MRS. ANNA JAMESON. WHEN Lady Morgan and Lady Blessington-the dashing Wild Irish Girl and the much-belauded Queen of Beauty-quitted the circle of literary society in "shuffling off this mortal coil," the general impression seemed to be, that English literature was left, by the event, without admixture of the Irish element, at least so far as our fair countrywomen were capable of infusing it. It does not appear to be generally known that we can lay claim to two of the most deservedly popular female writers of the day: namely, Miss Julia Kavanagh, author of "The Two Sicilies;" and Miss Muloch, author of "John Halifax, Gentleman"-the one a genuine Tipperary woman, and the other from some place "down in the north;" whilst not many, perhaps, even of our best-informed readers, are aware that Mrs. Jameson, whose death on last Patrick's Day was announced in such terms of regret in English journals and reviews, was of our own kith and kin-Irish without any mistake. Not meaning to cast a slur on departed celebrities, or in the remotest degree discredit living genius, we yet must confess that if all the talents, accomplishments, and amiable qualities of the first-mentioned four ladies, were rolled into a single individual, the product would not be worth, in our esteem, that one "perfect woman, nobly planned,"-Mrs. Anna Jameson. "The Irishmen, God bless my countrymen!" she once said, "for in all goodness, all mischief, all frolic, all danger, they are sure to be the first ;" and God bless Mrs. Jameson! we say now in return; for we are only too proud to have an opportunity of "taking a shine" out of such a woman, and numbering her with our kindred, before our neighbours on the other side, or literati of foreign nations who knew her well, have writ her down in the already long list of British worthies. Once for all, then, this estimable and gifted lady was born about the year 1794, in College green, Dublin, and her father's name was Murphy. That were surely proof enough in itself, even if we had not in addition the assurance from her matter-of-fact English friends, that they loved and valued her, and could not help it, for her unmistakeable Irish nature, her genial, kindly disposition, her eloquent expression, her rich imaginagination, racy of the soil. "Her vivid temperament and warm feelings told of Ireland to the last; they made her the light of the social circle, and prompted the unsparing sympathy which she bestowed on all around her." So testifieth one who knew her intimately. Rare indeed it is to meet so many gifts and graces in combination; rarer still to find an influence such as Mrs. Jameson possessed in the high walks of literature, as well as in the broader highway of social life, turned to so good account. Talent and character, in this case, were equal powers; or rather, brilliant intellectual endowments were but a superadded grace, giving a wider scope to the exercise of qualities yet more solid in the moral order. It was the presence felt throughout every page of Mrs. Jameson's writings of a thoroughly truthful, VOL. I. refined, and widely sympathetic nature, which made so many, who had not known her personally, grieve for her loss as they could not have done for a stranger; for how, indeed, could she be called a stranger, whose best thoughts so many shared, and whose help and guidance in various paths was so frankly sought, and so trustingly accepted?" Death, in the wake of some sixty-five years of earnest conscientious toil, can hardly be said to come prematurely; yet there is but one opinion, that Mrs. Jameson is a great loss, and that it would be difficult indeed to find any one worthily to occupy the place she so long filled with dignity and honour. Into details of Mrs. Jameson's private life it is not necessary here, or elsewhere, to enter. Hers was not an eventful life, in the ordinary sense of the term; though full enough of varied conditions affording opportunity of culture; rich beyond the common lot in worthy friendships; and fortunate in the enjoyment of constant association with the gifted and enlightened of every land. Intercourse with Goethe and Schlegel, Tieck and Sternberg, imbued her with love, at times exaggerated, of German literature. Schwanthaler and Cornelius, Kaulback and Rauch, Dannecker and Retzsch, quickened her enthusiasm for art. Thalberg and Mendelssohn, pouring out thought and fancy in words, as well as in that other eloquence, the concord of sweet sounds, helped to give a keener perception to a nature at times almost painfully sensitive to the power of music. Intimacy with members of the Kemble family, from "The Muse of Tragedy" herself, to the last inheritors of the genius of the race, the sisters Adelaide and Fanny, tended, in no small degree, to perfect that wonderful knowledge of Shakspeare, and that subtileness of observation which are so conspicuous in the "Characteristics of Women." To Mr. Murphy, himself an artist of some reputation, and painter in ordinary to the Princess Charlotte, his daughter must have been indebted for the first lessons in Art lore; indeed, her extraordinary appreciation of genius, as manifested in works of painting and sculpture, seems to have been not so much acquired, as exercised by instinct, and as possessed by birthright. She had learned to use the pencil and the etching-needle with freedom and success, long before her pen had served the cause of Art so signally, in revolutionizing the tone of Art literature, setting aside the cold formality of connoisseurship, and establishing new, and true, and thoroughly catholic canons of criticism. In early life Mrs. Jameson appears to have been occupied in education, and to have been engaged as governess in families of distinction. Necessity, not choice, we may infer, led to this step. The precise date of her marriage, we cannot at this moment recollect; but it must have taken place previous to 1826, in which year her first work, the "Diary of an Ennuyée,” appeared, being published, it is understood, "to afford immediate aid to Mr. Jameson in some difficulty of the moment." This gentleman was a barrister by profession, subsequently appointed, through his E wife's interest, speaker of the House of Assembly of Upper Canada, and later, Attorney-general of the colony. The marriage was an unfortunate one, ending, not long after, in separation. The crushing effect of pain and disappointment like this, at the outset of life, can be guessed only too well by those who knew Mrs. Jameson. But in justice, we must observe that private griefs were never intruded by her upon the public, either in the shape of Byronic outbursts, or sepiatinting of life and character. Possibly, sad experience in this case produced effects not often traceable to such causes; and a gentler tone in dealing with the sufferings of others, a larger interest in social questions, wiser judgment, and keener sympathy with the weak illtreated, and the good misconstrued, may have been the consequence of pain and sorrow early felt and heroically borne. A dash of the "bitter waters," we all know, muddles the shallow stream, but leaves no vicious "deposit in the strong, free-flowing course of the upright mind; and we are told that "all things turn to good" for those who work for noble ends, and in the true spirit view their responsibilities, and use their influence. The "Diary of an Ennuyée" became quite a popular book, and much curiosity was excited regarding the anonymous writer. It is told that Mr. Murphy, at that time paying a professional visit to the city of Norwich, somewhat amusingly cut short a rather free discussion of the merits and demerits of the new book, by acknowledging his acquaintance with the author, in the curt phrase" She is my daughter!" The "Diary," now an old-fashioned denizen of the lending libraries, is a lively, dashing record of a first visit to the continental world, as it lived and moved some thirty or forty years ago, interspersed with pleasant bits of description, snatches of literary and artistic criticism, and indications, not a few, of the author's taste for the fine arts. Readers, however, made the mistake of confounding the real writer with the purely imaginary character who figures in the pages, affecting the airs of a love-sick, world-weary girl, and dying off at the end of the last chapter, in a sudden, and it is to be feared, unprovided manner. The misapprehension which the assumed disguise had caused, worried the writer not a little; and she was careful, on more than one occasion, to repeat that she was never in her life ennuyée to death except in fiction. . Necessity, as we have said, was the motive of Mrs. Jameson's first appearance in print; the same spur, we infer, continued to be felt throughout a long course of literary labour. The volumes published at intervals during the next twenty years are, "The Loves of the Poets," containing some of the most charming biographical sketches ever written; "The Lives of Celebrated Female Sovereigns;" the "Beauties of the Court of Charles II," written in illustration of Sir Peter Lely's long rows of pictured fair and frail ones, so familiar to frequenters of the Hampton Court galleries; 66 Characteristics of Women," a series of elaborate studies of the heroines of Shakespeare's plays, forming a work which has now its place secured on the book-shelves of every thoughtful 66 ; student of the great bard, beside the critical dissertation of Hazlitt and Schlegel, and the pictured illustrations of Retzsch; lastly, “ Visits and Sketches at Home and Abroad," two volumes much occupied with German art, ancient and modern, and "Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada." The last-named work in three volumes, is partly taken up with criticism and annotation on productions of German genius very little known in England in those days, but which it must have been very agreeable to make acquaintance with, thus introduced and recommended; and partly with a charming account of the writer's canoe voyage up the lakes, her courageous descent of the Sault St. Marie, and her actual residence among a tribe of red Indians with other adventures of a kind hitherto unattempted by fair writers of either prose or rhyme. Most artistically dashed off are the pen and ink sketches of nights on the Huron, days on Ontario, visits to such strange characters as Colonel Talbot, living like an old Irish King in the seclusion of his vast territory, and to just as strange "ministers of the Gospel," mated with many-syllabled Indian women. Our author, paddled along in her tiny craft among the islands, surrounded by her strange guides and protectors, must have been a sight to disturb the equanimity of the most impassive and reddest of wild men ; but her usual good fortune attended her, for the Indians were quite delighted, received her always with smiling good humour, invited her to their talks and grand councils, and gave her a remarkably unpronounceable long name, invented for the occasion, and alluding most poetically to her fair complexion and her travelling propensities. In return the wanderer expressed much sympathy with the remnant of the race; found the men courteous and dignified, and thought the women not so badly off as many of the white slaves of civilized countries. One thing, however, she could not get over, namely, a disposition to shudder at the sight of a scalp of fair hair hanging from the girdle of any of these native gentlemen! Taken up as they issued, in our younger days, one by one from the press, the volumes enumerated above were among the most welcome books of the season; taken down as they now are from the dim recesses of our upper shelves, "the old names bring back the old thought;" but it must be allowed that the interest of many of the subjects has died out, much that was then new having become by this time a well-thumbed lesson. Not so, however, with the Art-literature, of which we have now to say a word or two. Scattered through nearly all Mrs. Jameson's books are indications of her wonderful faculty of appreciation, with regard to works of Art, and her disposition to go to the very heart of the matter in every case in which the subject comes under her notice; so that long before her pen was busy with writings exclusively devoted to Art, her taste, knowledge, and judgment were fully apparent. She is in no instance satisfied with secondhand opinions, chilled by cant of criticism, or imposed on by airs of learned assumption. A genuine work of art must be studied au fond; we must try to find out not what it cost, or what the marketable value of such and such a master may be; not merely what name it goes by. To understand it truly we must know what manner of man he was who painted that picture, or cut out that group; what motive prompted him to the work; what the idea was in his mind which he strove to make visible on that once bare canvass, or to embody through the agency of a shapeless mass of wet clay. It is essential to comprehend clearly the subject of the representation, the fact in itself, as well as the way in which it affected the imagination of the artist, or was interpreted by his own mind. Religious art, of all others, requires this insight most; the greatest number of pictures, and by far the most charming and the most celebrated, especially of the golden age of art, being of that class. Visitors to picture galleries are continually at fault, and often come away more puzzled than edified or delighted; simply because the key is wanting which alone could explain the meaning and expound the mystery. They are continually asking, or longing to ask, a variety of questions which it is not easy to answer. Why is St. Dorothy rose-crowned? and that young Sebastian arrow-pierced? Why is the giant St Christopher always crossing the stream with the Divine Child on his shoulders, and his lantern never failing, even though it be broad daylight? Why does St. Ursula carry a standard-the redcross banner, "like a meteor streaming to the wind?" Why, in the name of common-sense, have we in one picture, gathered together from every corner of Christendom, and even from outlying regions, such personages as St. John of the Wilderness and St. Francis of Assisi, young Tobias and St. Mary Magdalen? Again, it is most important to consider what progress Art had made up to the period at which the picture was painted; what materials, in fact, lay at the hand of the master. Thus the crudest production of early Christian art, the stiffest Byzantine "Dei para," may be full of interest to the "seeing eye" and the "understanding heart;" nay, may be even most touching, as proving the earnestness and devotion of the poor artist, who, with knowledge so scant, and tools so ungainly, left, if not the transcript of his beau ideal, at least a record of his honest striving after excellence. Then, the "spirit of the age" must not be forgotten; the opinions that ruled the hour-the aspirations, hopes, endeavours, which spiritualised it. For works of genius either reflect that spirit in all its intensity, or attest the master's passionate dissent in his straining after something higher. The very scenery of the place in which the artist worked, and the kind of social life which surrounded him, are worthy of deep consideration. Michael Angelo, in another generation, would have wielded the sword with as great effect as he used the chisel. Fra Bartolomeo would have painted different pictures, if, instead of leading a life of cloistral sanctity, his existence had been passed amid the senatorial splendours of the City of the Sea. What if Raphael had found his home amidst the flats of Holland, and his models among the boors of the village ale-house? Sought to be understood thus in its spirit and its bearings, Art becomes one of the most fascinating of studies; opening up a wide field for research-calling into exercise the highest intellectual faculties-and leading to the contemplation of the noblest and the holiest thoughts which ever entered into the mind of man. Such, or something like such, being Mrs. Jameson's views, and having glowing words at com. mand a style scarcely less pictorial at times than the works of Art she describes-it is no wonder that her theory, when stated, found ready acceptance, and that at once a very high rank as Art-critic was assigned her. Compared with her compilations, Passavant is dull, Kugler an encumbrance, and Waagen unmistakeably a bore. Her books, whether read in the closet, or referred to in the gallery, have, in a measure, the same effect which her companionship had on some favoured friend. And what that was, a writer in the "Englishwoman's Journal" has well described : "She used to say that a picture to her was like a plain writing. When she looked at it, she seemed to feel instantly for what purpose it had been painted. She loved to fancy the old artist painting it in his studio; and the man who brought it to offer it as a votive offering, for the health of some one he loved, or in commemoration of some one who was dead. If saints or fathers were introduced into the composition, she knew each by his aspect, and why he was in attendance, and could tell the story of their lives, and what they had done for the church. The strange mystic symbol-. ism of the early mosaics was a familiar language to her. She would stand on the polished marble of the Lateran floor, or under the gorgeously sombre Basilica of Sta. Maria Maggiore, reading off the quaint emblems, and expounding the pious thoughts of more than a thousand years ago. At Rome there is a little church, close under the blood-stained amphi-" theatre of the Coliseum, dedicated to St. Clement, the companion of St. Paul. Tradition says he lived there; at any rate the present building is of the date A.D. 800, and built on the foundation of one much older. In this church she delighted, and to it she would take any one who sympathised with her peculiar feeling for art. Her talk, as she described it, was a running commentary on the books she published on kindred subjects. To see her kindle into enthusiasm amidst the gorgeous natural beauty, the antique memorials, and the sacred Christian relics of Italy, was a sight which one who witnessed it will never forget. There is not a cypress upon the Roman hills, or a sunny vine overhanging the southern gardens, or a picture in those vast sombre galleries of foreign palaces, or a catacomb spread out, vast and dark, under the martyr-churches of the City of the Seven Hills, which is not associated with some vivid flash of her intellect and imagination.' The "Memoirs of the Early Italian Painters" first appeared in 1845 (a new edition, thoroughly revised by the author, was published last year). About the same time was brought out the "Handbook to the Public Galleries of Art in and near London ;" and another "Handbook" to the Private Galleries. In "A Common-place Book of Thoughts, Memories, and Fancies," bearing a much later date, we find chapters dedicated to Art; and in some of the first-class periodicals of the day, we discern in papers on Art, traces of the same accomplished pen. But it is in the great series entitled "Sacred and Legendary Art," that Mrs. Jameson found full scope for her taste and genius; and it is on these volumes that her fame will be found especially to rest. Three large volumes have come out at intervals since 1848, profusely illustrated with woodcuts and etchings, the writer's own, for the most part. The first volume contains Legends of the saints and angels, as represented in the Fine Arts, and includes a narrative of facts and traditions in connection with the apostles and evangelists, the patron saints of Christendom, the Greek and Latin fathers, virgins, martyrs, hermits, and warrior-saints. The following eloquent passage from the introductory portion of this volume, will give our readers a glimpse of the true philosophy of Art: "In the old times the painters of these legendary scenes and subjects could always reckon securely on certain associations and certain sympathies in the minds of the spectators. We have outgrown these associations, we repudiate these sympathies. We have taken these works from their consecrated localities, in which they once held each their dedicated place, and we have hung them in our drawing-rooms, and our dressing-rooms, over our pianos, and our side-boards -and now what do they say to us? That Magdalen, weeping amid her hair, who once spoke comfort to the soul of the fallen sinner,-that Sebastian, arrow-pierced, whose upward ardent glance spoke of courage and hope to the tyrant-ridden serf, that poor tortured slave, to whose aid St. Mark comes sweeping down from above, -can they speak to us of nothing save flowing lines, and correct drawing, and gorgeous colour? Must we be told that one is a Titian, the other a Guido, the third a Tintoret, before we dare to melt in compassion or admiration?-or the moment we refer to their ancient religious signification and influence, must it be with disdain or with pity? This, as it appears to me, is to take not a rational, but rather a most irrational as well as a most irreverent view of the question; it is to confine the pleasure and improvement to be derived from works of art within very narrow bounds; it is to seal up a fountain of the richest poetry, to shut out a thousand ennobling and inspiring thoughts. Happily there is a growing appreciation of these larger principles of criticism as applied to the study of Art. People look at the pictures which hang round their walls, and have an awakening suspicion that there is more in them than meets the eye-more than mere connoisseurship can interpret; and that they have another, a deeper, significance than has been deemed of by picture dealers and picture collectors, or even by picture critics." The second volume of the series of "Sacred and Legendary Art" is devoted to the monastic orders, their founders and patrons, and the royal saints from time to time connected with them. It is quite as interesting as the foregoing division of the subject, besides being more strictly historical. The third part, equally voluminous, and quite as delightful reading, is altogether taken up with the Madonna, as represented according to her different characters and titles by the whole rank and file of the grand old masters. How the beauty and holiness of the subject aroused the enthusiasm of the writer, is plainly perceptible in the following, as well as in many another page of the book: "The Virgin in her natural character opens upon us so wide a field of illustration, that I scarce know where to begin, or how to find my way, amid the crowd of associations which press upon me. A mother holding her child in her arms is no very complex subject; but like a very simple air constructed on a few expressive notes, which, when harmonised, is susceptible of a thousand modulations, and variations and accompaniments, while the original motif never loses its power to speak to the heart; so it is with the Madonna and Child; -a subject so consecrated by its antiquity, so hallowed by its profound significance, so endeared by its associations with the softest and deepest of our human sympathies, that the mind has never wearied of its repetition, nor the eye become satiated with its beauty. Those who refuse to give it the honour due to a religious representation, yet regard it with a half-unwilling homage; and when the glorified type of what is purest, loftiest, holiest in womanhood, stands before us, arrayed in all the majesty and beauty that accomplished Art, inspired by faith and love, could lend her, and bearing her divine son, rather enthroned than sustained on her maternal bosom, "we look, and the heart is in heaven!" and it is difficult, very difficult, to refrain from an “Ora pro nobis." Among the world-famous pictures of the Madonna and Child, there is scarcely one better known by copies and engravings than the glory of the Dresden Gallery: Raphael's "Madonna di San Sisto." One feels naturally anxious to know what Mrs. Jameson has to say about this chef-d'amore. It proves to be her ideal realised. Thus she speaks :— "Of course we each form to ourselves some notion of what we require, and these requirements will be as divers as our. natures and our habits of thought. For myself I have seen my own ideal once, and only once attained: there where Raphael-inspired if ever painter was inspired-projected on the space before him that wonderful creation which we style the Madonna di San Sisto, for there she stands-the transfigured woman at once completely human and completely divine, an abstraction of power, purity and love, poised on the empurpled air, and requiring no other support, looking out with her melancholy loving mouth, her slightly dilated, sibylline eyes, quite through the universe, to the end and consummation of all things-sad, as if she beheld afar off the visionary sword which was to reach her heart though Him, now resting as enthroned in that heart, yet already exalted through the homage of the redeemed generations who were to salute her as Blessed. Six times have I visited the city, made glorious by the possession of this treasure, and as often, when again at a distance, with recollections disturbed. by feeble copies and prints, I have began to think, "Is it so indeed? is she indeed so divine? or does not the imagination encircle her with a halo of religion and poetry, and fend a grace which is not really there?" and as often when returned, I have stood before it and confessed that there is more in that form and face than I ever yet conceived. I cannot here talk the language of critics, and speak of this picture merely as a picture, for to me it was a revelation. In the same gallery is the lovely Madonna of the Myer Family, inexpressibly touching and perfect in its way, but conveying only one of the attributes of Mary,-her benign pity, while the Madonna di San Sisto is an abstract of all.” During the last years of her life, Mrs. Jameson was busily engaged in the preparation of the concluding volume of the "Sacred and Legendary Art," already announced by Messrs. Longman, as, the History of Our Lord and of his Precursor, St. John the Baptist, with the Personages and Typical Subjects of the Old Testament, as represented in Christian Art." This elaborate work cost the author an amount of labour such as could scarcely be expected from her years, and necessitated two special journeys to Italy. It is believed to have been left ready for press, wanting only the last finishing touches of the hand that can now work no longer. Death, it may be said, surprised her in the midst of her work; for it was while occupied in the examination of some engravings in the library of the British Museum that the chill seized her which terminated so fatally a few days later. Referring to Mrs. Jameson's position during the closing years, a journalist of the day makes these observations:-"Few of the public knew under what circumstances Mrs. Jameson's works were produced-at what cost of illremunerated but most conscientious labour-and on what holy and sacrificing purposes the proceeds of that labour were employed. For many years Mrs. Jameson was the almost sole support of her mother and sisters, and of a sister's child besides. No one ever bore a heavier load of self-imposed obligations, or carried that load more uncomplainingly. She moved it as if she never felt it. But it was very heavy for all that, and it broke her down at last. Her almost incessant labour during the latter years of her life, was lightened by an annuity of £100 (in addition to a pension of the same amount), which annuity she owed to the determined kindness of her friend, Mrs. Proctor (wife of the sweetest of singers and kindliest of men, better known to the world by his nom de plume of Barry Cornwall), who raised the sum required for the purchase of this annuity by her own unaided efforts from among Mrs. Jameson's friends, and presented it to the unsuspecting and astonished donee as a birth-day gift." There is yet another phase of Mrs. Jameson's influence as a writer and as a woman, which, with extreme reluctance, we are obliged to decline considering at length on this occasion. Let our readers, however, get the last edition of "Sisters of Charity at Home and Abroad, and the Communion of Labour, with Introductory Letter to Lord John Russell" (it is in one small volume, price two shillings, and is almost the only one of the author's works which does not bear a high price); and when they have read, they will understand how true is our assertion, that there is not another woman in the three kingdoms who would have had courage enough to address her co-religionists as she did; not another like her, whose character stood so high that every word she uttered on the vexed questions of social science, was listened to with deep attention, almost with a kind of chivalrous reverence by grave men, with whom the study and the practice of philanthropy is the business of life. Those who were present at the meeting of the Association for the Promotion of Social Science, held at Bradford last October, describe the touching respéct with which any brief observations of Mrs. Jameson's were received. As for her personal influence over the thoughtful and the good of her own sex, much, perhaps, will not be written or spoken on the subject; but it has been deeply felt for all that, and a careful eye will be able, we doubt not, to trace it through more than one generation. The honourable position held by those whom we may call the working gentlewomen of England, is mainly due to the leadership, and the practical, womanly wisdom of Mrs. Jameson. Good deeds accumulated, and noble thoughts throng ing the mind, and throbbing for utterance, thus long kept the vital energies in activity, cheated old age of its languor and its dulness, and "beat the twilight into flakes of fire." May we not trustingly hope that to her death is but the covered way "Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!" As we write, the thought comes back of the cordial greeting we ourselves received, scarcely one short twelvemonths since, from this most estimable lady. We recall, with a strange feeling, the few words she spoke about her beloved Art, in reference to Madame Bodichou's exquisite sketches in Algeria, which hung round the room; the evident pleasure with which she mentioned her intention of visiting some friends in Ireland "next year;" the interest with which she inquired about the poor girls in Irish workhouses, whose lamentable condition she was well acquainted with; and the word of encouragement and advice she sent to those who are striving to help that abandoned class. The memory of that brief interview, the memory of a far earlier period, when her writings were like a portion of our daily bread, will, however, not be lost; though we shall never see her kindly face again, until the learned and the unlearned, the known and the unknown, meet once more "in the morning of the resurrection." THE O'BYRNES OF WICKLOW. BY E. P. MAC CARTHY, ESQ. PART FIRST. R. "Feagh M'Hugh of the mountain-- It makes the heart sick to track the steps and count the deeds which have been perpetrated under the mockery of government in Ireland; and more volumes than is now intended to be constructed into pages, would be needed for the recital of all the items of blood and fraud left upon record by the chief actors themselves. Under their own hands, they tell us nothing was omitted, nothing was forgotten, to further the one absorbing scheme of rapine and denationalization. Sullen submission, determined resistance, were alike availed of to inaugurate wholesale brigandage, treachery, and atrocity; and the distracted chieftains only beheld those wearing the harness of tinsel sovereignty, as the agents of oppression and tyranny. Sometimes in his submission, the native saw himself used as a mere machine in the accomplishment of the general ruin, and of his own moral and social degradation; he saw himself despised, and his prejudices, however hallowed by time or sanctity, insulted and persecuted. Upon one side was home, Faith, and country, and all of those institutions so inseparably bound up with his existence; upon the other was the ruthless, daring invader, and |