Father Patricius Smyth, a native of Mayo, looks some thirty-five years old,
and belongs to the unadulterated Irish caste - half-curled hair, not abundant,
anxious semicircular forehead, keen and fiery eyes, altogether a lively
interesting head.
He is a Latin and Celtic scholar; and that excuses him
for his moderate proficiency in modern languages. He was educated at Maynooth,
the eye-sore of Sabbatarians, and therefore believes it incontestable
that the authority conferred on him by the Bishop must needs be derived
from God; because the Bishop had been consecrated by the Pope, who - inasmuch
as a second branch of the Prince of the Apostles never was heard of at the time
of St. Augustin - is the successor of St. Peter, the corner stone on which
OUR LORD did build the Christian church, and our Lord's warrant is written
in St. John, chapter xiv, 24: 'Sermo quem auditis non est meus,
sed ejus qui misit me, nempe Patris.' And so Father Smyth feels himself
entitled to adopt what was said of the Divine Master, 'Docebat enim eos
ut habens auctoritatem, non autem ut scribae.' St. Matthew, chap. vii, 29.
Hence his preaching, though not remarkable for much eloquence,
does not lull to sleep. There is no cant, and strange as it may appear,
there is little argument in his short-framed sentences, because they are
the decided opinion of his mind and the warm expression of his heart,
anxious for the salvation of his flock, as he believes he will be called
to account if any be lost. He, out of civility, may not object to hear
what Paley or Butler has to say, but he scorns any conversation with Voltaire,
and would see the fellow burnt, as in the times of old. His character
was never impeached, because his conduct is an example to all of the strength
of his faith. Either at the altar or at the table he forgets not
that he belongs to the priesthood of Ireland, the 'proved gold' of the Catholic
church. His song is, 'Erin, my country,' and 'I love thy green bowers,'
is the end of his story, which is a hint to me that this is not the place
to say more for the peace of John Bull. Hence Ireland produced a
Daniel O'Connell, but has not yet got the repeal.
Father Smyth, in addressing the meeting, spoke with coolness and forbearance,
yet commendatory of the constitutional manner in which his congregation sought
redress from the government, for the insult offered them, through his person,
in the abuse of his servant by the trooper Lord. On concluding his address,
he was warmly cheered, when the reverend gentleman and his friends adjourned
to the parsonage, to partake of some refreshments.
Chapter XXI.
Public Meeting
Held on Bakery-hill, November llth.
Political changes contemplated by THE REFORM LEAGUE.
1. A full and fair representation. - Don't you wish you may get it?
2. Manhood suffrage. - Thanks to the Eureka-boys, it costs now one pound.
Cheap!
3. No property qualification of members for the Legislative Council. - The
identical thing for 'starring' on stumps to a fellow's heart's content.
4. Payment of members. - That's the accommodation!
5. Short duration of Parliament. - Increase the chances of accommodation,
that's it.
What was the freight per ton, of this sort of worn out twaddle imported
from old England?
How much does this new chum's bosh fetch in the southern markets,
and in the Victorian market particularly?
For my part I decline to answer, because I want to attend at the meeting.
J. B. Humffray, is the Secretary of the League; his name is going now
the round of the diggings; I wish to see the man in person; is he a great,
grand, or big man? that's the question.
When you seen JOHN BASSON HUMFFRAY, you have at once before you a gentleman,
born of a good old family; his manners confirm it, and his words indicate
an honest benevolent heart, directed by a liberal mind, entangled perhaps
by too much reading of all sorts, perplexed at the prosperity of the vicious,
and the disappointment of the virtuous in this mysterious world of ours,
but could never turn wicked, because he believes in the resurrection of life.
He is looking some thirty five years old, his person is well proportioned,
but inclining to John Bull's. His prepossessing countenance is made up of
a fine forehead, denoting astuteness, not so much as shrewdness, how,
when and whither to shift his pegs in the battle of life; of a pair of eyes
which work the spell; of a Grecian nose; of a mouth remarkable for the
elasticity of the lips, that make him a model in the pronunciation
of the English language. His voice, that of a tenor, undulating and clear,
never obstreperous, enables his tongue to work the intended charm,
when his head puts that member into motion; but the semi-earnestness
of his address, his cool sort of John Bull smile, betray that his heart
does not go always with his head. Hence he has many enemies, and yet not one
ever dared to substantiate a charge against his character; he has as many
friends, but not one friend, because it is his policy ever to keep friendly,
with redcoats and gold-lace, at one and the same time as with blueshirts
and sou'-westers.
As I cannot possibly mean any thing dishonourable to our old mate,
John Basson Humffray, I may here relate what his foes do say of him.
Suppose any given square and the four pegs to be:
C - - - -D
| |
| W |
| |
B - - - -E
C., that is, the Camp; E., that is, the Eureka; D., that is, the doodledom
of red-tape., and B., that is, blue-shirts.
Let W., that is work, be the central point at C, E, and D, B. Now: John is
sinking at Eureka with the red cap; and Basson cracks some yabber-yabber at D,
that is, getting a sip of Toorak small-beer, as aforesaid.
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