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himself that his opinions are correct, before he ventures to commu. nicate them to those with whom his talents and his reputation may give him an influence. An author, my dear friend, has a fearful card to play in domestic society as well as before the public. But why should I take the liberty of pursuing such a theme as this so far? Forgive me for it this single time, as I was tempted only by a deep anxiety for your happiness. I thought too, that the circumstance above mentioned, would give you a pleasure.

If your brother should not be at present in England with you, will you do me the kindness to present him my best remembrances when next you write. One of those fair occasions gone for ever by,'yet no, not for ever, I hope_which I regret to have lost during my residence in London, is the opportunity I had of becoming better acquainted with him. I had something more to say, but my paper fails me. Is our corr

orrespondence to terminate here? I anticipate a speedy and generous • No,'—for though your time be precious, yet you would not hesitate to devote a few moments to one secluded as I am here, if you knew the happiness that it would afford me. Present my best remembrances to Mrs. Banim, whose health I hope most sincerely is improved, and with the warmest esteein and affection, believe me to be,

My dear Sir,

Yours faithfully,

GERALD GRIFFIN.". To this letter Banim thus replied :

“Seven Oaks, May 27th, 1828. MY DEAR GRIFFIN.—You see I lead the way.--Be assured that your last of April 22nd, gives me heart felt pleasure. My old harp of a heart has a string restored to it. I accept your invitation not to allow anything that may occur in letters between us to start a doubt in future of your friendship or character. Let me add my own covenant. When we meet, treat me more bluntly, off-handedly, and talkatively than you have done. I now am sure that an unlucky dif. fidence hitherto regulated (or rather disarranged) your social manner. However, I shall be happier with you, if amongst your other recent changes, you have acquired a knack of treating a friend differently, and I close this topic by protesting against your supposing that I here mean an iota which does not broadly meet your eyes.

Your religious revolutions in opinion 'I shall not merely congratulate you upon ; I do more by sympathizing with them ; yes, I fear when we first met, and for some time after, that my own religious creed was vague and profane, and I sincerely ask your pardon for any word of mine which may have tended to set you astray. But it is so remarkable that Paley should have been the first to call us back to the right path. And perhaps more remarkable still, that, although mixing up abuse of Popery with proofs of Christianity, he should have helped to make us Catholics, as well as believers in revelation,

* See “Life of Gerald Griffin, Coq., By his brother," p. 238.

I

envy you your life in poor Ireland, My health has been bad since I saw you. I nearly lost the use of my limbs, but can now limp about on a stick.

I write you a short and hasty letter. Till this day, since I had the great pleasure of receiving your last, I have been very busy and ill enough into the bargain, and this morning I start with Mrs. Banim, to make a long-promised visit to the Rev. James Dunn (a man I wish you knew, the same whom Sheil some time ago speeched praises of) and his lady to Tunbridge Wells, but will not go till I answer your letter, and this accounts I hope for the kind of one it is. Pray write soon, and believe me, your affectionate friend,

Join Banim." Not alone to Griffin did Banim thus express his satisfaction. Addressing Michael a few days after the date of the last to his friend, he writes :

“Another thing puts me into the best of humour--I have recovered a friend. You by this time know my doctrinethat except the loss of health, or the loss of a friend, there is nothing in the world worth fretting for. Poor Gerald Griffin. In answer to ours from the Bath llotel before we left London, he ran down there. We were gone. Then he sent his books with a letter, I got both only lately. His note was all I could wish. I immediately answered him as I ought, recollecting all his former sufferings and inexperience. This morning I have received from him a manly, delightful letter. He tells me, among other things, that some talk of mine with bim has made him,, or rather re-established him, a Christian and a Roman Catholic, for I found him a sceptic. You may be sure this does my poor head good.”

By the address of the letter last written to Gerald Griffin, it appears that Banim bad changed his residence from Eastbourne to Seven Oaks, and he thus wrote to Michael, describing his condition. The reference here to his wife and child, his,

May in her crown of flowers"is characteristic; as the reader will hereafter perceive “sunshine, and a garden not overlooked,” were necessary to his perfect enjoyment of the country. We have no more beautiful and manly letter in all these of Banim's now before us, than the following—which seems imbued by that charming spirit expressed by Tennyson

- All the land in flowery squares, Beneath a broad and equal.blowing wind,

• See « Life of Gerald Griffin, Esq., By his Brother," p. 241.

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Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloud
Drew downward: but all else of Heaven was pure
Up to the sun, and May from verge to verge,

And May with me from head to heel.”
The letter is as follows ::

Seren Oaks, June 13th, 1828. My dear Michael,

But come—my heart is lighter certainly : when I wrote last, I was very ill, shattered to pieces, and the clouds lying down on the roads and fields around me. But I am now better; my spirits capital, my self-dependence (thanks to God Almighty for his gracious protection and help) little abated, several goodly patches of corn in the land, by dint of contributions to the annuals. Ellen running about in our sunny garden, and little Mary shouting to her and to the joy-bells, this beautiful summer day. In fact there is a delightful sense of existence—and of gratitude to the Giver of it, and of the humble, no the great blessings he vouchsafes with it, in all our hcarts.”

In a former part of the Biograplıy we inserted a letter written to Michael Banim by John, and containing, in our opinion, the most admirable rules for the construction and composition of a perfect novel. The following letter is, if possible, more useful to the young novelist, and if read in connection with that before inserted will prove in the highest degree interesting : indeed the out-line tale here sketched is, in itself, a highly-wrought incident, and coupled with the recollections of the fireside stories told by his mother of her relatives, reminds one of the home-pictures in Robert Southey's Recollections of his Early Life.*

This letter has also a peculiar interest, as from the hints, and directions contained in it, Michael Banim was induced to write his well known tale, The Ghost Ilunter and His Family:

Seven Oaks, November 10th, 1828. My dear Michael,

No matter from what class of life you take your future materials, seek as much as possible for the good and amiable in our national character and habits; as well as for the strong, the fierce, and I will say the ungovernable. Ilow

See “ The Lite and Correspondence of Robert Southey,” Edited by his Sun, The Rev. C. C. Southey. Vol l. p. I.

very valuable, for instance, would be a simple dramatic tale, got through by old Daniel Carroll, his wife, his sous and bis tiro daughters. Here no necessity exists to rake your memory for the great object, character. Every one of these I have mentioned, must, from your mother's description of them, live for you. Old Daniel Carroll her father, with his grotesque sun-dials, his fork pendulums-his crude system of pliilosophy; and his reading, during long evenings, Don Quixote and such bouks, although so throughly pious. Then his wife Betty, you recollect her defence when reprehended for some out of the way expression by her husband. Questioned by him where she had heard the malediction ultered by her. She paused and taxed her memory, and then affirmed, she could have heard it no where, except it issued from the sinful books, he was in the habit of reading. Betty's character is richly primitive. Then there is the son Philip's wild irregular one. The younger Daniel's, petty, selfish, cunning. Alley's retaining her anxiety to be thought very devout, not hiding her candle under a bushel meanwhile—then the eldest daughter, our own dear mother, such as she was in her maidenhood. Her industry, her thrift, ber mildness-her mother-wit and natural good sense. Her lovers, her starling, her cauniness.

My dear Michael, if health permitted, I could use these people, and bring their real and unimagined qualities into play, with credit to the Irish character, all papist as it is, sweetly, priinitively, and amiably.

I remember, too, an old story of our inother's, of a gaunt stone-cutter, killing a slight delicate young man in a fight, brought on by a quarrel in a church-yard about the right of interment in a certain spot; you must recollect the occurrence, as it was described to us one cold evening as we sat close together round the fire. There was a man once in affluence, who had been a tithe proctor, if I remember rightly. After having spent a long life in acts of petty tyranny, the ban fell upon his hoard, to this day supposed to be inevitable. You and I have often heard that ban pronounced—" A proctor's money never can have luck”-so it fell out with this man, he became very poor, there was no sympathy for him, and he committed suicide-an act, in those days, of rare occurrence; he died too unrepentant and unsliriven. No one can be got to inter the body; nor will any of those, whose people's bones' rest in consecrated ground, permit the corpse of the hardened self-murderer to rest in contact with the relics of their kindred. The coffin is laid on the public street, none will tolerate it near their dwellings, and it is cruelly dragged along the pavement from place to place, and finally brought back to the door of the house wherein the act of suicide had been committed. A compassionate young man enlists three of his associates, they take off the outcast remains and bear it to a neighbouring grave yard. It is night, and by the light of a single candle, fixed in a lump of church-yard clay, and resting on a tomb-stone, the three young men are hastily digging a receptacle for the begrimed coffin that lies near them. A gaunt stone-cutter surprises them at their stealthy work. His father's remains are buried close to the spot where they are delving, and he sternly interdicts further progress. The charitable young man who had induced the others to assist him, opposes the mandate ; he and the stone-cutter contend fiercely over the graves, the stone-cutter is a strong and powerful man, the other is young and slight; he is struck down by his opponent and blood gushes from his mouth; recovered a little, he assists to inter the suicide else-where. He has been hurt internally, and when he reaches home he is obliged to keep his bed ; then the sequel of our mother's tale. Surah, the proctor's

Saralı daughter, had been, during the days of her father's prosperity, carefully brought up, and educated for a rank beyond that she could now pretend to in her poverty. While yet lamenting over the appalling termination of her parent's life, she was coinpelled to witness the cruel indignity practised towards his corpse; and her gratiturle was overflowing to himn who had charitably borne it away and placed it beneath the clay. She visited hiin in his illness, and nursed him to convalescence, she taught himn to love her, and she married him. But consumption had fastened on the young man and his days were numbered. His young wife imbibed the fatal malady from him, they wasted away together day by day, she was the first to die, and he followed her very quietly to the same grave.”

Referring to this letter, Michael Banim writes to us thus :

“ Froin the first of the hints given in this letter by my brother, the tale of The Ghost Hunter and his family had origin-the personages, lie indicates, had been more than once graphically drawn for us by our mother. They were her own immediate parents, her brothers and sister. They, as well as

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