niac tortures, whose memory was so forcibly recalled, and shrunk, as if from the lash, at the words of the orator. But it is less to the force and the sweetness, than to the variety of his eloquence, that he owes his great dominion over the minds of his auditors. He can suit it to every mood of the multitude, and avail himself of every the slightest circumstance. He can play upon the human heart, like an instrument, and run through all its intonations with a magic mastery. This was forcibly illustrated at an anti-slavery meeting, in Cork, where the greater part of the assembly were his inveterate political opponents. He was preceded by the Rev. Mr. Burnett, a gentleman of first rate oratorical powers, and who that day seemed to surpass himself in the strength and splendour of his address one part was particularly remarkable for its force and beauty. It was in answering the objection that the slave was contented with his lot; which he insisted was a strong argument in his favour, as no system could be so vile as that which reduced a human being to so degrading a contentment. Even irrational animals, he said, felt nobler emotions; and the chained Eagle, pampered near the nobleman's residence, envied his free brother of the sky as he soared unrestrained above him. In the description of the free eagle's flight he was inimitably beautiful; but there was an involution in the sentence that made you tremble for the speakers power to finish it. He did finish it, exquisitely; for when we thought he had closed the climax, he went on still heightening it, until the hearer seemed almost to conceive a notion of infinity—A dead silence followed by a burst of rapturous applause, acknowledged his mastery. Mr. O'Connell had to move the next resolution. With the tact so peculiarly his own, he avoided for a while the style of the last speaker and adopted the humourous manner in which he is so very effective. A well turned compliment to Mr. Burnett, won greatly upon that Rev. gentleman's adherents, and the playfulness of his manner impressed the audience generally in his favor. Mr. O'Connell's friends, who at first began to fear for the contrast, at once perceived he was on the right tack: by degrees he became more serious, and concluded with a review of the progress of liberty, in one of the noblest speeches perhaps ever uttered. No passage, it is true, equalled that in Mr. Burnett's; but, as a whole, it was more powerfully effective. In private life the writer of this article had but few opportunities of observing Mr. O'Connell, but these few were too delightful ever to be forgotten. He found in the great Agitator-the idolized of one party and the detested of the other, all the playful gaiety and fresh feeling of boyhood. He had just arrived from his own mountain wilds, where he had been sojourning through the recess, and the greater part of his talk was of the stirring sports in which he had been so lately a sharer. His memory is immense; and so laden with interesting anecdote, that one would imagine his whole life had been spent in amassing amusing stories. His smile is beyond any thing attractive and winning. It lights up his face like sunshine; but the general character of his countenance, when at rest, is of that pensive cast which is ever found to prevail amongst men constantly engaged in high and difficult undertakings. He is the of all others, of whom we may say in the language of Shakspeare person, "The elements are "So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up "And say to all the world-THIS IS A MAN." IMITATED FROM HORACE. Festo quid potius die Neptuni faciam ?-Lib. iii. Ode xxviii. Come what shall we do on our own Paddy's day? A bumper to Venus, who gave her own smile To the eyes and the lips of the girls of our Isle. Fill to Moore; our own Moore; at whose song o'er the main, Even tyranny wept as it strengthened the chain. Fre the evening is ended, how many a name, Of the brave who now sleep in the cross-ways of fame, We'll drink "Doch-a-dhorros" in one bottle more, WHISKEY. AIR-" Bobbing Joan." Whiskey, drink divine! Why should driv'lers bore us With the praise of wine, Whilst we've thee before us? Were it not a shame, Whilst we gaily fling thee To our lips of flame, If we could not sing thee? Whiskey, drink divine! Why should driv❜lers bore us With the praise of wine, Whilst we've thee before us? Greek and Roman sung Chian and Falernian Shall no harp be strung To thy praise, Hibernian ? Yes-let Erin's sons Gen'rous, brave, and friskey Tell the world, at once, They owe it to their whiskey. Whiskey, &c. If Anacreon-who Was the grape's best poet Drank our Mountain-dew, How his verse would shew it: As the best then known, He to wine was civil Had he Inishowen He'd pitch wine to the d-l. Whiskey, &c. |