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the centre of the cemetery. He has also caused his own monument to be erected. It consists of an unadorned stone, about, I should think, fifteen or sixteen feet high, and from two to three in breadth about the middle, but slightly tapering towards the top. The inscription on it is exceedingly short and simple. It is this :
ERECTED IN 1830,
BY THEOBALD MATHEW. “When Mr. Mathew shall have been gathered to his fathers—which, for the sake of mankind, it is to be hoped will not be for very many years to come—there will be added to the above, the time of his death and the age he had attained. And these few simple words will constitute the only inscription on the tomb of one of the greatest benefactors of his species, and one of the most extraordinary men that ever lived. Yet plain and unpretending as the inscription will be, it will be sufficient. Mr. Mathew's memory will need no more—it will not need even that. It will live in the hearts, not only of millions of the present generation, but will be held in the highest reverence for ages to come. As I mean to devote a separate chapter to the temperance movement in Ireland, I will not particularly refer to it in this place. It may suffice for the present to say, that I regard Father Mathew as being, in a moral sense, incomparably the greatest man of the day. The amount of good which he has done exceeds the powers of arithmetic to compute. Language cannot express the measure of veneration with which such a man ought to be regarded. It is not his boundless benevolence only that inspires this feeling in my breast; his charity to those who differ from him is a quality in his moral character scarcely less estimable than his great philanthropy. That charity embraces in its comprehensive arms men of all religious denominations. He is just as ready to do a kindly action to a Protestant as to a professor of his own faith. Speaking of religious differences, he made a remark to me which I wish were indelibly inscribed on the hearts of men of all religious denominations. • We are all,' said Mr. Mathew, 'trying to get to heaven, each in his own way, and according to the light which God has given him. Why, then, should we quarrel with each other ?' How, let me add, should the thought that those who differ from us are quite as conscientious and sincere in their belief as ourselves—how should this thought extinguish every uncharitable feeling the moment we find it rising in our hearts ?
Until I had the happiness of meeting with Mr. Mathew, I was at a loss to account for the extraordinary influence which he has acquired over the minds of his countrymen. I can well understand it now. There are thousands of others, not natives of Ireland, who regard him with an affection and veneration verging on idolatry.
One would think that the character of such a man as Mr. Mathew would be beyond the reach of misrepresentation and calumny. And yet it is not so. The shafts of calumny have been levelled at him, as they have been at all the great and good men who have gone before him. His motives have been impugned, and his actions misconstrued. He has been charged with making the temperance movement an instrument for the propagation and extension of the Catholic faith. There never was a greater misrepresentation. I saw him administering the
pledge in his own house, and he knew no more than I did whether those who received it at his hands were Catholics or Protestants ; nor could they have known, from anything he said or did, whether he was Protestant or Catholic. He has been represented as having political objects in view in promoting the temperance movement. Quite as unfounded as the other. He is no politician-he never was. But, say others, what comes of all the money he receives for the temperance medals ? The insinuation sought to be conveyed, though the parties have not the candour to convert it into an open, direct charge, is, that he is a pecuniary gainer by the success which has attended the temperance cause. This last allegation is, were that possible, more groundless than the other two ; for, to my certain knowledge, he is pecuniarily a loser by the temperance movement. He is subjected to a weekly expense of six pounds for printing alone ; his postages are heavy; he has to pay a regular salary to a secretary for carrying on that part of his correspondence which he cannot himself undertake. And then there are his travelling expenses. There is hardly a week in which he does not travel from 150 to 200 miles for the sole purpose of furthering the temperance
From first to last, he must have travelled from 25,000 to 30,000 miles in his capacity of the Great Apostle of Temperance. In addition to all this, he has been paid for but comparatively few of his medals. The greater number of his converts have been from the very lowest orders of his countrymen, persons not in circumstances to pay for medals or anything else. I speak what I know to be a fact, when I say that he has given away hundreds of medals in particular parishes, without receiving one farthing in return. But I am wrong in advancing a single word in refutation of these charges, Mr. Mathew's very appearance is their best refutation. There is something in his look, bis tone, his manner, which carries demonstration to the mind of every person who has the privilege of being in his society, that a more honest, honourable, upright man never breathed the breath of life.”
While at Cork our author visited the Groves of Blarney. We have only space for a small portion of what he says of a place so celebrated as
The GROVES OF BLARNEY. " The Castle of Blarney is surrounded by woods of very great extent. A little to the westward is a now deserted mansion, which, when inhabited, must have had a very imposing appearance. In front of it is a spacious and beautiful lawn. A few yards eastward of the castle are the Groves of Blarney. The most attractive objects are the grottoes, and the fanciful distribution of the rocks-some of them natural, and others artificial, but mostly clothed with an ample covering of ivy or honeysuckle. Here trees of immense size, whose luxuriant foliage throws a perpetual shade over the place, are seen growing out of small rocks, or, as some persons would call them, stones of prodigious size, carelessly scattered about through the grounds. The castle, towards the top, is of difficult ascent, owing to the ruinous character of part of the stairs. The celebrated stone to which tradition has ascribed peculiar virtues if kissed, is at the north-west angle of the castle. The stone has the reputation of making all who kiss it remarkable, ever afterwards, for their honeyed manner of speaking. The only source of regret is, that they are not as sincere as they are smooth-tongued. It is in the insincerity of the fine speeches which those make who have kissed the Blarney stone, that the phrase,' Ah, that's all blarney!' had its origin. When the virtues in question were first attributed to this stone is not known. The tradition is traced back for about one hundred and twenty years, but no farther. Formerly the stone was four or five yards from the top, and the only way of reaching it was by letting oneself down by means of a rope. This being attended with great danger to the adventurer, the proprietor of the place caused the stone to be taken out, and to be put on the top of the building. This was six or seven years ago. In 1840 a maniac happened to get to the top of the castle, and threw the stone to the ground. Lighting on another stone, it broke in three pieces, which were again placed in the north-east angle of the building. The largest fragment of this celebrated stone being supposed to contain all its virtues when in its original state, it alone is now kissed by the visitor who is sufficiently adventurous to reach it. In the summer of last year, a young man, who had got to the top, fell over the summit of the castle when in the act of stooping down to kiss the stone. The height from the ground is 132 feet; but, falling into a tree with ample branches beneath, he miraculously escaped with his life, though not without being much hurt. I was sufficientiy venturesome to reach the stone. It is of a dark-greyish colour. Its length is about fifteen inches, and its depth about four. In shape it bears some resemblance to the lower part of a boot. Its greatest breadth is about seven inches, and the narrowest part of it may be four inches broad. It is an object of great curiosity. Very few visit Cork without going to the Groves and Castle of Blarney ; and those who have not enough of the adventurous spirit in them to reach the top and kiss the stone, try to get as near it as possible."
On his way from Cork to Kilkenny, Mr. Grant met with Tim Haly, one of the most zealous teetotallers in Christendom. Tim has long been coachman part of the way, and the passenger who is fortunate enough to sit next to him is sure to hear him expatiate on the advantages of temperance. Listen to
Tim HALY ON THE VIRTUES OF WATER. “Just think of the effects of whiskey-just think of the effects of whiskey! Do you hear of a quarrel? It's whiskey that has stirred up the bad blood that is natural to us all. Is there a fight? Whiskey is at the bottom of it. Do you hear of a murder? Take my word for it, it is to be traced backwards to the use of intoxicating liquors. Name any crime you please, and I will prove that whiskey has, in some way or other, been mixed up with its perpetration. Matrimonial miseries, domestic unhappiness, social wretchedness, and national degradation ; every evil under the sun, will be found, if you go sufficiently far back, to have had its origin in whiskey—which is, sir, the greatest enemy of man. And then, sir,' continued Tim, after a moment's pause, 'only contrast water with whiskey. Water is the gift of God; and why has he given it in such great abundance, but that we may drink it? God made water, and man, or rather the devil working in man, makes the whiskey. We are surrounded with water; it is above, about, and below us. Above us in the clouds ; about us in rivers, lakes, ponds; and below us in the bowels of the earth. It was the only beverage drunk in Paradise. Adam knew nothing of whiskey, neither did Eve. Their only drink was from the flowing fountain, the running stream, or the gurgling brook. And look, even now, to the animal creation. They drink nothing but water, they use no intoxicating liquors, they are all teetotallers ! They would not take whiskey or whiskey-punch if offered them. No animal, except man, would allow its lips to be polluted or its breath to be poisoned by spirituous liquors. You see my horses—those fine noble craturs. Do you think they would put their mouths into a pail of whiskey, or a bucket of whiskey-punch ? Not they. I would be ashamed of them, and they would be ashamed of themselves, if they did. No ; water-waterwater—and nothing but water, is the thing for them. Then, sir, there are the birds of the air, the feathered songsters which delight us with the warblings of their melodious voices. When they descend to the earth, is it in quest of whiskey ? No, sir; it is that they may quench their thirst in water, and when they have drunk their fill, they raise their faces to heaven in token of their gratitude for so great a blessing. Would they take whiskey if you would try them with it? Sir, they would turn away in horror from the liquid. They know it would spoil their delicious voices; it would destroy their dulcet tones. Only imagine an intoxicated lark in the air attempting to sing. What a melancholy exhibition it would make. What unmusical notes, if notes at all, it would send forth. Nor is it only the beasts of the field and the birds of the air that regard spirituous liquors with righteous abhorrence. The finny tribe, sir, accord in this matter with their feathered and fourfooted brethren and sisters. Suppose, for the sake of illustration, that three rivers ran into the ocean- -one of whiskey, another of ale or porter, and the third of pure water,—which of the three rivers, think you, would a salmon ascend ? Why, sir, when it came to the river of whiskey, it would snort, turn up its nose, turn back, and bound away in disgust. Well, it comes to the river of porter or ale. What is the result? Why, it turns sick at the smell and pale at the sight. Lastly, it comes to the river of pure water; what does it do then? Do, bless your sowl! it leaps for joy at the idea, and darts like lightning into the very midst of it. And should not we take a lesson from the lower order of craturs ? Only fancy, sir, what would be the consequences were the animals to drink as we do? Just suppose that my four horses before commencing their journey this morning had each emptied a pail of whiskey. What then ? Why, that they would be dead drunk and the coach upset, and we, very likely, lying killed by the side of the road there. But, sir, my horses are as good teetotallers as myself. I wish I could say the same of you and of all. Whenever I see a man drunk on horseback, I always say to myself, the man is the greatest baste of the two.
I have a greater respect for the horse than his rider. Water, sir, I say again, is the thing. It is pure, sound, wholesome; sweet to the taste, and refreshing to natur. It enters into every crevice of the stomach, penetrates every accessible part of the constitution, circulates
through all the conduits of the system, makes the tour of every region in man's interior, however remote from the centre. And, in justice to it, I must add, that it cleanses, purifies, washes, and renovates every locality through which it achieves a passage. Yes, sir,' and here Tim's eye gleamed with delight, and his manner became more animated and emphatic ; 'yes, sir, water-blessed, glorious water--does all this and a great deal more. It is natur's medicine. It never does you ill ; it always does you good. Tell me, did you ever hear of a man tossing restlessly on his bed, like to die of a burning thirst all night, after his two or three tumblers of water? Did you ever know of a head-ache next morning after a copious draught of natur's beverage? You never did, and you never will hear of any ill effects from cultivating an acquaintance with the pump. There's no bad breath after the use of the primitive liquid ; no confusedness of head, no tremor of the hand, no blanched cheek after paying one's respects to Adam's wine. Waterpure, clear, crystal water-gushing from the fountain, poured from the pump, or drawn in pitchers from the running rivulet or noble river, is, I say again, and I say it once for all, the most blessed gift of a bountiful Providence; and as such it ought to be thankfully received, prized, cherished, and drunk by all mankind.”
Mr. Grant gives some further account of this excellent though somewhat eccentric man, under the head of
A TEMPERANCE CONVERSATION WITH TIM HALY. “I listened to Tim's speech on the virtues of water with no ordinary gratification. I could not doubt, indeed I knew, that every word came from the lowest depths of his heart. The very sight of the watery element seemed to raise him to the third heaven of bliss.
“« There, sir, that's a sight! There's a scene for you,' he exultingly exclaimed, when we passed any river, pond, or lake ; and his countenance brightened up as he uttered the words. I carry out my principles,' he added, soon after concluding his speech.
“Oh,' I remarked, “ I'm quite sure of that. Nobody would suspect anything to the contrary.'
" I should hope not, sir. I have tasted no liquid but water for the last four years."
• • You have tasted no spirits nor beer, you mean?”
5. Nor tay.'
“« What! not tasted tea nor coffee for four years ?'
“• It's the thruth I'm telling you. It's as thrue as that you see that noble river there,' pointing to a mere brook three or four inches in depth, and two or three feet wide, which lay a few yards' distance from the road.
“• You quite surprise me. What ihen do you have for breakfast? Milk?' "Milk! Ah! don't be after mentioning that same.
Milk! never. No, sir; water, sir ; water.'