I stated, in the letter which confronts, in juxtaposition, "Justice's " second onslaught, that "Banim's biographer is absolutely in love with his character throughout,-in fact, too much so for the taste of many." Such is the fact. Boswell was not a sincerer admirer of Johnson's intellect than the Editor of the IRISH QUARTERLY is of Banim's. To quote sentences in proof of this would be absurd. The work may be consulted passim, for evidences of what I say. Much as the biographer loves his hero, he loves truth and justice better, and he consequently scorns to suppress the fact, that in Michael's brain were formed the noble conceptions of Crohoore and The Croppy. The biographer of Harriet Lee, authoress of the Canterbury Tales, might as well be assailed for saying that her sister Sophia, wrote the best story of the series-The HUNGARIAN'S TALE-on which Byron founded his Tragedy of Werner.

I had the curiosity lately to ask one who possessed the entire conndence of the Banim family, why it was that Michael remained so long in the back ground, and never put forward any claims for literary distinction. "I asked that question myself," replied the gentleman," and his answer was this, I had, as the eldest son, my father's shop and business to support me. Poor John had nothing but his brains, and I should have been the most ungenerous of men, to one of the most affectionate of brothers, to lower his literary prestige and popularity, by an unnecessary avowal of my share of the authorship." This explains, what your correspondent calls "the latter-day fiction that Michael was the author of some of John's best works." Mr. "Justice's" opinion of human nature is sad to contemplate. He cannot understand how Michael could be so destitute of vanity and selfish complacency, as to remain so long in retirement.* "Is it consistent with human nature," he exclaims triumphantly, "that Michael would allow John Banim to usurp his fame and his

'Michael Banim's introduction to Clough Fionn, or the Stone of Destiny (published a year previous to the memoir in the IRISH QUARTERLY) is interesting.

"It is known to the reading public that the Works of fiction published under the title of Tales of the O'Hara Family,' were the joint production of two brothers-one of them, the younger, a literary man by profession; the other, and the elder, a man in business, who occasionally contributed the result of such hours as he could borrow from his more immediate and more pressing avocations. The origin, extent, and nature of this literary partnership may be, at no distant day, communicated to the curious in such matters, should it be ascertained that any curiosity exists. It is known, too, to those who consider the Tales by the O'Hara Family worth perusal, that the younger brother was called on to pay the debt we must all pay, before he had passed the prime of life, and after many years of such bodily suffering as few are required to endure in preparation for the grave. Up to the period of John Banim's death in the summer of 1842, the connexion of the brothers existed, and with the survivor of The O'Hara Family,' many notes and memoranda remain, partly originated with the one, and partly with the other. The following story (Clough-Fionn, or, the Stone of Destiny) is wrought out of a portion of those materials; it is therefore, properly speaking, a renewal of old acquaintanceship with the public, under the old familiar name.'

B

labours for so many years, without producing proofs that HE WAS WRONGED?"

"Justice" would seem to have forgotten, at the close of his letter, what he admitted at the commencement, that Michael's frequent companions were the desk and midnight lamp, and that he always knew him to be a clever man capable of writing able things. The concluding lines of his letter, and the last five lines of mine, clash amusingly. He says that "since John's death Michael has not published anything, which would hardly be the case, were he the powerful writer, which the despoilers of John's fame would represent him." The information that Michael had lately concluded an interesting novel in the University Magazine, &c., was conveyed in the P.S. of my letter. Had Michael Banim leisure, and a brother living to exercise judgment, and bestow on his writings that artistic touch, at which John was so au fait, he would probably produce a series of Irish Tales hardly inferior to Miss Edgeworth's.

I will here append some extracts from an interesting letter of Michael Banim's, addressed to one, who urged him to write more— in fact myself. It is the only letter I ever received from him. After adverting to the benefit his works derived from the revision of John Banim, he writes:-"Originally my education was defective, and from my 15th to my 22nd year, I was engaged, hammer and tongs, acquiring a knowledge of the business I was bred to, with no leisure for study, or self improvement. This continues pretty much the same up to the present hour. The struggle for my daily bread,' gives me no leisure to indulge my literary propensities, such as they are. This daily bread,' must be provided-there is no manna now-a-days. My indispensable, and humble avocations are in opposition to the exercise of any mental power I possess. Stern reality, is a beast of burthen, and cannot be stabled with the winged horse of Imagination. They don't feed on the same provender."

John Banim on only one occasion publicly avowed the literary aid whch Michael gave the O'Hara Tales. The admission-a characteristically honorable one-occurred in his acknowledgment of a complimentary address, and substantial present from the citizens of Kilkenny, in September, 1835. I did not happen to be acquainted with this thoroughly conclusive passage, when my share in the present correspondence began:

"While thus for the first time," writes John Banim, "called upon to reply to compliments paid to me as the writer of these volumes, I cannot hesitate to mention that a considerable portion of the success of some of the stories, is attributable to the assistance of a dear, and respected brother."

"It is quite a common thing in London," writes Mr. "Justice," vainly endeavouring to spread a false colour over the facts, "for a poor hard-working author to send his MS. written illigibly, to a brother in the distance, to write out clear for the Press." Compositors are more generally skilled in deciphering illigible writing, than any other class of men, whether they are personal friends of the writer, or his own immediate family.

I have already adverted to the sweeping headlong statements

which your pert correspondent tumbles off his pen. His whole letter is made up of mis-statement, and exaggeration. And when on inquiry he finds himself in error, and that no further sophistry can make his position tenable, he flippantly pronounces these misstatements to be-printers' errors !

The "admirer of the O'Hara Tales" having taken him to task for one of the more plausible of hls allegations, he now stammers out:"I beg to correct a TYPOGRAPHICAL error in my last letter, namely, that John Banim wrote every line with his own weary hand. This should have been, he invented every line in his own weary brain."

It is a good joke truly to endeavour to prove, that pert mis-statements are printers' errors. Allowing the above, however, to be one, are we to understand that what Mr. "Justice" intended to write was, "the fact is, that John Banim not only composed every line of Crohoore, from his own brain, but also invented every line in his own weary brain!" (See the first letter of " A LOVER OF JUSTICE." Ante, p. ii.) From certain technicalities, and inuendoes made by Mr. "Justice,' there cannot be a doubt but that he is a literary writer. In the above he has favoured us with a specimen of his tact in elaborating a sentence, for which we should all feel very much obliged. It is surely a rich joke to assert, that words so distinct, and unlike each other, should have been mysteriously introduced through typo-diabolical agency. I venture to say, that the very devils (who are rarely if ever known to take an interest in the matter of any "copy") grin sardonically at his expense as they "set up" these lines. I even see the usually solemn, and sedate reader, chuckling as he punctuates along the mar gin. Nay, I venture to affirm, that the very Publisher of the Brighton Guardian, will "larf a few," (as Sam Slick says) when his attention is called to what your correspondent would fain have it believed were errata. He must have a sorry opinion of Brighton judgment to make such transparencies, as appear in his letters, and a poor opinion of Brighton dignity, to stigmatize their chief magistrate, as a" shabby" personage.

Why he should run from Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, to make his complaint to the good people of Brighton, I cannot understand, unless the editor of Notes and Queries, and the other literary journals of the metropolis, refused admission to his flippant and officious observations.

Your correspondent would fain convince you, that he possessed the entire confidence of John Banim, and knew every minutia of his thoughts, and doings. Touching a point which my unknown Defender in the Herald, from peculiar information, was enabled to lodge in one of Mr. "Justice's" statements, he says, "why is he not also sagacious enough to know, that John Banim had a dear bosom friend and companion in MICHAEL B, independently of his brother Michael?"

This revelation is doubtless calculated to increase the respect entertained for your correspondent. I am aware that Michael B. was an acquaintance of the Banim family, but what character does John himself, give of him in a letter to Michael, dated May 2, 1824, and published in the IRISH QUARTERLY for December 1854, p. 855.

When suggesting characters for him to daguerreotype, he says, "ive me Tom Guinn, hat, gaiters, watch, pipe, and his horn tinder box. FOR A RECKLESS BULLY, BOY, AND MAN, REMEMBER MICHAEL B.' The Editor of the memoir, knowing Mr. Michael B. to be still living, suppressed the name.

Mr. Michael B—, with what he blindly considers scathing irony, compares my arguments in Notes and Queries, to some ingenious specimens of logic from the pen of Archbishop Whately. To be likened, even in joke, to so distinguished a logician, is a compliment I could have hardly expected from such a hostile quarter.

I have the honour to be, Sir,

Your faithful servant,

WILLIAM JOHN FITZPATRICK.

P.S. There is one point, I had almost forgot to touch upon. Mr. "Justice" has taken great umbrage at my referring to Banim as "an Individual," It is an ignorant and vulgar error to consider the word "Individual" as conveying reproach, or expressing contempt. If it had any such appearance, however, I withdraw the expression, as nothing was further from my thoughts than to speak disparagingly of one of my most gifted countrymen. To refer to him as that gentleman," would have a much more formal and affected sound. Lamb and Hazlitt's London Magazine, vol. ii. p. 671, speaking of Sir Walter Scott's connection with Blackwood, says, "this eminent Individual is known to have written some things for the Magazine in question." Again in the first page of Lockhart's Memoirs of Scott, the public" are informed, "that they will know from good authority all they are entitled to know of an Individual who has contributed to their amusement."

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No one entertains a higher respect for Banim's character, and genius than I do. If you be in the way of seeing the Nation newspaper, you will find a letter dated November 10th, signed by me, in which I reproached the Irish people for their apathetic feeling towards the memory of Banim and other gifted Irishmen, who toiled long and ably to purify the tone, and stimulate the growth of Irish literature.

[The letter referred to by Mr. Fitzpatrick, breathes so kind and healthful a tone, that its extended circulation can do no harm, and may do good. In allusion to Clarence Mangan's Recollections of Maturin, published in the Nation of November 3rd, and which conIcluded with a declaration that he knew not where the bones of poor Maturin repose," Mr. Fitzpatrick writes:-]

"Alas, it is only in Ireland that such utter oblivion of genius could be traced. By some he is completely unknown—by all, with few exceptions, forgotten. Of the strength and purity of Maturin's genius I have long been an humble admirer. In 1849-five-and

twenty years after Maturin's death-I made various unsuccessful inquiries for the place of his interment. At length it was suggested that, having filled, while living, the office of curate to St. Peter's Church, his tomb would probably be found either within the walls of the old edifice or the adjacant graveyard. Aided by a friend, equally interested, I searched, but, until the sexton volunteered his services, we could discover no trace. Near the entrance gate, his grave was at length pointed out to us: and-can it be credited?— not even a plain head-stone marked the spot. An uninscribed flag surmounts the grave of Emmet-Maturin's has neither stone or epitaph!

Thirty-five years ago, the name of Maturin was on every second tongue. The diaries of Scott and Byron bear evidence of this. His presence was eagerly sought to dignify literary reunions, or lionize hilarious winter dinner parties. Edmund Kean flung his entire energy into the realization of the vast conceptions of Bertram, Manuel, and Monturio. If Maturin walked the streets of Dublin, every second person turned to stare; if he preached, the church would be crowded to an extent unknown since the days of Dean Kirwan. He is now dead, and, like Charles Lucas, Curran, O'Connell and Dr. Doyle — forgotten! Lord Monteagle of Brandon, touchingly and eloquently observed to me in a recent letter (not marked "private"), relative to the above mentioned Patriot Prelate of Kildare:-" Your observation is quite true, respecting the rapid growth of forgetfulness in this country, which, like the ivy which covers our ancient monuments, concealing their architectural beauty, hides also the virtuous actions of many of our best men. The noble and distinguished men who laboured with Grattan in forming our constitution, are all forgotten, Grattan himself but slightly remembered, Plunkett is almost unknown, and in passing through Waterford the other day, I was unable to find even a tablet bearing the honoured name of Newport, This is very sad, for the want of a feeling of active and enduring gratitude deprives us of those moral examples which would raise and dignify our country, and would exalt and improve the present generation."

And what has become of the gifted James Clarence Mangan, who mourned ten years ago, at the thought of Maturin having been forgotten. My friend, Mr. Hercules Ellis, who has edited a pleasing little volume, called "Romances and Ballads of Ireland," gives in its preface the following account of Mangan's end:

"I had not been acquainted with Mangan except though the medium of his writings. I had never even seen him, when in the month of June, 1849, I was startled by a newspaper announcement, that the poet who had so long afforded me instruction and deligth

His rapidly attained popularity as a Poet, would absolutely seem to have excited, in some degree, the jealousy of Moore, who records in his Journal of September 10th, 1820, the fact that during George the IV.'s visit to Ireland, "the cowardly Scholars of Dublin College took pains to avoid mentioning his (Moore's) name; and who, after a Speech of some Sir Noodle boasting of the poetical talent of Ireland, drank as the utmost they could venture, "Maturin, and the rising Poets of Erin."-W. J. F,