dence, then seductive vanity allured him into an element where his powers were totally inadequate to sustain his assumptions. Regardless of consequences, while intoxicated with the puffs of injudicious admirers, he madly ventured into rash experiments, and in endeavouring to pluck that forbidden fruit of dramatic excellence, which all devoutly wish for, but few succeed to reach, he displayed an imbecility that has clouded the lustre of his popularity.

A man, like him, who declaims in a style of eloquence, that would be more suitable for the dull sermons of DR. SPRING, than for enunciating, with emphatic elegance of elocution, the passionate philosophy of Hamlet-the heart-breaking griefs of Othello-the diabolical hypocrisy of lago-the burning rage of Lear-or the tyrannic fury of Richard. In a word, Mr. Forrest must study Walker's Dictionary, and get rid of his Yankee brogue, before he can speak prose like a man of education, or poetry like a man of culti

vated taste.

Mrs. Sharpe, in the character of Nihmooke, Metamora's wife, was indeed interesting; and Mrs. Hilson was as amiable, gentle, and even as ever, in the part of Oceana. We regretted exceedingly, to see so excellent and various a performer as MR. BARRY, representing such a common-place character as Horatio, and endeavouring to sustain that impersonal nonentity. Though he played with heart and feeling, it was impossible for him to make any thing of the part, as "set down for him."

The patriotic and talented gentleman, whose name we have prefixed to this article, has, in every intercourse which we have had with him, evinced towards us the warmth of politeness, liberality of disposition, and generosity of civility, which we, as a public Irish writer, whose pen, for four years, (the period of our residence in America) has glittered with some fame, in the advocacy of our common country, might naturally expect from a character of such prominent celebrity, to whom we were taught, from our infantile days, to look up with reverence and regard. We never asked a favour of Dr. Macneven, and we are proud in making the acknowledgment, that he did not cheerfully confer :-in sickness, the lenitive balm was administered by the able and kind physician gratuitously, and in the feeble infancy of the IRISH SHIELD, which is now, thank the patronage of IRISHMEN ! like a giant, running over the solar course of popularity, he was one of the six gentlemen, who paid a year's subscription in advance.

We state these things, in order that the world may know how far we stand indebted to the friendship of Dr. Macneven, and to adduce an evidence that we have an "Irish heart," in which INGRATITUDE shall never find a sanctuary. If cold indifference has made a breach in As the Doctor is a the cordiality of our intimacy, the cause arose from public considerations. public and historical character, he cannot be so overweeningly fastidious, as to feel displeased The unwarrantawith us for introducing his name, which is public property, into our pages. ble misrepresentations of a little knot of ignorant calumniators, who pretend that they are his "confidants," imperatively impose on us the necessity of resorting to this public mode of refuting the most malicious and groundless falsehood, that was ever uttered by the profane lips of arrogant impudence.

Did you, Dr. Macneven, we respectfully, but fearlessly ask the questions,-ever dictate, correct, or suggest, a single sentence of our HISTORY OF IRELAND? Did you ever assist us in the composition of a solitary article in the IRISH SHIELD? Did you, at any time, favour us with the loan of any work on the history, biography, or autiquities of Ireland, since the first number of this periodical was published? We put these interrogatories to this respected gentleman, in order that his candid and unqualified negative answers may stamp the LIE on the base and groundless insinuations of that literary impostor, the Yorkshire Sergeant, who holds the felonious scissors of the dying thing of trash, yclept the "Truth-Teller!" and silence the echo with which some of the grog-store compeers of this caitiff hypocrite, have propagated them. Now, we are "armed so strong in honesty," and so confident of the ENTIRE ORIGINALITY of our History, that we defy any man who reads it, to point out a single furtive sentence, in the wole contexture of fifteen chapters. Let them, if they can, convict us of plagiarism. We want no stolen plumes in our cap-we disdain to dupe the credulity of our countrymen, by arrant hypocrisy, for we feel we have talents that require no props frota a disowned American hireling, like that spiritless creature, who is the jackali of the illiterate English scissors-holder of the Lie-Teller, whose Midas ears, this back-ground scribe ignobly conceals in a garland of nettles and hemlock, from the sight of the public.

But the ignorant and deceptious Truth-Teller has run its race of duplicity and dulness: it can no longer gull Irishmen-for it totters on the verge of the grave, in which it will fall, with the concurrence of every Irishman who prizes sincerity and genius, and who hates the double dealing of vulgar Englishmen, who, if even sincere in their worthless advocacy, have no alent to make it effective or useful. What! are we to suffer the bulls and blunders of a

Yorkshire crimp, who was taught to spell by telegraph, and write on sand, by Joseph Lancaster, to be fastened on the literary reputation of our country? No! Forbid it, patriotism— forbid it, justice-forbid it, NATIONAL SYMPATHY !—There is not a ray of Irish mind dawning on the wretched editorial trash of the dark and insipid Truth-Teller!

Let no one say that which is not true, that we now come forward, when the few days of the TruthTeller's inglorious existence are numbered; when the doom of the despicable thing,' to use a favourite phrase of Cobbett, is decided, to push it into the grave. Our readers will recollect that we we have uniformly deuounced the affrontry and impudence of “a pair of Yorkshire adventurers," who, without the least share of education or talent, succeeded by the imposition of barefaced plagiarism, and the vulgar scribbling of the back-ground Yankee, in palming their wretched "thing" of "shreds and patches," on our countrymen, as an Irish paper, and in thus hoodwinking their good-natured credulity. It was from no motive of envy-envy, indeed! would an uneducated English peasant, like the mock editor of the mock Truth-Teller, be worth even the contempt of our envy? No-our aim ia decrying and derogating the miserable and illegitimate bantling of hypocrisy, was to cleanse and expurgate the literary character of our country, which was so unjustly contaminated by being coupled with a worthless paper, like the Truth-Teller, in whose ignorant columns, there was, for the last two years, no Irish pen.

If a literary Irishman had any control over its editorial management, would he insult Irish feeling, as the sergeant has done, by the insertion of the Police Reports of the most prejudiced London papers-distorted reports, which exhibited some of our countrymen and women too, in the most grotesque carricatures of exaggerated burlesque? Witness" Biddy Murphy's red petticoat," and "Emancipation courtship," which appeared in the nick-named Truth-Teller, some time ago! This might be sport to the addle-pated scissors-holder, and to his half-lettered undering-but it was a gross and irritating insult to the sensibilities of Irishmen; and we know that some hundreds of them have indignantly resented it, as they ought. We rejoice that we have at last opened the eyes of our countrymen, to the duplicity by which they have been hoaxed-that we have boldly and fearlessly torn off the mask from the ugly visage of Saxon hypocrisy. "Why, Pepper," exclaimed some of our yankeefied countrymen, who value American pelf more than Irish patriotism, "why are you continually cutting up the Truth-Teller? They never attack you." "Why," replied we, "because arraut imposition deserves exposure. Attack us, forsooth!-ver:ly, they were not able! Who, gentlemen, could the scissorsholder of the Truth- Teller procure, in this city, that has the courage or ability to enter the lists of controversy with us? Would Mr. SAMPSON-Would Dr. MACNEVFN would Mr. T. W. CLERKE, (a gentleman, who, as a vigorous and classic writer, has few equals in America,) enroll themselves on the recruit-list of the English Crimp? Oh, no! Irish pride, and Irish genius, spurn the degrading supposition. Then, let it be known that the boasted forbearance of the sergeant, was but the pusillanimous forbearance of the fox in the presence of the lion. He could procure no one that was ool-bardy enough to encounter us :-ab! well the cunning Saxon knew, that if any one of his friends, either a mock doctor, or a soi-disant alderman, came into contact with us, that we would have made him "sacred to ridicule," during his natural life, and impressed on his front, with a pen of fire, the figure of an ass as the suitable emblematic symbol of an unlettered mind.

We do not wish that the free and candid language in which we have spoken in the beginning of this article, of Dr. Macneven, should be construed out of its proper meaning, which is far, we solemnly aver, from any servile desire of propitiating his friendship by any unbecoming condescensiou, and as remote as the poles, from the intention of retracting a single syllable of the opinions, which we glory in having expressed of the relative comparative merits of our great and illustrious countryman, O'CONNELL, the very living personification of Ireland-and that Rara avis of questionable patriotism, the late THOMAS ADDIS EMMET, the repudiator of the land of his birth.

On this subject, we would be proud to have a public discussion with the Doctor, to grapple with him on its merits, as we assure him, that, however superior he might be to us on other grounds, in this fair field, his classic thunder would lose its lightning, and his logical pen its Gorgon terrors. The interest we take in O'Connell's fame, would arm us with new powers. As a scholar, conversant with the poetry and eloquence of Greece and Rome-and as a physician, chymist, and physiologist, Doctor Macneven is acknowledged by the concurrent voice of Europe and America, to stand in the first rank of eminent distinction. But, as an English writer of the present day, his style, which Lougious would call cold and critically correct, is a little sullied and dimmed with the autiquated dust of the old school. He does not combine, in composition, the logic of Locke, with the magnificence of Dr. Johnson. The elegant graces of poetic eloquence never adorn his diction with the luxuriant flowers of imagination. The chain of his arguments is strong and massy-but it is a chain of rusty iron. We admire the base and shafts of the Doric columns of his syllogisms; but when we raise our eyes to the entablature, we feel disappointed at the dearth of ornament, and the total destitution of sculptural embellishment. Before we conclude this article, we think it proper to state, that the origin of the coolness now subsisting between this amiable gentleman and us, is to be dated from the first night of the meeting of the CATHOLIC ASSOCIATION, in this city, when he, with the assistance of his partisans, rejected a resolution of thanks to DANIEL O'CONNELL, which we offered on that occasion. This, with the appropriate censure, which we passed on the reprehensible and iniquitous vote to the Emmel monument, is "the head and front of our offending,"

of description, that shine with such brilliancy in those valued contributions, with which the grace. ful muse of ADAM KIDD, Esq. has so finely decorated our Parnassian bouquet.]

Through thy green groves and deep receding howers,

Loved SPENCER WOOD! how often have I stray'd, Or mused away the calm unbroken hours,

Beneath some broad oak's cool refreshing shade.