unnum- 
bered, of polished horn, freaked with many a 
die. And when winter bound up all the floods 
in icy fetters, then the fire should ascend in 
dames, and add new colours to the lazy clouds; 
then laugh and song should circle round till 
spring descended in a shower of snow, dissolv- 
ing as it fell. 

Einar. Were I a king my first and greatest 
care should be, to make my subjects blest; the 
rising race should be inured to war and toil; 
sleep should be measured out to them with nig- 
gard hand ; every cottage should be covered with 
reedsj but the breath of Heaven ^ould fan thenli 



BROOltlANA, 14S 

in th^ir yery beds. Some, even in the tempest, 
far from shore, should seek the whale ; and some 
should till ths soil, and pay for all the sweets of 
life in tears, in smiles, and blood, that loves to 
flow in virtue's cause. The heath shonld be the 
monarch's bed ; his country's love his guard ; 
the virgins should spin his vestments ; and his 
generosity and prowess in the tented field should 
be bis proiid distinction ; in all you have not men« 
tinned love. 

Lodxn, The high-born beauty, proud of an- 
cestry, should never be my choice; I should 
wed a lowly maid, whose hands were early 
taught to spin and milk the kine, whose smiles 
misfortune ne'er could cloud, and yet who could 
weep for the distresses of others. 

Kennor, But then we're told that love's a 
god, as powerful as Woden's self. 

Einar, True, who can resist the power of 
beauty! — the smile, running into dimples,— -the 
look that takes the soul by soft surprize, — the 
touch, that can dissolve the strongest resolution, 
and melt it into air!-— When once entangled in 
their webs, who would be free? 

Ladin. I feel the truth of what yon say^— « 
Ingialte h^ won my soul, my very h«att takei 



1 44 B1U)0RIANA« 

part with the fair eachantres^ there's ruin ia 
her looks^ J know it, and yet I court my ruin !-« 
Come, let us change the theme. 

Ziteral Trafvslation of u Lapland Song^ 

BY THE SAME. 

The poets larish all their praises on the rose : 
It is the fairest flower in the gardens of the Ho* 
rogallea* ; it is cherished with the tears of the 
.^orn; it is the emblem of beauty; it is the 
faTOurite of Pellon Jumalaf : "but there poets 
never saw the roses that bloom on the cheeks of 
Jekoi, the coy Jekoi^ the beauty of her sex. 

The poets lavish all their praises on the lilly : 
It is the beauty of the lakes ; Saraka % has( not 
power to approach it ; it is fairer than new-fallen 
«now4 but these poets have not seen the bosom 
of Jek<M. 



♦ The gods, 

f The god of the fields. 

} A spirit that is supposed to inhabit subterraneous 
places^ a kind of gnome. 



BROOKIANA. 145 

■ 

The poets lavish all their praises on Idasa*, 
when she mounts her sled, and chases the 
flying clouds: but these poets never saw Jekoi 
shooting in her sled^^ along the Lakes of Tana, 

Translation of another Lapland Song, 

BY THE SAME. 

Let Nepat listen to the praises of her lovers. 

Qne praises you because you fly like a blast 
of wind on your sled. 

Another, because you scarce leave the print 
of your feet in the snow. 

A third, because your hair flows in the air 
like smoke. 

A fourth, because your lips are like the 
flowery banks of a slender stream. 

A fifth, because your nails are as polished as 
pebbles. 

But, the sled will fail, the snow will melt, the 
smoke will vanish, the beauty of the banks will 
fade, and the pebbles will roll away in the tor- 
rent ! — Who will praise you then? — Yes, I will 
praise you, if you smile on me, for you will 
always be beautiful in my eyes, even when old 

age has turned your locks to snow. 

- •■ ... ' 

* Aurora. 
VOL. II. L 



][46 SROOKIAKA^ 

MR. CHARLES I>£ POLIZR, 

Mr. Charles de Polier transhted the 
Earl of Essex, a tragedy written by Mr. 
Brooke, into French, with a fehcity pecu- 
liar to a man of genius, and a perfect master 
of the English and French languages. 

Mr. Charles de Polier Bottens* was the 

son of the Reverend de Polier Bottens^ 

dean of the cathedral church of Lausanne^ 
president of the Synod of the Pais de Vaud, 
member of the Society of Arts and Sciences 
at Manheim, and citizen of Geneva. He 
was born at Lausanne, in the year 1153 ; and 
received the first part of his education in the 
public schools of that city. As soon as he 
had acquired a sufficient knowledge of the 
classics, he was sent to an academy near 
Cassel, in Germany ; from whence, after a 
residence of two years, he was removed to 
the university of Gottingen. In this cele- 



* This sketch was written by an intimate friend of 
Mr. Poiicr. 



BROOKIAKA. 147 

brated seat of learning, he passed three 
years ; and being then inclined to a military- 
life, he obtained a lieutenant's commission 
in the Swiss regiment of d'Erlact, in the 
French service. But he soon resigned his 
commission, and returned to Lausanne; 
where he had a command given him, in one 
of the provincial regiments of dragoons. In 
liiis situation, his connection commenced 
with the Earl of Tyrone ; who offered him 
the tuition of his eldest son, Lord le Poer, 
on terms equally honourable and advantage- 
ous. But before the engagement was com- 
pleated, proposals were made to him by the 
I>uke of Saxe Gotha, to become governor 
to the hereditary prince, with an annuity^ 
for life, of twelve hundred rix-doliars ; an 
apartment at court ; and the post of cham- 
berlain, or rank of colonel. These propo- 
sals, however, he declined in favour of Lord 
Tyrone: and he executed the important 
trust assigned to him with such judgment, 
tenderness, and fidelity, as induced tliat res- 
pectable nobleman to commit three of his 
children to his sole direction. These ami* 

X. 2 



148 BROOKIANA. 

able youths fae brought to England, in the 
summer of; 1779; and settled them at the 
school of a clergyman, in Manchester, who 
is eminently distinguished by his virtues as 
a man, and abilities as a teacher. 

By the laws of hospitality, he was- en- 
titled to the attention of the gentlemen of 
that town, as a stranger- But his personal 
accompHshments, and. the charms of his 
conversation, soon superseded the ordinary 
claims of custom, and converted formal ci- 
.vility into esteem and friendship* Amuse- 
ment acquired a dignity and zest by his par- 
ticipation ; and he softened the austerity of 
philosophy, whenever he joined in the pur- 
suit. 

About the middle of the winter of 1 78 1 , 
he was attacked by a complaint, which at 
first gave no disturbance to the vital func- 
tions. But being aggravated by the fatigues 
of a long journey to Holyhead, and of a voy- 
age from thence to Dublin, at a time when 
he laboured under the influenza, his malady 
rapidly encreased after his arrival in Ireland, 
and put a final period to his valuable life on 



BROOKIANA. 14:9 ' 

the rsth of October, 1782*. The vigour 
of his faculties, and the warmth of his af-' 
fections, continued even to the hour of his 
dissolution. And the amiableness of his be- 
haviour, in the closing scene of trial and* 
suffering through which he passed, gave 
such completion to his character, that we 
may apply to him, what a poet has said of 
Mr. Addison : 



He taught us how to live ; and, oh ! too high 

The price of knowledge, taught us how to die. 

MR. BROOKE. 

Tke/ollowing Letter will best explain itself. 

DEAR SIR, Ditbliiij May^ 25, 1804. 

I AM very glad to find that you intend to 
collect as much as j'^ou can of Mr. Brooke 
and his friends ; but, I am sorry on tlie other 
hand to tell you, that at present I can be of 
Tery little assistance to you in that line : for, 

* At Curraghmoie, near Watcnord, the $cat of thr: 
Earl of -Tvroac. 

t 3 



150 BROOKIANA* 

I don*t know how it happens, there 
'Ik man so fond of ease and retirement as I am, 
and yet, there never was a -man, perhaps, 
•that has enjoyed less of the one or the other 
than I have for the last ten years of my Hfe^ 
and am likely to enjoy for some time to come. 
I had the pleasure of knowing Mr. Brooko 
for upwards of twenty years, and I never 
knew a more amiable man in my life. I need 
not say any thing of his writings, men of the 
first taste and learning have borne testimony 
to their' excellence. The subject of his pen 
was always well chosen — religion, virtue, or 
to sum up all in one, patriotism. This di- 
vine flame appears to have been lighted in 
his bosom whilst yet a boy ; and, as no gift 
of heaven could be more acceptable to his 
father and mother, they took care to fan it, 
so that it may be said he was bom a patriot 
and a poet. His mother was a woman of 
very fine taste, 1 think her maiden name was 
Digby. The son always spoke of her with 
the greatest reverence and filial affection.— • 
I recollect little of his boyish daj-s ; indeed, 
I can scarce recollect any thing, for my mind 



BROOKIAKA, Hi 

has not been at home for some time. A 
young man, who mistook inclination for ge- 
nius^ used to write some rhimes, which passed 
for poetry among his friends. One day he 
called at the Bev.. Mr » Brooke% and, as he 
supposed that he felt himself in a poetical 
mood,, he wroto the following line on a slip 
of paper, and then walked out : 

Why does pale Phodhe love to shine by night ? 

Young Brooke in his absence added the 
following line : 

Because the fair look best by candle-light. 

He was then about eight years old ; he was 
bred to the bar, and used to call Coke and 
Dr. Compton, Bishop of London, the found- 
ers of the school of British liberty. He wa& 
very much attached to his Royal Highness 
Prince Frederick, the father of the present 
king ; he retired, in the language of Dr... 
Goldsmith, " to happiness and obscurity,?* 
whilst yet, in the prime of life, and could not 
be drawn from that retirement by the pro- 

h 4 



152 taOOKIANA. 

mises of the great ; not even by Lord Ches- 
terfield, who often lamented that it was not 
in his power to reward such merit. His lord- 
ship, however, appointed him barrack-master 
of Muliingar, which he was taught to look 
upon as a step to preferment ; yet Mr. Brooke, 
who possessed the most grateful heart, never 
flattered his lordship in a single line of prose 
or verse ; for, though 

*' He lovM to praise where praise was due,** 

Yet, he never kindled the sacred incense of 
the muse on the altar of adulation or venality. 
Next to poetry, agriculture was his favourite 
pursuit ; but no man, with his opportunities, 
ever made less progress in it. When he first 
settled at Longfield, I had a conversation with 
him on his favourite subject ; he was to do 
wonders, lakes were to be drained, and moun- 
tains levelled. In short, his head was filled 
with roads, canals, gardens, mines, &c. but 
these were the pleasing visions of a fine ima- 
gination, and a benevolent heart ; and, on my 
return some years afterwards, I found the 
share as rusty as ever^ and, instead of plough- 



BROOKIANA. 153 

ing ground, he had in the interval employed 
.hisliburs in ploughing the snowy fields of 
rhyme: reading, conversation with his fa- 
mily, and correspondence with his friends, 
filled up the rest of his time. • He had, when 
I first knew him, an excdlent library— >the 
very worst of it was precious. His conver- 
sation was pleasing and instructive in the 
highest degree ; he was very communicative, 
and happy in proportion as he made every 
one happy around him. He used to corre- 
spond with Mr. Garrick, whom he admired 
very much as an actor ; and, as I have men- 
tioned the British Roscius, I now recollect 
that Mr. Brooke gave me a copy of a play- 
bill, which I now send you, to eke out this 
dull letter. In my next, however, I shall en- 
deayour to make some amends ; and, tiHthen 
I am, 

Your's sincerely, 

s. K N. 



154 BROOKIAK^A^ 

Copy ;oJ the FhyMU that announced' the jtrsi 
jippearance of Mr^ Garricky . October 1 9thy, 
1741. 

Goodman's FfELDS« 

AT>tbe late Theatre in Goodman*8< fie Ids,, this 
tlay will he performed a concert of vocal and: 
iostruinental music,. divided into two parts. 

Tickets at three, two,. and one shilling. 

Places for the boxes to be takea at the Fleecer- 
tavern, near the theatre, 

N. B. Between the two parts of. the concert 
will be presented an historical play, called th# 

Life and Death of 

KING RICHA.RO THE THIRD,, 

Containing the distresses of King Henry VL 

The artful acquisition. of the crown by King 
Richard. 

The murder of the young king Edward th« 
Fifth, and his brother, in the Tower. 

The landing of the Earl of Richmond. 

And the death of King Richard in the memo- 
rable battle of Bosworth-field, being the last that 
was fought betweea the houses of York and 
Lancaster. 

With many other true historical passages. 



BROOKIAXA* 155 

(The part af King Richard by a gentteman who* 
never appeared en any stage.) 



King Henry, 

Richmond, • • 

Prince Bdward • , 

Duke of York, 

Duke of Buckingham, • 

Dake of Norfolk, 

Lord Stanby, » • 

Oxford, ■ • • • 

Tuisel, • 

Catesby, • • .. 

Ratcliff, 

Blunt, • • » 

Tyrrell, 

Lord-mayor, • '• 

Queen, • ^ • 

Duchess of York, 

And the part of Lady Anne, by Mrs. Giflard. 
With eatertainments of dancing by Mens. 
Peonmit, Madame Duvalt, and the two Masters 
and Miss Graniers. 

To which will be added a ballad Opera^ of one 

Act, called, 

TBB VIRGIN UNMASKED. 

The part of Lucy by Miss Hippisley. 
Both of which will be performed gratis by 
persons for their diversion. 
Jbe Concert will begin exactly at six o'clock. 



Mr. Giffard } 
Mr. Marshal ; 
Miss Hippisley ^ 
Miss Naylor ;. 
Mr. Patterson ; 
Mr. Blakes ;. 
Mr. Pagett ; 
Mr. Vaughan ; 
Mr. W. Giffard ^ 
Mr. Marr j^ 
Mr. Crofts ; 
Mr. Naylor ; 
Mr. Puttenhaoi^ 
Mr. Dunstale ; 
Mrs. Steel ; 
Mrs. Yates ; 



15S BROOKIANA. ' 

DOCTOR CLANCY. 

As Doctor Clancey paid some tributary 
verses to the talents of Mr. Brooke, he 
ishould not be passed over in silence. 
Michael Clancy v^^s descended from an 
ancient family, in the south of Ireland; 
his father, a military man, was determined 
to give his son a good education. Young 
Clancy was placed, at a very early age, in 
the best college in Paris, where he remain- 
ed four yearsi after which he returned to 
Ireland, and was sent to the free -school of 
Kilkenny, — a learned seminary, where ge- 
nius has always found the best guides. In 
the sixteenth year of his age, he was entered 
of Trinity College, Dublin, where he was 
lucky enough to attract the notice of Dr. 
Baldwin*, provost of that university. As 

* Dr. Richard Baldwin has been thiriy-four years 
the head of this society, (Dublin CoUegc) j he is a po- 
lite well-bred gentleman, sober in his way of living, 
and decent in his manners, with a courily behaviour, 
purged from every academical rust : Learned wiihour 
pedantry, and ptudent from the habit of doing right ; he 



BROOKIANA. 157 

the doctor has written his own memoirs , what 
lie says of himself will of course find a readiev 
acceptance than any words that can fiowftom 
the pen of another. 

*^. I remained in this university near fpuis 
years ; nor do I believe, that during three 
years of the time, it ever entered into my 
head to consider what station of hfe I should 
embrace. I saw the different ports, but had 
BO jpHot to conduct me to them ; and, though 
inattentive as I was to any fixed provision, 
'which is the conunon concern of mankind, I 



It now in a very, advanced age, and, as a rare instance 
of an admirable contexture, fupports a firm mind, and 
an unshaken understanding, against all the ruins of 
time-. What' I have said of this gentleman, is- not tho 
result of any particular reason, that could bias me in 
iiii favour ;. I never received any obligations from him 
more than that common civility which his good breed-^ 
ing obliged him to shew to those whom he admits to ap« 
proach him j and only proceeds from a desire of doing 
tome sort of justice to the character of a good man, wlio- 
kas been basely traduced by the malevolent, 

Clancy's Me.moi&s.. 



1 a BROOKIANA. 

<^iild iM but take notice, that Mreral yoxai^ 
gendemen df my standing were, from time t6 
time,draiighted out of this corps, most of them 
preferred to livings in the church, by means 
4rfa thing called interest ; a word I was then 
An utter stranger to, nor could I compr^end 
Ha signification, till it was one day explained 
to me on some particular occasion, which 
raised my curiosity, and made me more then 
tommonly inquisitive : I was told that one 
was advanced to a fine living, by the recom* 
mendation of the Lord L— — ; another 

made a dignitary, by Mr. C <lly ; a third 

put in possession of a fair income, by the 
intrigues and managements of a chamber- 
maid* I could by no means conceive, what 
analogy there could be, between any reward 
that learning could claim, and the ascent or 

power of Mr. C -lly, or that of a cham* 

ber-maid, especially, as two such persons 
seem to me to be no judges of literary merit, 
or its recompence. I thought the only way 
to success, was to deserve it, and that there 
was a never-failing tie between desert and 
prosperity ; that advancement was a sure 



XRooicrAKii. r$9 

consequence of eminence in liberal arts:; 
and the short cut of thriving by favour, when 
ilwas once explained to me, appeared in so 
dftestdbk aform, that tiooked upon' this nevir 
system as the bane of my hopes, and a bar to 
every expectation that could 4)e founded on 
the force of bare and absolute merit* I was 
atrtoo far a distance from the thoughts of the 
Avchbishop of Dublin, to become the object 
cf his care ; he was the only man in power, 
to whom I could expedt the least access : I 
waited oh his gi^ce, and he received me ci-> 
TiBy . On that day I first observed the man* 
'Oerin which great men generally treat those 
who are very far below them, and have some^ 
thing to ask ; they then assume a figure more 
-awful and tremendous than the stern goddess 
in the Pythian oracle : they have the art of 
throwing a cloud of diffidence and confusion, 
over the trembling mortal who dares approach 
them ; and, folded up in their own security, 
discover a forbidding outside, through a thin 
▼eil of benignity and ^complaisance ; and, 
like expert tennis-]:&yers, hold a racket in 
their hands, that shifts off every ball directed 



160 BROOKIANA. 

cither at tlieir heads or their hearts. This 
good prelate, whose penetration, perhaps, 
uaw into my insufficiency, opposed severe 
difficulties to every proposal I took the liberty 
to make to him. It is the nature of old age 
to be dilatory and tardy, by the necessity of 
using patience ; knowing that length of time 
wears out our strongest expectations, or 
changes their direction. He moralized on 
the duty of forbearance, and dismissed me, 
replenished with — counsel. The unsubstan- 
tial food of advice I found too weak a diet, 
and to weather out anxious and painful mo- 
ments of uncertainty, and draw them through 
a length of tedious months or years, was a 
situation wliich I had not vigour enough to 
sustain. The coramon prospects wliich op- 
pose thcmsfives to persons in my condition, 
seeming, for their meanness, unworfny and 
uncomfortaijk^, I was rv'solved to try some 

bold expediei:t to shake off a gcoJling chain 

of evils. 

" No succee.r could ])e lioped from acci- 

iiC'axSjnor was there ajiy room lor the gifts of 

^bance, in a country barren of those oppot?- 



■*'"«?«.■.• 



^OPKIANA. 161 




tunities that are foTraj^^ .in the great world ; 
miiere, in the jumble o?1l4ngs, the plurality 
and variety of casualties, the play of fortune 
often produces happy and favourable events. 
Fitty priors, shewing themselves in all the 
taverns of Dublin , would not have found one 
Dorset; and Diogenes might as soon have 
discovered an honest man at Athens, 'a» 
Addison and his nine muses have found out 
a Lord Hallifax among the learned nobility : 
the very Swiss reward the military virtues 
of a soldier, and what man of the least cou- 
rage would tamely submit to serve in that 
army, whose captains overlook every brave 
exploit, when every degree of virtue is put 
upon the foot of common duty. 

Our student having laid in a good cargo 
of classical learning, was determined to try 
if. he could convert it to any advantage in 
a foreign clime ; bearing in mind the say- 
ing, " That a prophet is not without ho- 
nour, save in his own country." Accord- 
ingly he set sail for France on the 25th of 
July 1742, where he had the good fortune 
to meet with some friends who enabled him 

VOL. II. M 



162 BROOKIANA« 

to study physic, in one of the colleges in 
that kingdom, haying now, as he conceived^ 
'directed his attention and acquirements to a 
profession that would render him useful to 
his fellow-creatures; he thought his own 
country had the first claim on his know^ 
ledge in the healing art : but, on his return 
to it, he found that almost every village 
could boast of its Galen and Hippocrates, 
some of whom would have felt themselves 
very much mortified if they thought that pub- 
lic opinion did not place them even beyond 
the father of physic. As he found it would 
be very difficult to contend with men whom 
the voice of fame had already ranked as the 
first in their profession; and as his pride 
would not let him move in a secondai-y line, 
he was determined to try if the comic muse 
would smile on his exertions. He accord* 
ingly wrote a comedy called The Sharper, 
which was performed at the theatre Smock- 
alley, Dublin, in the year HAS. The dif- 
ficulties which he experienced to get this 
play brought forward, and the fate of it 
when played, induced him to lay down his 



BftOOKIANA. I6S 

dramatic pen for ever. The only haven that 
qow presented itself to a man long tossed 
in the boisterous ocean of adversity, was a 
scho<il) which he opened for the instruction 
'of youth in the Greek and Roman tongues ; 
though few men, perhaps, were ever better 
qualified to discharge a trust of such high 
importance, yet his efforts do not appear to 
have been crowned with success. He con- 
tinued to teach though he lost his sight, in 
consequence of a cold ; he bore this visita« 
tion of providence with great equanimity^ 
as well as many other afflictions : — 

Till pitying nature sign'd the last relea§e. 
And bade afflicted worth retire to peace* 

He had collected some of his poems, a 
«hort time before his death, with a vie\V of 
publishing a slender volume of them by sub- 
scription. 

The foUowmg are taken from that col- 
lection, which, in all probability, is now 
«st« 

M 2 



164 BROOKIANA. 

^n Epistle to Dr. Francis Andrews ^ on a 
late Advertisement y directing such Books 
as should be read for Adjnittafice into the 
University of Dublin, 

BY MICHAEL CLANCY^ M. D. 

^ Andrews ! those antique books you naxne^ * 
Are now no road to wealth or fame ; 
Their date is past^ and men no more 
O'er musty fruifless authors pore: 
True Turks in gfafn, as if their creed 
Persuaded "'twere a crime to -read. 

Knowledge, first mark and pledge of love. 
Transmitted by the mystic dove. 
To strengthen truth divinely given. 
In cloven tongues came down from hca\^en: 
But at this day a scurvy pack 
Of evil beasts have sent it back:; 
It is with bright Astrea gone. 
And to primaeval mansions flown. 

» 

Learning, by modern art, is spread 
Without the labour of the head j 



SftOOKIANil» 16S 

Conceit gives learning all at once« 

And mioses a scholar of a dunce. 

« 

An ass extols his friend the drone. 
And says his<peer was never known ;, 
The drone proclaims the braying ass 
Does sweet Corelli'js notes surpass; 
The blockhead, says his brother block, / 
Ha^ Newton's sense,. and thinks like Locke; 
The block bestows him nobler parts 
Than Montesquieu's or fam'd Descartes; 
And thus, in nature^s full defiance. 
Each fool has wit, each dolt has science. 

Then what avails that classic tribe. 
Whose strict perusal you prescribe ? 
They bar the main design of thriving. 
At Which all mortal men are driving. 
You shew a false, misguiding clue; 
But — *tis your office speaks, i^ot you : 
Who know 'tis madness to encumber 
The brain with such pedantic lumber; 
And that the method you are carving 
Directly leads to downright starving; 
As some advantage may arise 
From ev*ry other enterprize. 

M 3 



}66 SROOKIAKA. 

The traveller refentleas goes 
Through the cold length of Alpine snovrs^ 
Sure to arrive, and feast his eyes 
With scenes of beauty and surprise; 
Where virtue rais'd the Roman name 
To glory and immortal fame;. 
To trace where Clelia stemmM the flood,. 
Where Cocles resolutely stood : 
Where Fabius'conqjuer'd by delay^ 
And Caesar made the world obey. 
Or tread where Brutus trod before. 
Or calmly rest on Baifa^s shore :. 
Each charming view, each awful sight,. 
Rewards his labours with delight. 

The mariner undaunted steers. 
Nor rocks, nor gulphs, nor quicksands fears; 
Let Boreas rage, and Neptune too. 
He holds his destinM port in view ; 
His staple cargo will repay 
The toils and dangers of the sea ; 
But — whore's that port, that mart to vend. 
The paltry ware you recommend r 
Our children ask us bread, and none 
(Or scripture errs) will give a stone. 



BROOKIANA. 167 

4 

Perhaps, like holy John, you ]«ok 
To fill their stomachs with a book. * 
Which, like the ajpostle's, can produce 
None other but a bitter juice. 

"Suppose some hapless youth, full fraught 
With all that Greece and Rome have taughtf 
Sore that success should issue forth 
From learning's strong intrinsic worth; 
Then launch him into life— he'll find 
He tugs an oar 'gainst vrave and wind. 

Learning, from vulgar gain debarred. 
Like virtue, is its own reward : 
At Salter's* wears a thread-bare coat, 
Worth thousand^^.and not worth a groat; 
There's Greek, in tatter*d shirt disguis'd. 
Despising fools, by fools despis'd ; 
And Latin, such as Terence knew. 
In stockings patch'd, and heelless shoe: 
There merit stalks in poor disguise) 
Unheeded, impotently wise; 
Yet knows what Bodley's volumes hold : 
What prophets, priests, or sages, told ; 

^ * A cofTee-house in Chelsea. 

M 4 



168 £^OOKTANA« 

Knows Pindus and the sacred nine; 
Knows ev*fy things but>-^where to dine. 

Learnings like beauty :n distress^ ^ 

Will ever fail of due success;— 
If rags debase the/brightest maid. 
She sinks to Drury's common trade ; 
And learned want, in mean attire. 
May sell its scraps for sordid hire. 

Learning ! henceforth abscond your head. 
And science ! tremble in the shade,^ 
Whereas Harley now, with generous strife. 
To usher merit into life ?' 
Somers no more, the prop of state. 
Supports those arts which made him great : 
Stanhope* — withdrawn, to crown his days. 
With height of, fame, and learned ease:—* 
With those each gentle art retir'd. 
And wit, and sense, and taste expired. 

Our later worthies disavow 
The use of things they cannot know : 
In innate dulness meanly £(lide. 
And catch the flow of fortune's tide ; 
They learn preferment's road to find 
Without one grace of heart or mind j ' 

* The Earl of Chesterfield. 



Those rules of virtue learning mentiens; . 
Are quite averse to their intentions; 
And therefore warily- disclaim 
Their chief reproach, and lasting shame. 

Gk),!—- ! withmimic sound. 
Torture cramp words, and sense confound; 
In learning aim at revolution ; 
Muster your bands in convocation. 
To spread new blessings o'er the nation; 
So secret and so deep conceaPd, 
That they will never be reveal'd : 
—Or Prussia's monarch ! turn your rage 
Against the Vandals of this age. 

On the Right' Hon. the Earl of ChesterJieWs 
Recovery from a late Indispositon. 

BT MICHAEL CLANCY, M. D. 

Durrow, in Irelandy Sept, 29, 1767. 

** Jc disoit a la nuit sombre ; 

Tu vas rhaintenani dans ton Omhrt 

Le cacher pour toujour s : 

Se redisois ^ VAurore^ 

La Matinee que tu vas eclore 

Ce sera le dernier de ses jours.*' 

In noon-day heat, a pilgrim spread 

His limbs to warmth, and chaf d his head : 



Enjoyed the sun, whose powerful faj 
£nli V enM oace Prcmetbeaa clay : : 
Sudden he finds a ^ade.of tught 
Invade its strong: meFidiaa lights : 
Soon feels a dreary damp^ and sees . 
The gloom i advancing by d^gree^;: 
Till all its luc'rd orb was«eiz.M 
With darkness, thickening as he ga^'d : : 
Convulsive pangs his soul affright. 
With terrors of eternal night : . 
No hope that time may ligtit restore,- . 
And noon-day. was to be no more. 

Thus, when of late, pale sickness spread 
A dismal mist round Stanhope's head ; 
That head, by. whose prudence states rever'd. 
And ev'ry foe to virtue fear'd : 
A threat»ning cloud hung o'er these eyes. 
Whose vigour pierc'd through false disguise ; 
That tender heart began to grieve. 
Whose chiefest joy was to relieve ; 
And faintly thrillM that vital flood 
Which flovv'd from universal good. 

Swift Fame the dismal tidings bore, 
^nd Albion moan'd from shore to shore ; 
Tho* genius droop'd. In mournful lays 
lerne'fi sons attempt his praise : 



«tOOlClAtfAv lit 

"€) best of men ! whose condact'sage 
Appeas^ rebellion'S'horrid rage ; ' 
Foil right he held the guiding helix^; 
dor lives^he sav'd, who savM the realm^ 
Propitious hearen your aid bestow 
On him whose heart would pity. shew !' 
Sclipses are-the sun^d disease* 
When the dark moon- obstructs his rays t. 
As she goes •(t\.he shines again> 
And re-assumes his splendid reigOi 

That dreadful eioud is blown away. 
Which darkened Stanhope's lovely day : 
On ev'iry face a chearful smile 
Shews joy renewM through Britain^s Isle: 
To mirth lerne's harp resounds ; 
To Btrth each vocal hill resounds. 
Her rural pipes his safety greet 
In sprightly airs and numbers sweet ; 
Swift ily lond notes from silver strings^ * 
And ev^ry muse in concert sings. 



TRIAL OF THE CATHOLICS. 

At a period when the Catholics of Ireland, 
laboured under a train of political restric* 
tionsi which the interest of the few, and the 



17^ BROOKIANA. 

roistakeiitzeal of the many had imposed, Mr. 
Brooke, who had a full opportunity of wit- 
nessing their unshaken loyalty, atatime when 
it was. put to the test, conceived that the day 
had now arrived, when a protestant would 
be heard in the cause of a brother catholic, 
especially if he could make it appear that his 
appeal was founded in justice, humanity, 
and sound policy. For the attainment of 
this laudable end, Mr. Brooke published a 
tract, entitled, " the trial of the Roman 
tatholics of Ireland," in which the writer 
has .appointed a judge, impannelled a jury, 
with counsel and witnesses on both sides. It 
would certainly have afforded the author a 
great deal of pleasure, if he had lived to find 
his sentiments adopted by an enlightened 
legislature. The following extract from this 
work, will enable the reader to forma faint 
idea of the whole : 

My Lords. Gentlemen of the Jury. From 
the very beginning of the world, to the very 
beginning of the present century, it hath 
been the Capital study of every legislature. 



BROOKIANA. 118 

any way worthy of that title, to multiply 
hands, and to encourage and quicken indus- 
try, by all possible contrivances, motives, 
and incitements. For, my lords, the num«* 
ber of people is accounted the wealth of a 
nation, merely as they supply the greater 
number of hands ; and the number of hands 
IS accounted the wealth of a nation, merely 
as they supply the greater quantity of la« 
bour ; and, the quantity of labour makes the 
wealth of a nation, merely as it supplies 
those products whose values universally con* 
stitute the wealth of mankind ; for, as those 
products must bear a mathematical propor- 
tion to the quantity of labour employed 
thereon, so the quantity of such labour must 
equally bear .a mathematical proportion to 
the quantity of encouragement that is given 
thereto. 

Can ye tell me, then, who were the Solons 
of whom that senate was compounded, which 
contrived and framed laws for the discou- 
ragement of that labour, on which the wealth 
and prosperity of their country depended ? 
imd whoi by a listlessness and j:^laxation of 



liands, had made tvro thirds of the people 

•t>f Ireland the poverty-, the'buiden^ and the 

corse of. the land, and of that unhappy 

community with^whora they are connected. 

Let US now, my lords, take a prospect of 
the situation of protestants in that country. 
•Let us take it in the natural occurrence of 
objects, and in the light that common sense 
onay cast upon them. 

1 purposdy pass over, in the way of ouf 
view, the danger that Irish protestants may 
be in, or the jealousies they may still enter-* 
tain of a people who are very little interested 
in their prosperity or preservation. Sup- 
posing that nothing of this required any mat- 
ter of prevention or remedy ; let us behold 
all the Irish as inhabitants of the same coun- 
try, as members of one community, who 
ought to be united in prospects, attachments, 
operations, and pursuits. 

But is that the light, ray lords, in which 
you see them ? Not so, not so. You behold 
Irish papists as a body of men retained with- 
in the bowels of the public, and yet rejected 
^rom-any personal service thereto, or any real 



BUOOKIANA^ TT5 

interest I or durable property therein. Yon 
behold them as an independent and unnatural 
foBtas within the womb of their mother-coun^ 
tiy ; or as so many internal parts of a great 
machine, that airelegaUy clogged and retarded 
in their oj£ces ; and thence obstruct or coun- 
teract that movement which \% necessary to 
Ae intention of the whole. You behold their 
industry as a shell-snail that slowly drags 
along its unavoidable incumbrance. You 
behold their arts and inventions, as a flock 
of tamed poultry, with weights at their legs, 
'to prevent the use of wings, and keep them 
from soaring. You behold them listless, and 
•bound on the backs of their protestant 
'brediren, as Mezentius bound the bodies of 
the dead to theiiving ! Is it, then, to be won* 
dered, that ali the wisdom and patriotism of 
our succeeding legislators neither have 
availed, nor can avail, forthe cure of a ma- 
ilady so constitutional and inherent, till the 
.cause from whence the malady proceeds is 
Attempted ? 

My lords, when Mr. Serjeant asked me, 
aipon the word of a man of integrity , if i 



176 BfiOOKIANA. 

thought that Irish catholics were to be de- 
pended upon, I answered, that I thought 
they were not to be depended upon. I then 
spoke, my lords, fromthe jealousy that na- 
turally arises in the mind of man, on the most 
remote apprehension, or possibility of^an-r 
ger; and, indeed, I then spoke in direct-con- 
tradiction to irepeated trial and experience, 
long approved. 

About six generations have now passed 
away, according to the rates of purchase, 
and estimate of the life of man, since these 
people have offended in word or in deed. 
No riotings have bieen heard in their houses, 
no complainings in their streets ; they have 
been silent and harmless as the flocks on the 
hill of Croghan. Our parties, factions, and 
insurrections, as they are merrily stiled here 
in England, have been all among Irish pro- 
testants ; this people were neither actors nor 
partakers therein. They have offered them- 
selves to our fleets and to our armies, to tend 
our persons, to till our grounds, to hew our 
wood, and draw our water. Where we admit 
them to fight for us, they have ever proved 



BUOOKIANA. 177, 

Valiant ; where we admit them to serve us, 
they are ever found loving, observant, and 
faithful. Temptations have come to their 
doors and called them forth ; the contagion 
of rebeUion hath several -times broken out 
among their neighbours, they have yet re- 
mained quiet, and continued unteinted ; still 
loyal to their sovereign, amenable to go- 
remment, and submissive to law, through a 
long and trying succession of upward of se- 
Tcnty years, they have scarce appeared to 
repine in the midst of calamity. 

What, then, do we look for further? What 
proofs do we yet require of peacefulness 
and attachment at the hands of these our 
brethren ? Is no period to be put to their state 
of probation ? must they for ever keep out 
upon Quarantine, without harbour, or hopei 
of re^ or reconciliation ? Or, is it possible 
that Irish Catholics, who have so long and so 
loyally demeaned themselves as friends, 
while considered as enemies ; is it possible, 
I say, my lords, that they should become 
our enemies, on account of their being 
treated by us, and attached to us, and int9>^ 

VOL. II. K 



rested ia us, as friends i A people, my lords, 
who, through a winter of seventy years con- 
tinuance, have never failed or forsaken, or 
given us cause of oifence, surely merit some 
consideration, some grateful and chearful 
ray, to warm them to a sense that protestants 
4tre not, by choice, of a cruel, unforgiving, 
or malevolent nature. 

With what a strengthening to his majesty's 
throne and government! With what ^i as* 
surance of safety to Irish protestants ! .WiUi 
what an increase of wealth and prosperity to 
Ireland ! With what ease and honour to our le- 
gislature might this be done ! It is but interest- 
mg this people in the defence of the state , in the 
safety of their protestant brethren, and in the 
culture and preservation of the coimtry wherein 
their treasures will then be deposited ; and, as 
siurely as matter must gravitate to its center,, 
these people will adhere to the interests of 
those with whom their own shall be united, 
against men and angels, against pretenders, 
popes, or devils. No seductions, no persua-* 
sions, could then tempt them to permit, and 
much less to assist, toward the overthrow of 



4 edrtstitutito, wherein theif stake lay, and 
whose equal they could not hope to find upoa 
eardi. 

POETICAL PETITION. 

To His Excellency Philip Earl of Chester^ 
field y Lard-lieutenant of Ireland ^ i(c. He. 

The Petition of the independent Company 
of Young Gentlemen Volunteers of th<5 
Free-school of Clonmell. 

PRSSXNTia BY MR. BROOKE^ 
MAT IT PLEASE YOUR BXCELLENCy, 

While weightiest cares yoor every thought 
eDgross, 
A moment wasted were a nation's los9 ; 
Bot in some genial hour, to ease resigned) 
And gran t> propitious heav'n, that hour we find; 
Forgive the muse intruding with her song. 
Just's her request, nor shall her stay be Jong, 

To form the mind the ductile youth is led. 
Thro' all the glories of the illustrious dead ; 
The din of war, sweet peace's blissful calm. 
The jtatesman*s purple, and the warrior's palm ^ 
Our op'ding hearts with noblest ardours fire. 
To emulate the virtues we admire, 
liaise the distressed, for sacred freedom bleed. 
Languish for fsme, and be the men we read. 

N 2 



ISO fiROOKIANAv 

While such fair themes tmr rising youth 

engage. 
How glows each bosom with indignant rage. 
To find rebellion make so bold a stand, . 
And rapines, rapes, and blood, deform the land. 
Fir»d at the thought, we've form'd a youthful 

band; 
But arms are wanting to the willing hand ; 
Then give us arms, such arms as suit our age. 
Whose weight wonH load, nor smallness baulk 

our rage^ 
What liberty inpiresher sons, we'll shew. 
And much we*ll dare, if little we can ^o. 
And when brave William, with a mighty 

hand. 
Has chac'd the monster from the bleeding land; 
Grown old in arms, in manhood's opening dawn. 
We'll shake the Gallic tyrant on his thpoiie. 
Act o'er the glories of great Henry's reign. 
And Jgincaurt and Cressy fight again. 
Incline auspicious Stanhope, nor refuse 
This first essay of a young tim'rous muse ; 
Who, gasping with a godlike thirst for fame. 
Plies for protection to thy sacred name ! 
Oh ! let that worth, that clemency divine. 
Which recommends to heav'n each act of thinv ; 



BROOKIANA. 181 

Stop, and the panting suppliants kindly raise^ 
Grant their request, and smile upon their lays; 
So soon to nobler flights she'll boldly rise, 
Foir who dares damn the Terse you patronize. 
And should some sparks of that celestial fire. 
Which fills thy soul, our swelling breasts inspire^ 
Borne by the muse you've rescued from. the 

shade. 
Your name shall Time's remotest lengths pervade^ 
Triumphant soar aerial on her wing. 
And bloom immortal in eternal spring. 
Where every song the ravish'd fancy charms. 
And godlike thirst for heav'nly glory warms. 

Clonmelly Jan. 10, 1745-6^ 



GUSTAVUS VASA. 

The tragedy of Gustavus Vasa has very 
justly ranked Mr. Brooke in the first class of 
our best tragic poets. The eventful history 
of the illustrious hero of that poem was pe- 
culiarly calculated to call forth all the poetical 
powers and patriotic feelings of the writer ; 
and, notwithstanding he has given full scope 
\p both, yet his imagination will be found to 
have been, always under the guidance of his 

N 3 



182 ]^R001CIAK4« 

judgment. He has chosen ih^ i^ost interesting 
facts in the history pf the founder of tbo 
House of Va$a ; and, in the few instances in 
which he has departed from them, he has 
kept probabihty in view. It is certain that 
Christiem the tyrant put the mother and 
sister of Gustavus to death ; and that with 
their last breath they called upon the son 
and the brother, not to avenge their blood,, 
but to sell his own as dear as he could in th^ 
cause of his country. This call was re^ 
echoed by the voice of every good man in 
Sweden, and seconded by every arm, espe- 
cially by the brave Dalecarlians, that hardy 
mountain race, 

Whose in-born spirit spurnM the ignoble fee. 
Whose hands scorned bondage, for their hearts 
were free. 

Mr. Brooke, however, was not the first to 
occupy this ground; — Mrs.Catharine Trotter, 
a lady of no mean talents, wrote a tragedy on 
the same subject, in 1706, under the title of 
*' The Revolution of Sweden," which was 
acted at the Queen's Theatre, in the Hay- 



market : and the late King of Sweden con« 
CetTing that the deeds which Gustavus the 
First had done with his sword, was worthy 
the pen of Gustavus the Third, has worked 
Ad story into an opera, in which sense and 
sound 'go hand in hand. 

Mr. Brooke appears to have breathed all 
his soul into the last scene of the fourth act 
of his tragedy ; the last meeting of the son 
9ad the n\other is deeply affecting ; and, as 
it cannot be painted in any language so well 
as in that of the poet ; the insertion of it 
(fk>m the first edition) will justify all that 
has been advanced in favour of one of the 
first tragedies that ever was composed. 

Etiier Gustavus, ArcidUf Anderson, Amoldusy, 

Sivard, 4rc. 
Hold ! 

G%ut. Ha! *tis, it is my mother!' 
Clurist, Tell me, Gustavus,. why is this ? 
That, as a stream diverted from the banks 
Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn those men 
Upon a dry unchannelM enterprize. 
To turn their inundation ? — ^Are the lives 

N 4 



184 BKOOKIAKA. 

Of my misguided people held so light. 

That thus thou'dst push them on the keen rebuke 

Of guarded majesty ; where justice waits. 

All awful and resistless^ to assert 

Th^ impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings. 

And blast rebellion ? 

Gust^ Justice ! sanctitude ! 
And rights ! O patience ! rights ! what rights ? 

thou tyrant ? 
Yes, if perdition be the rale of power ; 
If wrongs give right ; O then, supreme in mis- 
chief ! 
Thou wert the lord^ the monarch of the world ! 
Too narrow for thy claim, but if thou think'st 
That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin. 
To be the means, the specialty of lust. 
And sensual attribution — If thou think'st. 
That empire is of titled birth or blood ; 
That nature in the proud behalf of one 
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race. 
And bow hergen*ral issue to the yoke 
Of private domination — then, thou proud one. 
Here know me for thy king — However be told. 
Not claim hereditary, not the trust 
Of frank election ; 
Not e'en the high anointing hand of heaven 



BROOKTANA* 185 

Can authorize oppression ; give a law ' 

For lawless pow'r; wed faith to violation'; 

On reason builcl misrule^ or justly bind 

Allegiance to injustice — ^Tyrauiny 

Absolves all faith ; and who invades our rights^ ^ 

Howe'er his own commence^ can never be 

But an usurper — But for thee^ for thee 

There is no name .'-—thou hast abjur'd mankind ; 

DashM safety from thy bleak unsocial side^ 

And wag'd wild war with universal nature } * 

Christ. Licentious traitor ! thou canst talk i% 
largely ; 
Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings, ' 
And pow'r, prime attribute ? As on thy tongue 
The poise of battle lay, and arms, of force. 
To throw defiance in the front of duty. 
Look round, unruly boy, thy battle comes 
Like raw, disjointed must'ring ; feeble wrath ! 
A irar of waters borne against the rock 
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe. 
And shiver in the toil.. , 

Gust. Mistaken man ! 
I come impower^d and strengthenM in thy 

weakuess.^ 
For, though the structure of a tyranl^s throne 
Rise qn the necks of half the suii'^ring world ; 



Fear trembles in the cement : prayers and tears/ 
And secret curses sap its mouldering base. 
And steal the pillars of allegiance fr^m it ;• 
Then let a single arm bat dare the sway^ 
^eadloBg it turns^ and drives npon destmctioDi 

TroU. Profaae, and alien to the love of heair'o ; 
Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine 
Jhat hangs o^r thy rebeUion ? Know'st tkoa not 
Thou art at enmity with grace ? cast oo^ 
Hade an anathema,. a curse enrollM 
Among the feithful, thouand thy adherents . 
Shorn from our holy church, and ofier'd up 
As sacred to damnation } 

GmsL Yes, I know. 
When such as thou with sacrilegious hand 
Seize on the apostolic key of Heav'n, 
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves 
To. shut out virtue, and unfold those gates 
That Heav'n itself had barr'd against the lusts 
Of avarice and ambition— soft, and sweet. 
As looks of charity, or voice of lambs 
That bleat upon the morning, are the wowls- 
Of christian meekness! mission all divine f 
The law of love sole mandate— but your gall. 
Ye Swedish prelacy !— your gall hath turn'd 
The words of sweet, but indigested peace. 



70 wrjith and bittern^sa— ^ye hallowed loen f 
Jn whom vice sanctifies, whose precepts teach 
^eal without truth, r^ligioa without virtue. 
Who ne'er preach Heaven but with a downward 

eye 
That turns your souls to dross; who shouting loose 
The dogs of Hell upon u^. The{t3> and rapes,. 
Sack'd towns, and midnight bowlings, thru' Ihe 

realm 
Receive your sanction— O 'tis glorious nuschief ! 
When vice turns holy, puts religion on. 
Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye 
Qf 8t£^iQt)y elevation, blesseth sin, .^ 

And makes the seal of sweet ofiended Heav'A 
A sign of blood, a label for degrees. 
That Hell wou*d shrink to own. ■ 

Christ. No more of this, 
Gustavus, wou'd'st thou yet return to grace. 
And hol4 thy motions in the sphere of duty. 
Acceptance might be found. 

Ctut, Imperial spoiler ! 
Give me my father, give me back my kindred. 
Give me the fathers often thousand orphans. 
Give mc the sons in whom thy ruthless sword 
Has left our widows childless : mine they were. 
Both mine and every Swede's, whose patriot 
breast 



188 BUOblltANA* 

Bleeds in his country^s woundingsf 0> thou 

can'st not. 
Thou- hast out-sinned ftll reckoning ! give me the» 
My all that's lefft> my gentle mother there, . 
And spare yon little trembler ! 

Christ, Yes, on terms 
Of compact, and submission. 

Gust. Ha ! with thee ? 
Compact with thee ! and mean'st thou for my 

country ? 
For Sweden ! no — so hold my heart but firm, 
Altho* it wring for't J tho' blood drop for tears> 
And at the sight my straining eyes start forth — 
They both shall perish first. 

Christ, Slaves, do your office. 

Gust, Hold yet, — thou can*st not be sodamn'd ? 
my mother ! 
I dare not ask thy blessing — Wher,^*s Arvida? 
Where art thou ? come, my friend, thou^et known 

temptation— 
And ther^efore best can*st pity, or support me. 

Jrv, Alas ! I shall but serve to weigh thee 
downward. 
To pull thee from the dazzling, sightless height. 
At which thy virtue soars. For, O Gustavus, 
My soul is dark, disconsolate and dark ; 
Sick to the world, and hateful to myself. 



BltOOKIANA* 189 

I have no country now ; I*ve nought but thee. 
And should yield up the interest of mankind. 
Where thine's in question. 

JguHa. See, my son relents ; 
Behold, O king! yet spare us but a moment ;> 
His little sister shall embrace^his knees. 
And these fond arms, around his duteous neck. 
Shall join to bend him to us. 

Ckrist. Cou'd I trust ye 

Jro. ril be your hostage* 

Christ. Granted. 

Guit. Hold, my friend. 

[Here Jrvida breaks from Oustavus, and 
passes to Cristiem's party, while Agusta 
and Oiutata go over to Gusiavtts, 

Jgusta, Is it 4hen giv'n, yet giv*n ere I die. 
To see thy face» Oustavus? thus to gaze. 
To touch, to Ibid thee thus!— ray son, my «on ! 
And have I lived to this ? it is enough. 
AU armM, and in thy country's precious cause 
Terr?bly beauteous, to behold thee thus! 
"Why, ^twas my only, hourly suit to heaven. 
And now 'tis granted. O my glorious child. 
Blessed wer« the throes I felt for thee, Gustavusf 
For from the breast, from out your swathing 

bands * 
You steppM the child of lionour* 



1§0 BROOltlAKAi 

Guit, Omymothefl 

Jgusta. Why ataAdff that w&f erf Mthblifl^ id 
thy eye. 
Why heaves thy boftoni ? ttim not thtis AWfty> 
'Tia the last time that we must rtieet^ my child. 
And I will haye th6e wh^le. Why, ^hf, Gli#- 

^. tavas^ 
Why is this form of hestifies^ ? for me 
I trust it is not meant; yoQ cahaot thirik 
So poorly of me : I grow oW, my son. 
And, to the utmost period of mortality, 
I ne'er should find a deslth's hocir like td this. 
Whereby to do thee bonotfr. 

Guit. Roman ]9atriots ! 
Ye DecM self-devoted to yoUf ctmntry ! 
You gave no mothers up ! Will annals yield 
No precedent for this, nO elder bo^t 
Whereby to match my trial ? 

Jgusta. No, Gastavns ; 
For heav'n still squares our trial to our strength. 
And thine is -of the foremost—: — noble youth ! 
Ev'n I, thy parent, with a conscioos pride. 
Have often bowM to thy superior virtues, 
O, there is but one bitterness in death. 
One only sting- 



^tkmmt 



Gust. Speak, speak ! 



IROOKIANJI. 191 

Aguj^s 'Tis felt for thee. 
Too well I knpw thy gentleness of bou1> 
Melting as babes; ev'n now the pressure's oil 

thee. 
And bends thy loveliness to earth-*-0^ child I / 
T^he dear but sad foretaste of thy affliction 
Already kills thy mother^— but behold. 
Behold thy valiant followers, who to thee^ 
And to the faith of thy protecting arm 
Have giv^n ten thousand mothers, daughters too; 
Who in thy virtue yet may learn to bear 
Millions of free-born sons to bless thy name. 
And pray for their deliverer^— O farcw:el ! 
This, and but this, the«very last adieu \ 
Heav'n sit victorious on thy arm, my son I 
And give thee to thy merits! 

Christ. Ah, thou traitVessI 

Gustava. O brother, a'n't you stronger tha» 
that man j 
Don't let him take ray mother. 

i^fiMto. . See, Gustavus, 
My little captive waits for one embrace. 

Gust. Come to my arms, thou lamb-tike sa« 
crifice; 
O'that they were of force ix> hold thee ever. 
To let thee to my heart ! there kck thee close^ 
And circle thee with life! but ^twcU itoCbtf! 



192 BKOOKIAKA. 

Gustava, I'll stay with you, my brother. 
Gust. Killing innoceace ! 
That I was bom to see this hour! 
The pains of hell are on me ! — take her, mother ! 
Guistaua, I will not part with you, indeed I 
will not! 

' Gust. Take her I^istractloB ! haste, my 

dearest mother: 
Oh— else I ^'all run mad<^ — Hj'uite mad and 
save ye. 
Arv. Hold, madam; — hear me, thou most dear 
Gustavus ! 
Thus low I bend my pray'r, reject me not: 
If once, if ever thou didst love Arvida, 
O leave me here to answer to the wrath 
Of this fell tyrant. Save thy honoured mother^ 
And that sweet lamb from slaughter ! 
Gust. Cruel friendship ! 
Christy And by my life I'd take thee at thy 
word. 
Thou doubly damn'd ! but that I know 'twould 
please thee, 
Agusta^ No, gen'rous prince, thy blood shall 
never be 
The price of our dishonour. Come, my child; 
Weep not, sweet babe, there shall no harm come 
nigh thee. 



BROORIANA. 195 

ChrUt. Tis well, proud dame; you are rc- 
turn'd I se c 
Each to his charge— here break we oiF, Ou^ 

tavus ; 
For to the very teeth Of thy rebellion 
'We dash defiance back. 

Chut. Alas, my motl^er ! 
Grief choaks up utt' ranee, ^Ise I have to say 
What never tongue unfolded— —yet return. 
Come back, and I will give up all to save thee; 
'For on the covering- of thy sacred head 
-My heart drops blood. Thou fountain of my 

life! 
^Dearer than mercy is to kneeling penitence. 
My early blessing, first and latest joy; 
Eeturn, return, and save thy lost-Gustavui! 
Christ » No more, thou trifler! 
j4gusta, O farewel, for ever ! 

[Exeunt Christiem and his party. Gustaou$ 
and his party remain. 
Gust, Then she is gone— —Arvida ! Ander- 
son f 
For ever gone— -^Arnoldus^ friends, where are 

ye? 
•Help here, heave, heave this mountain from 
me— -O- 

TOL. II. 



194 BROOKIANA. 

Heaven keep my senses !— So— ^we will to 

battle; 
£ut let no banners waT C - ' 'be still thou trump ! 
And ev'ry martial sound that gives the war 
To pomp or levity ; for vengeance now 
Is clad with heavy arms, sedately stern, 
Resolv'd, but silent as the slaughterM hei^ 
O'er which 4fny soul is brooding. 

Am, O Gust av us! 
Is there a Swede of us, whose sword and soul 
Grapples not to thee^ as to all they hold 
Of earthly estimation ? said I more. 
It were but half my thought. 

Jmd. On thee we gaze. 
As one unknown 'till this important hour; 
Pre-eminent of men ! 

Svo. Accurs'd be he. 
Who, in thy leading, will not fight and strive. 
Aid bleed, and gasp with pleasure ! - 

Aiid. We are thine; 
All, all, both we and ours; whom thou this day 
Hast dearly purchased. 

Am, Tho*, to yield us up. 
Had scarce been less than virtue. 

CusU O my friends ! 
I see. His not for man to boast his strength 



^ItOOKIANA, If 5 

Before the trial comes— —this, very boar» 
Had I a thousand parents^ ail seemed light 
When weighM against my country; and but 

now. 
One mother seem'd of weight to poize the world ; 
Tho' conscious truth and reason were against her» 
For, O, howe'er the partial passions sway. 
High heaven assigns but one unbiassM way ; 
Direct thro' ev*ry opposition leads. 
Where shelves decline, and many a steep im* 

pedes. 
Here hold we on — tho* thwarting fiends alarm^ 
Here hold we on— tho' devious syrens charm; 
In Heav'ns disposing.pow'r events unite, 
^or aught can happen wrong to hini who acts 

aright. 

On the refusal of a licence to this play^ 
Mr. Paul Wliiichead published the following 
lines: 

While Athens gloried in her free-born race. 
And science flourished round her favorite places 
The muse unfettered trod the Grecian stage ; 
Free were her pinions* unrestraia'd her rage. 

o 2 



196 BROCTKifANA. 

Bold aiid secure, she aim'd the pointed dart. 
And pour*d the precept poignant to the hearty 
Till dire dominioii stretchM her lawless sway. 
And Athens' sons were destined to obey, 
Thed, first, the stage a licensM bondage knew. 
And tyrants quashM the scene they fearM to 

view; 
Fair Freedom's voice no more was Heard t% 

charm. 
Or liberty the attic audience warm. 

Then fled the muse indignant from the shore «; 
Nor deign'd to dwell where freedom was no 

more. 
Vain then, alas! she sought Britannia's' isle, 
Charm'd with her voice, and cheer'd us with her 

smile. 
If Gallic laws her genVous flight restrain. 
And bind her captive with th' ignoble chain^ 
Bold and unlicens'd in Eliza's days. 
Free flowed her numbers, flourish'd fair her 

bays: 
On Britain's stage, majestic, unconfin'd. 
She tunes her patriot lessons to mankind; 
For mighty heroes ransack'd ev'ry age— 
Then beam'd them glorious in her Shakespeare'-^ 
page* 



SAOOKIANA. HOI 

Shakespeare's no more — lost was the poet's 
pame. 
Till thou, my friend, my genius, sprung to fame. 
Lur'd by his laurel's never-fading bloom. 
You boldly snatch'd the trophy from his tomb. 
Taught the declining muse again to soar. 
And to Britannia gave one poet more. 

PleasM in thy lays, we see Gustavus live : 
But, O Gustavus, if thou canst forgive 
Britons more savage than the tyrant Dane, 
Beneath whose yoke you drew the galling chain ; 
Degenerate Britons, by thy worth dismayed, 
Pxophane thy glories, and proscribe thy shade ! 

• In 1742, this play was performed in Dub- 
lin. 

£ARL NUGENT. 

Plato considered it as one of the happiest 
circumstances of his life, that he lived in the 
time of Socrates. Earl. Nugent used to say, 
that he accounted it4)iie of the greatest bless- 
ings of his life, that he lived in the da)-s of 
Mr. Brooke ; but this was a time when his 
youthful muse sported on the wings of love 

. o 3 



1 98 JlRbOKIAKJf. 

and pleasantry, when he was Content to 
breathe his native air, and to converse^ with a 
chosen few, whose ambition never tempted 
them beyond the bounds of their hereditary 
domains. It is but justice, however, to his 
lordship.^o say, what can be said with truth> 
that he never forgot his native country in 
the senate, or out of the senate. Mr. Brooke 
complimented him more than once on his 
patriotic exertions, which,on some occasions, 
were crowned with unexpected success. In 
the year 1172, Earl Nugent* presented the 
queen with a piece of poplin, the produce of 
tlie Irish shuttle, accompanied by the follow- 
ing verses. 

And oh ! might poor Icrne hope 
In sober freedom's liberal scope. 
To ply the loom, to plough the main, 
Kor see Heav'ns bounties pour'd in vain ; 
Where starving hinds from fens and rocks. 
View pastures rich with herds and flocks. 
And only view, forbid to taste- 
Sad tenants of a dreary waste, 

* Then Lord Clare. 



SftoaKiAVA. 199 

For other hinds our oxen bleed^. 
Gur flocks for happier regions feed; 
Their fleece to Gallia's looms resign. 
More rich than the Peruvian mine ; 
Her fields with barren lilies strown. 
Now white with treasure not her own ; 
In vain lernia's piercing cries. 
Plaintive pursue the golden prize ; 
While all aghast, the weaver stands. 
And. drops the shuttle from his hands ; 
Barter accurst ! but mad distress. 
To ruin flies,. from wretchedness; 
Their's be the blame, who bar the course. 
Of commerce from her genuine source ; 
And drives the wretch his thirst to slake. 
With poison in a stagnant lake. 
Hence, ports securM from ev'iy wind. 
For trade, for wealth, for power, dcsignM; 
Where faithful coasts and friendly gales. 
Invite the helm and court the sails; 
A wide deserted space expand. 
Surrounded with unculturM land ; 
Thence Poverty with haggard eye. 
Beholds the British streamers fly ; 
Behold the merchant doom'd to brave. 
The treach'rous shoal and adverse wav» ; 

o 4 



200 BROOKIANAr. 

Constrained to risk his precious store. 
And shun our interdicted shore ; 
Thus Britain works a sister's woe. 
Thus starves a friend, and ^luts a foe. 

Inscription written by the late Earl Nugent^, 
in the Church of Lickblea^ in the County of 
Westmeath^ on the Author'^s Father ^ and 
others of his Ancestors. 

Unmarked by trophies of the great and vain, . 
Here sleeps in silent tombs a gentle train ; 
No folly wasted their paternal store. 
No guilt nor sordid av'rice made it more. 
With honest fame, and sober plenty crown'd, . 
They liv'd, and spread their chearing influence 

round j 
May he whose hand this pious tribute pays 
Receive a full return of filial praise. 

A CHARACTER, 

BY MX,. BROOKS. 

When o'er the canvas flows the master's line. 
He adds no name to mark the just design ; 
The portrait, 'midst a mingling world, is known, 
And stands admired, distinguish'd, and alone ! 



BROOKUNA* 201 

Behold him full x)f virtues «»xxf days. 
Laden with worth,. infirmities, and praise ! 
Down the hoar flowingsof his silvered head,. 
Wisdom and time their equal honpurs shed;. 
Txuth and Benevolence, with equal grace, 
Eise fromhis breast, and lighten in his face. 

His languid limbs expect the peaceful bier ; 
His head and heart still active, free, and clftar ! 
On his own frame, though dire distemper preyi,. 
He's borne around, to- give aU others ease ; 
Before his healing presence Life respires. 
And sickness, with his rueful train, retires ! 

Great Leach*, both of our persons and our state ! ' 
When thou, at some sad hour, shalt yield to fate^ , 
O then, adieu Hibernia's chiefest wealth; 
Adieu to Liberty ! adieu to Health i 



MR. BROOKE. 

DEAR SIR, Dublin^ JulyX^^ 1804: 

You know I am one of those that put 

off every thing to the last, even Death itself. 

Oh dear, how I do lament that' my papers 

are in the country, otherwise I could send 

* Dr. Lucat, Member of Parliament for .Dublin.. 



202 BROqStlANA. 

you some tKat would" be of service to you. I 
must how resort to my memory, and that is^ 
a poor store-house, but such as it is 3rou are 
heartily wekonrfie to the contents of it. Agri- 
cultui:p^as I have already told you, was Mr. 
Brooke's ruling passion for the last twenty 
years of his life, and upwards. Many of 
hla essays on that interesting subject, are 
very wiill- worth reading ; to him a vein of 
marl was more precious than a. vein of gold. 
I believe he had.all the writings of Hesiod, 
Xenophon, Aratus, Eratosthenus, Cato, Var- 
ro, and even Magon, the old Carthaginian, 
by rote. He attempted to drains some lakes 
in hisnative country, but perseverance, even 
in his favourite pursuits, was not his motto ; 
however, he did a great deal, and so far he is 
entitled to the gratitude of posterity. I think 
he was introduced to the late Prince of Wales 
by Mri Pitt ; his royal patron made him many 
princely presents, books, paintings, and, at 
one time, a service of cliina. Mr. Brooke 
was one of the most improvident men in the 
world: immense sums of money passed 
through his hands. To hear him talk some- 



times of what he would do, you would ima- 
gine that Aladin's lamp^ the philbsopher'il 
stone, and< Fortnnatus's wishing-hat, were all 
within his grasp. His Fdnnefs Letteri 
were very much admired, and raised him 
many friends; even those thatdid not admire 
thewriter, loi*edthe nwn, and so they ought^ 
for he was the most amiable of men. He 
proposed at one time to write an epic poem:; 
I forget the subject,, but you may see from 
his translation of Tasso, that he was well qua^ 
lified for such an arduous task. Moore, 
author of The Gamester, used 46 pay him. 
six-pence a line for what he wrote.for him. 
I think Mr. Brooke told me this himself. He 
modernized some of Chaucer's Tales iii 
Ogle, for a trifle, which I am ashamed to men- 
tion. The story of his havins^ fallen out with 
the Earl of Chesterfield, is not true ; lie al- 
ways lived on the best terms with that no- 
bleman, who was something more tlian a 
lord among poets. Lord Chesterfield's name 
is in the list of the subscribers to Gustavuj 
Vasa, with ten guineas annexed to it, a 
larger siua than any in that briiliant cata^ 



204 BAOOKIANA. 

logue. His lordship also, as I have already 
observed, appointed Mr. Brooke* barrack- 
toaster in Mullingar *, a place, with perqui- 
sites, of about 400l. a-year. Mr; Brooke's 



* Mullingar is planted in a very fruitful garden, but 
at the same time a very weedy one. The soil is rick 
for many miles around ; the situation beautiful, for 
it lies between two lakes, Hoyle and Konel/ Two 
rivers run out of Lough Hoyle, in opposite directions, 
one to the south,' and another to the west. The airis 
very healthy ; the women are well made, rather of the 
middle size, but inclined to fat. The richer sort are 
as fond of dress as the rest of their sex, but they have 
not the art of putting it on. Every thing seems to be 
in a kind of contrast in this place, old houses and new 
houses, lofty houses and low houses, straight streets 
and crooked ones, scarce a clean one to be found. The 
town is well supplied with provisionsof all kinds, and 
house-rent is low, so that, if it was kept a little cleaner, 
and better built, I think it would be a pleasant resort 
for men of moderate fortunes, whose society would be 
very agreeable, as men of this rank have generally a 
competent share of reading and information. Mullin- 
gar is a great horse-fair, and a wool-fair into the 
bargain. 

Macalistek's Travels. 



brookianA, 205 

great object in all his writings was to promote 
the cause of religion, morality, to enlarge the 
promaeria of science, and to leave the world 
better than he found it. Of all his writings, 
his poem entitled " Universal Beauty," was 
his favourite, it was his opus pahnarium. 
His .elegy on the death of the Rev. Mr. 
Wilson was very much admired ; I have it, 
and will send it to you. I only recollect two 
lines of it: 

Oh ! quick^ and seize what all so eager shun, 
*6oon was thy round of eager 'virtue run. 

On the publication of his Farmer^s LeU 
terSy Mr. Garrick addressed the following 
lines to him : 

" Oh ! thou, whose artless free-born 'genius 
charms. 
Whose rustic zeal each patriot bosom warmsi; 
Pursue ^he glorious task, the pleasing toil^ 
Forsake the fields, and tiil a nobler soil; 
Extend the Farmer't care to human kind. 
Manure the heart, and cultivatt the mind: 
There plant religion, reason, freedom, truth. 
And sow the seeds of virtue iu our youth. 



j2(^ BltOOKlANA. 

Let 'no ra7ik tufeds corrupt^ or branibies ch€»ak» 
And shake the 'vermin from the British oak. 
from riorthem bla$k protect the vernal bloom. 
And guard our pastures from the wolves qfRome. 
On Britain's liberty engraft thy name. 
And reqp the I harvest of immortal fame !** 

Do not forget the fine compliment Moore 
paid him *. I think the fables in Moore's 
collection, that -flowed from his pen are, — 
the Temple of Hymen, the Sparrow and the 
Dove, the Female Seducers, Love and Va- 
nity. I must not neglect to teU^ what I be- 
lieve you know already, that Mr. Brooke 
was a man of great personal courage, 
but was never knoT^n to offend any man: 



* To avoid the misfortune that may attend me from 
any accidental success, 1 think it necessary to inform 
those who know me, that I have been assisted in the 
following papers by the author of Gustavus Vasa, 
Let the crime of pleasing be his ; whose talents as a 
writer, and whose virtues as a man, have rendered 
him a living affront to the whole circle of his acquaint- 
ance. 

See Pre/ace /# Moore's Fables/or the Female SeXf 



4MlOOKlAN;A. 207 

lie was an excellent swordsman., and covdd 
dance with a great de^d of 'grace. He 
was the best reader I ever heard. The 
late Mr. Thomas Sheridaa, and Mr. Carver^ 
the psmat^r, used to visit him in Longfield^ 
where, on one occasion, they converted the 
barn into a theatre, sand played Jack the 
X^iant Queller in it.. The country* 'squires 
used to boast, that they were not afraid of 
the author of the Fool of Quahty, and that 
Jie never laughed at them, or turned them 
"into ridicule.; nay, one of them used to 
say, in a degree of triumph, that he cor- 
responded with him. As a specimen of that 
correspondence on one side, take the follow- 
ing 

XETTER TO HENRY 'BROOKE, ESQ. 
BEAR SIR, 

I AM SO tied by the legs with a fit of 
the gout, that I caji't ride out. I am told 
that some peepk can amuse themselves with 
reading, and I am resolved to try it. I 
would thank you then, if you would send 
by my arrant-'hoy the history of that co-« 



208 BROOKFANA. 

mical fellow that fought with a wine-mjiO^ 
I forget his name, I beleeve they call him 
Dun Suicksettj or any other book, as I am 
told you have a good libryy and when I 
have hobbled through it. Til return it safe 
and sound, with many thanks. 

Your's truly, 

E. K ■. 
Best compliments to Mrs. JB — , and all 
the fammilly, 

Mr. Brooke died full of years in Dublin, 
in a state of second childhood. The Rev. 
Mr. Skelton wrote his epitaph: lest you 
should not have it, I send it. 

Here lies a casket which of late resigned 
Three jewels brighter than the solar beam! 

Such faith, such genius, and an heart so kind. 
As in no second breast are found by fame ! 

But I must not forget the honest black- 
smith at Longfield ; the moment he heard 
of Mr. Brooke's death, he wrote the follow- 
ing lines for his old indulgent master. 



BAOOKIANA.. 209 

Epkaph on H. Brooke^ Esq. 

Here lies a head with learning fill'd, 
A tongue in Greek and Latin skill'd ; 
A heart to pity always prone^ 
That felt for sorrows not its own ; 
A hand still ready to relieve, 
Tlie poor, indeed, may truly grieve; 
His very looks reliev'd their want^^ 
And brighten d up their gloomy haunts^ 
An eye that wink'd at other's failings. 
And ears close shut to noise and railings. 
A foot that even. trod. in youths 
The paths that lead to praise and truth. 
In all extremities a friend. 
Slow, slow to borrow^ quick to lend. 
In all his acts sincere and just. 
Then drop a tear upon his dust. 

Your's truly, 

R« K. 



MISS CHAHLOTTE BROOKE. 

The gift of poetry was hereditary in the 
family of Mr. Brooke ; it descended to his 

VOL. II. p 



210 BROOKIAWA. 

daughter Charlotte, and, like the rest of her 
relatives she employed it in the service of 
religion and virtue She was the only sur- 
viving child oft ,/o-and-twenty , the rest paid 
the debt of nature in their infancy, except 
her brother Arthur, an^ amiable young* man^ 
who died a captain in the service of the East- 
India Coraf'any . Charlotte was of a delicate 
habit, which was rendered still more so by her 
incessant attention to a sickly mother tot 
some years. Her father superintended her 
education ; and, as he bad made that subject 
his peculiar study, he was happy to find that 
his daughter was endowed with a mind, sus- 
ceptible of all those precepts that lead to 
happiness in this world and the next. Of 
the value of these precept?, she had exam- 
ples in her father and mother, piety and re- 
signation n all the aiHictions with which it 
had pleasea heaven to visit both, particularly 
at the lose of their lives. Of her first poeti- 
cal attempts there are few remains, and as 
they v>re written merely to please a few 
friends in the country, it is probable she 
would have been sufficiently gratified with 



BRpOKIANA. 211 

tbeir approbation, if they had not called on 
her to add something more to that fame 
which those effusions had acquired. As she 
bad liearned the Irish language, she was often 
charmed to find many beauties in the songs, 
even of the unlettered bards in that tongue. 
At first she only intended to collect a little 
nosegay of these poetical flowers. The pea- 
sants were so pleased with this intelligence, 
that they waited on her with all the scattered 
verses that memory could collect. These 
grateful offerings made so deep an impres- 
sion in her breast, that slie treasured them 
up, and resolved to translate them into Eng- 
lish, if her health would permit. Many 
verses were written to her on this occasion ; 
and, among the rest, the following by the 
parish schoolmaster : 

To Miss Charlotte Brooke, 

Since ev*ry language has its own conceits. 
Its subtle windings and its nice retreats ; 
Then why should you desert our native tongue. 
In which the Loves and Graces often sung : 

p 2 



21& BROOXIANA. 

Pray do you think our native woods. 
Our lofty mountains, and our silver floods. 
Our verdant plains and ever blooming flowers,^ 
Our spreading hedges, and our airy bowers. 
Would not call forth what language could im- 
part , 
If nature stood in any need of art ? 
But all our language wish'd, kind nature gave» 
And art at, best is bat the poet's slave. 

p. D — ^Y. 

Her first publication was a translation of 
a song and monody, by Carplan*, in Wal* 
Jeer's Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. 
Mr. Walker prefaced this monody in these 
words: *' For the benefit of the English 
reader, I shall here give an elegant para- 
phrase of this Monody, by a young lady, 
whose name I am enjoined to conceal ; with 
the modesty ever attendant on true merit, 
and with the sweet timidity natural to her 
sex, she shrinks from the public eye." After 
such an introduction, which flowed from 
the pen of an accomplised scholar and amia* 

- * The celebrated Irish coroposer. 



MOOItlAirA. .21S 

ble mindy the insertion of the. translation 
itself will be naturally expected. 

Carohris Monody on the Deaih of Mary 

Maguire. 

TAAKSLATIB IB.OM THE IRISH LANGUAGB |IT 

MI8S1IROOKX. 

Were mine the choice of intellectual fame^ 

Of spelful song, and eloquence divine. 
Painting's sweet powerj philosophy's pure flame. 

And Homer's lyre, and Ossian's harp, were 
mine ; 
The splendid arts of Erin, Greece, and Rome, 

In Mary lost, would lose their wonted grace. 
All would I give to snatch her from the tomb. 

Again to fold her in mr fond embrace. 
Desponding, sick, exhausted with my grief. 

Awhile the founts of sorrow cease to flow. 
In yain«-«I rest not*— «leep brings no relief;-^ 

Cheerless, companion less, I wake to woe. 
Nor birth, nor beauty, shall again allure. 

Nor fortune, win me to another bride ; 
Alone Pli wander, and alone endure. 

Till death restore me to my dear one's side. 
Once evVy thought, and ev'ry sceae wasgay. 

Friends, mirth, and music, all my hours em- 

ploy'd, 

PS 



214^ BROOKrAKA. 

Kow doom'd to mojum my last sad years p.way^ 

My life a solitude !-^my heart a void ! 
Alas^ the change !— the change again no more ; 

For every c<Mnfort is with Mary fled ; 
And ceaseless angui^ shall her loss deplore. 

Till age and sorrow join me with the dead. 
Adieu, each gift of nature and of art. 

That erst adornM me in life's early prime ; 
The cloudless temper, and the social heart. 

The soul etherial, and the ilights sublime ; 
Thy loss, my Mary, chac'd them from my 
breast ! [more. 

Thy sweetness cheers, thy judgment aias no 
The muse deserts a heart with grief opprest. 

And lost is every joy that charm'd before ! 

In 1*787 she found herself in possession 
of a considerable number of fragments ; she 
selected those in which 

Nature spoke, and the rapt bard 
Luxuriant roam'd, nor did regard 
The little niceties of art. 
To rouse the soul and rend the heart. 

Accordingly, she set about the translation. 
In nsd she published a quarto yolunie^ 



BEOOKIANA. 215 

under the tide of Reliques of Irish Poetry^ 
with notes, and the originals in the Irish 
character. This work abounds with many 
beauties ; especially if the circumstances 
under which it was written, are take^ into 
the account y a young lady in a state of ill- 
health, the death of a tender mother, and an 
only brother, in a distant clime, with a father 
whom she tenderly loved; bending under a 
weight of years ; without a single hand to 
guide her through an untrodden path, for 
she CQuld scarce meet with any person that 
could read a word of the originals. These 
circumstance^ would have even checked a 
genius of the boldest wing, and would claim 
that indulgence to which the imperfection 
of human nature is entitled. The Critical 
Review, for 1790, speaking of thi^ work, 
says: 

** To the poetical talents of her (Miss B. 's) 
Gaelic ancestors and her own, we pay re- 
spect. We have been entertained with her 
translations from every different species of 
composition mentioned in the title-page, and 
recommend her performance tp the anil* 

p 4 



216 BftOOKfAKA. 

quary and man of genius.'^ And the Montfafy 
Review for January 1794, concludes thus : 
— '* Indeed, Miss B. is so perfectly in pos- 
session of the language of poetry, that her 
yersion has rendered the whole work interest- 
ing to English readers." Nor has the tes- 
timony of the English Review been wanting 
to this work : — " We have perused all the 
poems with pleasure, and admired equally 
her taste in selecting, and judgment in trans- 
lating them. But we are not to suppose .this 
lady one of those who translate but cannot 
write. She has convinced us of the contrary 
by an original poem, founded on an event 
that does equal honour to the age of which 
it is recorded, and to the choice of die poet.** 
The following is selected from this work, 
not because it is the best, but one of the 
shortest : 

Song for Mahle Kelly ^ by Carolak. 

The youth whom favoring Heav'ns decree 
To join his fate, my fair ! with thee ; 
And see that lovely head of thine 
With fondness on his arm recline* 



BROOKIAKA. 217 

Ko thought <but joy can fill his mind^ 
Nor any care can entrance find, 
Nor sickness hurt^ nor terror shake,-— 
And Death will ^arehim, for thy sake t 

For the bright flowing of thy hair. 
That decks a face so heavenly fair; 
And a fair form, to match that face> 
The rival of the cygnet's grace. 

Whei) with calm dignity she moves. 
Where the clear stream her hue improves ; 
Where she her snowy bosom laves. 
And floats^ majestic, on the waves. 

Crrace gave thy form, in beauty gay. 
And rangM thy teeth in bright array ; 
All tongues with joy thy praises tell. 
And love delights with thee to dwell. 

To thee harmonious powers belong. 
That add to verse the charms of song ; 
iSoft melody to numbers join. 
And make the poet half divine. 

As when the isofUy blushing rose 
Close by some neighboyring lilly grows; 
Such is the glow thy cheeks difiUse, 
Aud such their bright and btended hues! 



I 
I 



.1218 BROOKIAKA. 

The timid lustre of thine eye*. 
With Nature's purest tints* cau vie; 
With the^weet blue-bell's azure gem> 
That droops upoa its modest stentl 

The poets of lerne's pjains 
To thee devote their choicest straans; 
And oft their harps for thee are strung^ 
And oft thy matchless charms are sung» 

Thy voice, that binds the list'ning soul,— - 
That can the wildest rage controul 5 
Bid#the fierce crane its powers obey. 
And charm him from his finny prey. 

Nor doub^ I of Its wond'rous art ; 
!Nor hear with unimpassion*d heart. 
Thy health, thy beauties,— ever dear ! 
Oft crown my glass with sweetest cheer ! 

* It is generally believed that Cardan, (as his bio- 
griapher tells us) <* remembered no impression of co- 
lours*" But I cannot acquiesce in this opinion : I think 
it must have been formed without sufficient grounds, 
for how was it possible that his description could be 
thus glowing, without he retained the clearest recollec- 
tion, and the most animated ideas, of every beauty that 
sight can convey to the mmd. 



BEOOKIANA. 219' 

Since the fam'd fair of ancient days. 
Whom ba^dii and wovlda conspired to praise. 
Not one like thee has since appeared. 
Like thee, to every heart endeared. 

How blest the bard, O lovely maid ! 
To find thee in thy charms array'd !— 
Thy pearly teeth,— thy flowing hair, — 
Thy neck, beyond the cygnet fair ! 

As when the simple birds, at night. 
Ply round the torch's fatal light,—* 
Wild» and with extacy elate. 
Unconscious of approaching fate. 

So the soft splendours of thy face. 
And thy fair form's enchanting grace. 
Allure to death unwary love. 
And thousands the bright ruin prove ! 

£v*n he whose haplesit eyes^ no ray 
Admit from beauty's cheering day; 

* Every reader of taste or feeling must surely be 
struck with the beauty of this passage. Can any thing 
be more elegant, or more pathetic, than the manner in 
which Cardan alludes to his want of sight ! — but, in- 
deed, his little piecei abound 1a all the riches of natural 
genius* 



220 BROOKIANA* 

Yet^ thoagh he cannot see the lights 
He feels it wanuj and knows it bright* 

In beauty, talents, taste refin'd. 
And all the graces of the mind. 
In all unmatchM thy channs renain, 
Ker meet a rival on the plain* 

Thy slender foot,— thine aznre eye,—* 
Thy smiling !ip, of scarlet dye,— 
Thy tapering hand, so soft and iair,--« 
The bright redundance of Ihy hair ! 

O blest be the auspicious day 
That gave them to thy poet's ky ! 
O'er rival bards^ to lift his name. 
Inspire his verse, and swell his fame !•— 

In the year 1791, she published, The 
School for Christians y in Dialogues, for the 
Use of Children. In the preface to this little 
"work she informs us, that " her only object 
in this publication is the happiness of seeing 
it become useful to her species, and the plea- 
sure of bestowing the profits of the book 

• How modestly the poet here introduces a pro- 
phesy of his future reputation for genius ! 



BROOKIAKA. t2l 

on the enlargement of a little plan she has 
fonned for the charitable education of chil* 
dren, whose parents are too poor to afford 
them the means of instruction." 

But her pious labour did not end nere. 
Anxious to do honour to the memory of 
her father j^ she re-published all his works, 
to which she prefixed an elegant little me- 
moir of his life. 

Here her literary labours ended. For 
soon after, on the 29th of March, 1793, a 
malignant fever put an end to her valuable 
life, 

Lims under a Portrait of Miss Brooke. 

BY W. W— M— ^N. 

Religious, fair, soft, innocent, and gay. 
As evening mild, bright as the morning ray^ 
Youthful and wise, in ev'ry grace mature. 
What vestal ever led a life so pure ! 



^M BROOklAllA. 

CHRONO.LOQICAL ACCOUNT OF THE WORKS 
OF HENRY BROOKE, ESQ, 

1735 and 1736. — Universal Beauty. APh> 
losophld^I Poem, in six books. 

This work is considered as having laid the 
foundation, both as to plan and execution, of 
Br. Dai win's Botanical Garden. 

1738. — ^Two Books of Jerusalem Delivered* 
An Epic Poem. Translated from the Italian of 
Torquato Tasso. 

Mr. Hoole, in the preface to his translation t)f 
Tasso, in mentioning the several translations of 
this author, says, '* Mr. Brooke's, in particular, 
is at once so harmonious and so spirited, that I 
think an entire translation of Tasso by him 
would not only have rendered my task unneces- 
sary, but have discouraged those from the at- 
tempt whose poetical abilities are much superior 
to mine." 

1739. — ^GusTAvus Vasa, the Deliverer of his 
Country. A Tragedy. Intended to have been 
acted at Drury-Lane, 

1741. — Constantia; or. The Man of Law's 
Tale: modernized from Chaucer. 

Printed in Ogle's Version of Chaucer's Can- 
terbury Tales, 



BROOKIATTA. ^2S 

1745. — ^The Earl of Westmorland. A Tra- 
gedy. 

This was acted in Dublin in May 1745. 

The Farmer's Letters. 

174.6._Epilogue on the BiHth-day of the 
Duke of Cumberland. Spoken by Mr. Gar- 
rick^ in Dublin. 

Prologue to Othello. Spoken by Mr. 
'Garrick. 

1747. — Fables ; viz. The Temple of Hymen. 
The Sparrow and the Dove. The Female Se« 
ducers. Love and Vanity. 

1748. — Prologue to the FouNDLmc. 

Little John and the Giants. A Dramatic 
'Opera. Acted in Dublin. 

1749. — The Earl of Essex. ATragedy. Act- 
ed in Dublin; and afterwards in 1760, at Drury 
Lane Theatre. 

1762. — ^The Trial of the Ho-man Catholics. 

1766. — The Fool of Quality; or. The His- 
tory of Henry Earl of Moreland, 5 vols. 12mo. 
Since reprinted in 4 vols. J2mo. 

1772.— Redemption. A Poem. 

1774. — Juliet Grenville; or. The History 
of the Human Heart. 3 vols. I2mo. 

1778. — The Last Speech of John Good. 

Anthony and Cleopatra. A Tragedy. 



124 BROOKIANA* * 

The Impostor, h. Tragedy. 
Thfe Earl of Westmoeelat*©. A Tragedy. 
Cymbeline. a Tragedy. 
MoNTEztiMA. A Tragedy. 
The Vestal Virgin. A Tragedy. , 
Little John and the Giants. A Dramatic 
Opera. 

The Contending Beothers. A Comedy. 

The CifARiTABLE ASSOCIATION. A Comcdy. 

The Female Officer. A Comedy. 

The Marriage Contract. A Comedy. 

RvTH. An Oratorio. 

CoNRADE* A Fragment, 

1789.— The Fox-ghac£« A Poem*- 



IffDEy. 



mDEX. 



ADVICE to ilidy Vol. I. 

Acorn (the) » fjble Vol.1. 

Alia (Q>"'°) ^" Lamentutoa Vol. 1 1. 

Andrew [Safnijwnn on Vol.11, 

Andrtw'i{DT.3Epiitlelo Vol. 11, 

Antedates of Dein Swift Vol.11. 

MisiCharioUc Brooke .... Vol.11. 

. Dr.Baldwin Vol.11. 

R.CoK Vol.11. 

Dt Ctmpbell Vol. 11. 

. Dr.Clancy Vol.11. 

_ Mr..Grierion Vol.11. 

— Dr.Hill Vol. 11. 

Jack F. and Mijs P— l Vol.11, 

Dr. Lncai Vol.11. 

. — Earl Nugent Vol.11. 

Mr. O-Hari Vol.11. 



226 INDEX. 

Fagt 

Anecdotes of Mr. R^ls Vol.11, 58 

Antonio (Don) his complaint Vol. I. 155 

B. 

B ROOK E (Henry) birth-place Vol I. 1 

*s father, short account of - — Vol. I. % 

—.—Education Vol.1. 7 

——Verses to Dean Swift - - - - Vol. I. 40 

Juvenile effusions -- Vol.1. 47 

The Wish Vol.1. 49 

Lines to a lady Vol. I. 50 

The Acorn, a fable Vol. I. ib, 

Letter to a lady vVol. I. 73 

— Conrigh and Blan tad, a romance Vol I. 87 

■ Congullion Vol. L 97 

—sent to colkge Vol. L 103 

-the temple Vol.1, i3. 



-Letter to a lady Vol.1, 105 

-Proposalsfor a History of Ireland Vol. L 173 

-Preface dedicatory Vol.1. 175 

-Lettter to a friend on the Catholics 

of Ireland Vol.1. 1O5 

-(Mr.) inscription to Vol.11. 3 

-correspondence with Mr. Pope Vol.11. 9 

-the question Vol.11. 29 

-introducrd to Dean Swift - . - Vol. II. 42 

-account of his family Vol.11. 80 

-his library Vol.11. 8a 

•IcLtcrto Vol.11. 108 




Cjtholits, Irish Vol.11. 

oflrcland Vol.11. 



CiroUn, Moaodyb/ Vol. II. 



228 INDEX^ 

Page 

Ctmpbell (Dr.) an observation of •••...• Vol.!. 156 

.^ Vol.11. 58 

Chaucer, inscription for .......... Vol. II. 69 

Chesterfield (Earl of) some account of Vol. II. 9a 

■ ■" ■ verses on Vol. II. 109 

Clancy (Dr.) some account of Vol. II. 156 

Cloues (town of) some account of ..... Vol. II. 56 

Cox (Mr.) some account of Vol. II. 33 

Conrade, a fragment .......... Vol.11. 97 

Comerford (Mr.) some account of «... Vol.1. 9 

■ » ' ' "" Love-letter, written by Vol. I. 19 
Conrigh and Blaniad, a romance translated from the 

Irish I ^ Vol.1. 87 

Conor, king ^fyistfer, descent of .--- Vol.1. 88 

Congullion, verses by ..... ...-. Vol.1. 97 

Critics Vol.1. 153 

Criticism, new art of Vol.11. 111 

Cuspinianus quoted Vol II. 68 

Cupid's bow, a poem Vol.1, 47 

D. 

Darius, a tragedy, by Dr. Stratford Vol. I. 168 

Dawson (» ady Anne) inscription to the memory 
of 

Dedication of Paradise Loft to the King 
Dialogue between Beef and Cabbage ... 
Donaldson (Mrs.) some account of ... 
Duogarvan, some account of ....... 



rol.II. 


63 


Vol. I. 


148 


Vol. I. 


68 


Vol. I. 


5 


Vol. I. 


60 



INDEX. 229 

F. 

Felicia to Charlotte, a poetical epistle .... Vol. II, 90 

Joiitenoy, a poem by Dr. Stratford '« Vol. I. 1 qo 

G. 

Garrick (Mr.) fir8^play-bill of Vol.11.' 154 

Grierson (Mrs.) some account of Vol. II« 1 83 

Goldsmith, his Angelina contrasted with the poem of 

the FViar of Orders Grey Vol.11. 131 

GusuvusVasa Vol* II. 181 

H. 

Hill (Dr. Edward) Vol.II. 8$ 

Hungary, account of .............. Vol. II. 67 

Hungary, language of Vol II. 69 

Hugon and Eliphene, a tale VoL II 98 

I. 

Jtfck F— h, and Gracy P— t, a tals .... Vol. II 135 

Icelandic pastoral - Vol. II. 139 

Irish ladies described Vol. II. 64 

Ireland, proposals for publishing a history of, Vol. I. 173 

Johnson (Dr.) letter written by Vol. I. 8O5 

K. 

Kerry, account of •••......• Vol. I. 94 

KeUy (Mable) Vol. II. ti6 



tZO INDEX. 

Page 

Kilkenny, account of Vol. II. 123 

Kilmore, some account of that diocese Vol. I. 8 

Killinkere, account of the parish of .... Vol. I. 27 

L. 

Lapland song, translation of Vol. II. 145 

Letter written by J. R— ds to Mr. Brooke Vol. II. 55 

I from the Same to the Same . Vol. II, 60 

— Love Vom. 86 

— — to Mr. Brooke, by Mr. Phclan .... Vol. II, 108 

— writtpn by Mr. Comerford .... Vol.1. 20 

————— Dr. Sheridan Vol. I. 59, P4 

m — Dr. Johnson Vol. I. 2O5 

I to a lady, by Mr. Brooke Vol. I, 1C5 

■ on the Irish catholica Vol.1. 185 

Lclaud (Dr.) some account of Vol.1. 78 

London, sk?lch of Vol.1, 105 

Longficld, some account of Vol.1, 112 

Long (Dr.) his translation of Dryden's in- 
scription under Milton's picture, into 

Grc k Vol.1. 149 

Lucas (Dr.) character of Vol.11. 200 



M. 

Moybolguc, account of 'he parish of 
Mounicassrl (lord) some account of 
Monagl\an (county of) some account of 
Monody, by Carolan 



Vol. I. 


30 


Vol I. 


75 


Vol II. 


55 


Vol.11. 


213 



INDEX. 281 

Pagt 

Mullingar (account of) Vol. 11. 204 

Murray (Peter) some account of Vol.1. 44 



N. 

Newbur^jh (colonrlj some account of ... Vol. !• a 

Xugent (earl) some account of ....... Vol.11 197 



Inscription by Vol. If. aOD 



o. 

0*Hara (Charles) some account of — Vol, II. ig 
Orrery (lord) translation of his versus to 

Swifi, in Italian Vol.11. 46 

Orders Grey , a fragment Vol. II. 13s 

P. ' 

Parr {pr.) his character of Dr. Leland . . Vol. I. 84 

Pastoral Essay, specimen of Vol. I. 141 

Pastor Fido, translation of some lines out of, Vol. II. 93 

Phelan (Mr.) letter from, to Mr. Brooke Vul. IT. 108 

Pastoral (Icelandic) Vol.11. 139 

Pope (.Mr.) Correspondence with Mr. Brooke Vol. II. 9 

Polirr (Mr.) some account of Vol.11. 14^ 

Poetical Petition Vol II. 279 

Praise and dispraise — Vol. II. 120 

Printing, art of ., Vol.11. 137 

Prologue to the tragedy of Lord Russel . . VoL I. ib, 

■ to the tragedy of Darius Vol. I. 170 

Preface to a proposed hiftory of Ireland Vol.1. 17^ 



232 II7DEX. 

Q. 

Qanccn, dedication of a Prologue to the • . Vot. I. i 89 

Queen of the Fairies Vol. II. 73 

Quilca House VoL I. 41 

R. 

Reviewers, periodical ..^... Vol.1. 160 

R—ds (Mr.) some account of ....... Vol.11. 5* 

Russcl (Lord) a Tragedy, by Dr, Stratford V«l. U 1 25 

S. 

Satire, persons of eminence subject of ... Vol, II. ii9 

Self-important, a comedy, extract from .- Vol.1. 133 

Sheridan (Dr.] some account of ...... Vol. I. 5ft 

» letters written by - Vol.1. 5^ 

Shakespeare, verses on - Vol. I. 5 

Skelton, (Rev. Mr.) inscription to Mr. Brooke Vol.11, 3 

■ his epitaph on Mr. Brooke Vol. II. 208 

Song by Mr. Brooke Vol. II. 136 

. by the Same j Vol.11. 138 

Stratford, (Dr.) account of Vol I, 115 

-education Vol.1, 117 

■ entered of Trinity College, 

Dublin Vol.1, 118 

r ■ - — his favourite Studies ...... Vol.1, ug 

— — writes some verses . Vol. I. X20 

. 11 marries Vol.1. 121 

■ enters into holy orders ... Vol.1. i2t 



INDEX. 283 

Stratford, (Dr.) presented to a living --- - Vol. I. xat 

■ translates Milton's Paradise Lost 

into Greek verse Vol. I. 1 23 

■ writes a tragedy, founded on 



the murder of Lord Russel Vol. L s^« 

presents his tragedy to the ma- 



nagers—not accepted Vol. I. 1 1^ 

acted by gentlemen and ladies Vol.1, 126 

— — prologue ..-.- -.-- Vol. I. 1 27 

— dedication VoLI. 129 

" writes a comedy, the first 



scene VoI.I. 13* 

-■ publishes a pastoral essay .. Vol. L 141 
- dedication of his translation of 



Paradise Lost to the king Vol. I. 14$ 

■ publishes a poem entitled 



Fontenoy Vol. I. 150 

■■ conversation with a friend * Vol. 1, 15s 

— books, critics on ........ Vol. I. ib* 

■ ■■ distresses Vol. I. 163 

■ proposes to publish a collec- 



tion of his works Vol. I. 16^ 

■ . ■■ re-touches the tragedy of Da- 



rius, which he had written in his 

younger days Vol. I. x6^ 

— — ineflFectual efforts to get it acted VoLI. 169 
■ prologue to the tragedy of Da- 



rius Vol. I. 270 

—— disappointments— death ... Vol. I. 172 

■ letter to Vol.11. 65 

4 



23* INDEX. 

Swift (Dean) verses to Vol. I. 5 

— — — receipt to frighten him away .... Vol. I. ^4 

* anecdote of Vol.11. 4a 

.— epigram on *, Vol. II. 45 

■ " ■ answer to Lord Orrery's verses, trans- 
lated into lulian ' Vol. II. 49 

— » inscription to «. Vol.11. 51 



« 



v. 



Ulster, description of % Vol.1. 88 

Universal Beauty, a poem, ..!.•...«.... Vol. II. 3 

V. 

Vanity Vol. IL itg 

Vegetables, praise of Vol. 1 1. 88 

Verses to Shakespeare Vol. I. 5 

to Dean Swift Vol. I. ib, 

— to a lady Vol.1. 10 

■ on human life -...'. Vol.1. 15 

— — translated from the Irish Vol. I. 37 

to Spring Vol, I, 38 

— — Quilca-house, to Dean Swift — Vol. I. 40 

thrWish Vol.1. 49 

' supposed to be written by a lady . Vol. I. 50 

' the two poets, a fable Vol. I. 53 

—— volunteer, a tale Vol.1. 54 

by Blaniad Vol.1. 96 

of Drydcn, translated into Greek Vol. I. 149 



• to Dr. Stratford Vol.1. 164 



INDEX. 235 

Page 

Vrrsfs on death Vol.1. 169 

' addressed to Mr. Brooke on his 

GustavusVasa Vol.11. 1 

— on a blockhead Vol.11. 22 

■ on the death of the Earl of Chatham Vol. II. 25 

■ inscribed to Lady Caroline Russel Vol. II. 29 
' the landlord Vol.11. 34 

— intcreft like ru(l Vol.11. 35 

■ the deserted fair Vol. II. 37 

■ in the marriage register of a country 

church Vol.11. ib, 

■ in the publication registerof a coun- 
try church Vol.11. 40 

■■ Italian translation Vol. II, 46 

' answer to the same Vol, II. 49 

on St. Andrew's day Vol.11. 53 

■ ■ on Chaucer .-,... Vol.11. 59 

■ in Mr. Brooke's library Vol. II. 83 

Italian Vol II. 84 

■ to Felicia Vol.11, 90 

translation of ,, Vol. II. 93 

■ Conrade Vol.11. 97 

■ to the Hon. Mrs. Percival Vol. II. 126 

' on the art of printing Vol.11. 127 

on the same Vol.11. 128 

contrasted Vol.11, 133 

■ to Dr. Andrews Vol. II. 164 

■ to the Earl of Chesterfield Vol. II. 169 

to the queen Vol.11. 198 

to Mr. Brooke Vol.11, aog 



236 INDEX 

Tagt 

Verses to Miss Brooke «.... 'VoI.IL an 

. toMableKellv Vol.11. «i6 

Volunteer, a Spanish story * Vol. I. 54 

w.' 

Westnaeath described Vol. I. 119 

World(the) Vol. 11. 116 

Writers, condition of ........••••-• Vol. I. 1^3 



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