Assassination of Thomas H. Burke, Under Secretary for Ireland.

Chapter XV.

In April, 1882, Ireland was the poorer by what she could ill spare - a man of genius; her greatest poet (Moore alone excepted), ceased his strains. But Denis Florence MacCarthy had an eye for beauty too far-seeing and a mind and heart too large to confine his Muse within the sea-girt isle of Erin. His first volume: “Ballads, Poems and Lyrics,” embraced translations from nearly all modern European tongues including some from André Chenier, while the Chevalier de Chatelain, in turn, delighted French readers with translations from the purely Irish poems of MacCarthy. His “Bell Founder,” “The Pillar Towers of Ireland,” “The Voyage of St. Brendan,” “The Foray of Con O’Donnell, “Under Glimpses,” followed in rapid succession.

But it was his translation of Calderon’s dramas from the Spanish into English blank verse - with a learned introduction and sparkling notes - on which his European fame will rest. Ticknor, author of ” The History of Spanish Literature,’ says that MacCarthy had executed the task to a degree of perfection which he had previously supposed impossible; and another eminent Hispaniologist Mr. Bradford, has expressed himself in similar terms MacCarthy was elected a member of the ” Real Academia” of Spain, and received from them a medal “in token of their gratitude and appreciation.” ” It seems as if Calderon were behind him - whispering and suggesting,” said Longfellow. [Longfellow’s death and that of MacCartily occurred within a few days of each other,].MacCarthy, like Moore, wrote good prose as well as poetry, of which statement “Shelley’s Early Life” affords an illustration. MacCarthy was a bad financier, and though once opulent his gold strangely melted away.

After wandering in many ‘lands, MacCarthy took a cottage at the corner of Sydney Avenue, Blackrock, and playfully styled it “Poet’s Corner.” He had not fully unpacked and arranged his books, when death gently removed him on Good Friday, April 7th, 1882. May has been always a favourite month with poets, and by none was it more loved than by him who sang:-

“O my heart is weary waiting - waiting for the May.”

And again:

“Welcorne May! - welcome May!

Thou hast been too long away,

All the widow’d wint’ry hours.

Wept for thee, sweet, gentle May:

But the fault was only ours -

We were sad when thou wert gay.”

No wonder George Gilfillan should declare his special admiration for MacCarthy’s “joyous, sunny, lark-like carols on May, almost worthy of Shelley.” Our poet died in sight, of May - just as the hawthorns around him were bursting into leaf.

The cruel and infamous deed done on May the 6th, in 1882, by which the green turf whereon MacCarthy loved to stroll, was reddened, would have torn the poet’s heart. He knew the Under Secretary, Thomas H. Burke and admired Lord Frederick Cavendish. This is not the place to write an account of an outrage so recent and so appalling. The bell tolls; the chaplain adjusts his stole; the mangled remains are borne into Glasnevin Cemetery; a solemn service is recited; the grave is covered; and a splendid Celtic cross now rears its head above the grave of him who had long been, practically, the Government of Ireland.

Near the place in which Mr. Burke’s remains are laid, is a handsome monument designed by Sir Thomas Drew, Architect, and surmounted by a *facsimile *of the Cross of Cong. It was raised by many friends in appreciation of his high character and general public services. On the opposite side of the walk, in the South Section, is the tomb of his father, William Burke, a chivalrous Irish gentleman of the old school. Why the murdered man refused a knighthood is due to the fact that he was next heir to the old Baronetcy of Glinsk. His brother, Augustine Burke, R.H.A., was a very distinguished artist.

Close to it is the family vault of Dr. Thomas Hamilton Burke, late Local Government Board Inspector, and famous in early life as an amateur actor.

In the same vicinity is found the Jesuits’ old burial plot, in which repose the Rev. Sir Christopher Bellew, Bart.; Father Esmonde, brother of the late Right Hon. Sir Thomas Esmonde, Bart.; Fathers Seaver, St Leger and Michael Bellew, &c. Behind it is the neatly enclosed burial place of “Les Soeurs de Bon Secours. Seventeen tombs record the too early deaths of these devoted ladies.

“Frank Thorpe Porter, that upholder of the laws ”- as he is styled in a popular ballad [“The Lower Castle Yard.”] - will be remembered less, perhaps, as an active magistrate of “the Head Office of Police,” than as the *bon raconteur *and pleasant versifier. Though gone - yet, happily, he is still with us: for his ” Gleanings and Reminiscences” - which have passed through more than one edition - remain an undying source of keen enjoyment. Porter’s recollections went a long way back: his father, a sergeant in the Irish Volunteers, is depicted with the Duke of Leinster, Charlemont, and other once familiar faces, in Wheatly’s well-known picture of the memorable review in College Green. Major Sirr died in 1841, and Porter became police magistrate soon after. We read in the “Arabian Nights” that, when somebody spoke, pearls rolled forth. When Porter wrote a letter it was found that though seemingly prose, it was really verse. Here is a chance sample: Porter had received an invitation to dine on St. Patrick’s day:-

“15 Upper Merrion Street,

*“March 17th, 1874.

*“Dear Fitz. - With much pleasure your kind invitation, at once I accept, in the anticipation that the Saint, with whose name yours is closely connected, on his festival day, when your friends are collected, will over our meeting his blessing extend. Believe me that such is the hope of your friend,

“F. T. Porter.”

Among Porter’s graver recreations was his “Life of Sister Rosalie of the Order of Charity.” He died on November 24th, 1882, aged 81, and was buried at Glasnevin on the 27th of the same month.

Amongst other police magistrates who rest in this Cemetery are Hugh O’Callaghan, D.L.; George Wyse, brother of the Minister at Athens, and joint author of the History of the Catholic Association; Daniel MacDermott, and William Woodlock.

A somewhat kindred spirit followed Porter on December 13th, 1882. John Stewart Stevenson preceded Sir John Gray as editor of the *Freeman’s Journal, *and, like Gray, he also was a Protestant. He reached the advanced age of 78, and had many pleasant memories of the men he had known. Stevenson, though a man of talent, lacked the energy which was so conspicuous in Gray. Martin Haverty, Stevenson’s colleague on the *Freeman, *said that he sometimes found him dozing in the editorial chair, and if its occupant found himself short of a “leader,” would say: “Go down to Willy, and see if he can give you anything.” “Willy” was the subsequent Right Hon. Mr. Justice Keogh, who then lived in Mecklenburgh Street. Stevenson closed his career as Secretary to the Alliance Gas Company.

The *Weekly Telegraph *acquired some importance from having been established by John Sadlier and William (Judge) Keogh. John Douglas Piercey, who died, aged 83, on January 29th, 1883, edited this journal for many years. An Englishman of good family, he was disinherited by opulent parents, for having embraced, as they said, ” the errors of Rome.” He felt this sentence the more acutely from the contrast it presented to early luxury. When proceeding to Germany for his studies, a carriage was sent with him to use whenever he felt so disposed. Vicissitude was well completed at his death. Fortune smiled on his cradle; but the luxurious cot of childhood gave place to a truckle bed in the crowded ward of Simpson’s Hospital - an asylum for friendless men.

“The Strollers’ Club” is fraught with memories of feast and song, which scarcely harmonise with the graveyard and its surroundings. Thomas Fagan, Registrar of the Court of Bankruptcy, was buried here in 1883. One recalls, where all is silent, that this man is described by the President of the Club as the readiest and happiest after-dinner speaker it has known. The more purely scientific musicians loudly praised him for his great skill and voice of extensive compass. He constantly visited Germany in search of new *lieder, *and translated them into English words, and these songs are treasured as amongst the best in the *repertoire *of the Strollers’ Club. Some words, though excellent poetry, “won’t sing.” Fagan knew exactly the form in which to put them. His return from the “Vaterland” was always eagerly hailed and festively celebrated. His last journey to the bourne from whence no traveller returns, was attended by troops of saddened men. A stone will be found to the memory of Fagan in the South Section, adjoining that to the Countess Nugent.

From youth to age it was the creed of John Cornelius O’Callaghan that, a country without a history was like a religion without scripture. An eager and ardent student, especially of historical literature, he devoured, with avidity, all sorts of books. His marvellous memory and keen acumen enabled him to accept and assimilate the mental food thus swallowed - food which, to one with less powers of digestion, would have proved too heavy a meal. He lived amidst books and manuscripts; was never more at home than when grubbing amongst old parchments, disinterring old documents long buried and hidden away, and unravelling the mysteries and myths of History by searching libraries which he called the catacombs of literature, and burying himself in muniment chests and dusty archives.

The results he gave to the world in the shape of historical works of high value. A member of the Comet Club - having mainly for its object the reform of the State Church - his first essays appeared in the Comet: a journal which, as John Wilson Croker remarked, “exhibited public proofs that its labours were not frivolous or unproductive.” In 1841 appeared “The Green Book”; in 1842 he joined the staff of the Nation - an incident commemorated by Sir Gavan Duffy in “Young Ireland.” When Macaulay visited this country in quest of information bearing on the Jacobite and Williamite wars, he expressed a wish to consult O’Callaghan. The Macariae Excidium, which O’Callaghan edited at the request of the Archaeological Society, will remain a lasting monument of his erudition, ability, and laboriousness. His greatest work, however, was the “History of the Irish Brigade in the Service of France,” to which he devoted 25 years of his life. In grasping this task he strained every nerve - like the men described by Davis in that wonderful charge at Ramilies, when:

“The victor Saxon backward reeled

Before the charge of Clare’s Dragoons!”

The work covers the period from James’s abdication to the death of the Young Pretender. O’Callaghan, powerful as a conversationalist, was simply wonderful in monologue, and reminded one of Johnson at his best. O’Callaghan died on April 24th, 1883. He left, by will, £50 to a priest and £50 to a parson, for such charities as each should select and name.

The 10th of April, 1883, witnessed a very picturesque scene at Glasnevin. The body of General Andrew Browne, C.B., of Moyvilla Castle, Galway - borne on a gun-carriage, lent by the military authorities, wheeled up the curved walk. This was a great privilege.

Robert Dwyer Joyce, M.D., won laurels as a poet. In 186i appeared his “Ballads, Romances, and Songs.” His later writings were published at Boston, U.S.A., and included, “Deirdre,” a poetical version of the ancient Celtic romance. “The Children of Usna,” of which David O’Donoghue records that 10,000 copies were sold in a few days; “Blanid,” “Ballads of Irish Chivalry,” “Legends of the Wars in Ireland,” and “Irish Fireside Tales” - the last two being prose. He settled as a physician at Boston, where he enjoyed a successful practice. Finding himself near his end, however, he wended his way homeward, and died in Dublin, on October 24th, 1883, aged 53, having been engaged, some days previously, on another epic poem, “The Courtship of Etaise.”

A semi-military funeral was seen on July 10th, 1885. James Edmond Williams, Inspector-General of the Army Medical Department, was the son of Captain Williams, whose death at the Battle of Salamanca is touchingly described in Napier’s “History of the Peninsular War,” (v., p. 105).

A remarkable monument of great beauty, designed and executed with much artistic skill, bearing date May 24th, 1886, was raised by the Right Hon. Joseph M. Meade to the memory of his father. Crowned by a striking statue, in white marble, of St Michael the Archangel, it stands out quite unique in its character, close to the O’Connell tower.

Morgan O’Connell, one of the Liberator’s sons, who had been for some years a Registrar of Deeds, died on 20th January, 1885.

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