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Before closing this paper, we think it right to insert the following table, taken from The Appendix, (page 822) of the Eighteenth Report of Commissioners of National Education in Ireland. It bears upon our observations regarding the adequate payment of proper Prison School Masters, and shews that in England the Government does not expect to secure the services of worthy masters without suitable remuneration. These masters, referred to in the table, were but the teachers of ordinary school boys; a Prison School Master has to be not alone a literary teacher, but also a moral trainer ; his services are two-fold, he has to teach and to unteach.
SALARIES, &c., GREENWICH ROYAL HOSPITAL SCHOOLS.
• Also, Half pay.
Two Visits in the year.
Also, £5 as Librarian, and £10 for extra teaching $ Also, £5 as Librarian. | £10 for extra teaching.
N.B.-150 is divided between the four Masters, who instruct the Papil Teachers, For each Lecture 10s. 60. is paid, and for each Marine Survey, 10s. Besides those ennmerated, there are 52 Tradesmen, Cooks, Nurses, Servants, &c, connected with the Domostic Establishment.
Art. IV.-JOHN BANIM.
THE RETURN HOME. LONDON : OLD FRIENDS. LINES TO BANIM
BY THE LATE THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. DUBLIN: MICHAEL BANIM'S DESCRIPTION OF John'S APPEARANCE AND SUFFERINGS. WONDERFUL CHEERFULNESS OF MIND: HEROIC COURAGE. KINDNESS OF IRISH FRIENDS. “ DAMON AND PYTHIAS PLAYED FOR BANIM'S BENEFIT AT HAWKINS' STREET THEATRE. ARRIVAL IN KILKENNY. TAKES POSSESSION OF WIND-GAP COTTAGE : LIFE IN THE COTTAGE : THE
SHANDEREDAN. THE MAYOR OF WIND-GAP" DRAMATIZED, AND PLAYED FOR BANIM'S BENEFIT, IN KILKENNY, BY GARDINER'S COMPANY. LITERARY LABOR. QUARREL WITH MESSRS. GUNN AND CAMERON, PROPRIETORS OF “THE DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL: BANIM'S INDIGNANT LETTER TO THEM. DISTINGUISHED VISITORS AT WIND-GAP COTTAGE. BANIM's ENTHUSIASM WHEN THE EARL OF MULGRAVE, THE LORD LIEUTENANT, VISITED KILKENNY: THE SHANDEREDAN" DECORATED, AND BEARING THE INSCRIPTION, MULGRAVE FOR EVER. A PENSION GRANTED. DESCRIPTION OF A DAY WITH BINIM. “FATHER CONNELL" COMMENCED. VISIT FROM GERALD GRIFFIN. HIS LETTER TO MICHAEL BANIM. THE STAGE DARKENING ERE THE CURTAIN FALLS : THE TREE DYING FROM THE TOP.
In closing the Sixth Part of this Biography of John Banim, we left him, with his child and his sick wife, at Boulogne,
When Mrs. Banim was pronounced by her physician sufficiently recovered to bear the fatigue of travelling, the poor, broken pilgrim of health, commenced his homeward journey.
He rested some days in London, and the old familiar faces, the friends of earlier, and, amidst all their sorrows, brighter days, gathered around his sofa. Amongst these friends, the late Thomas Haynes Bayly was one of Banim's most attentive and constant visitors, and referring to this period in the life of the two men of genius, a writer in a former number of The Irish QUARTERLY REVIEW observes :
"All through life Bayly was on terms of intimacy, or friendship, with most of the literary men of his time; and we find letters addressed to him from Moore, Rogers, Theodore Hook, Crofton Croker, Galt, and others; but our countryman, John Banim, whose memory is, like that of all distinguished literary Irishmen-neglected, was his dearest friend. The last months of Banim's life were dragged out in all the wretchedness of corporeal anguish, which deprived him of all mental energy. He was, at the period of his death, a young man, and bright and buoyant years of life were, in the course of nature, before him ; but hard and early struggles had worn out the body, whilst the spirit was but beginning to burn with that bril. liancy of which the latest gleamings were the brightest. He longed for life as only the dying man who feels the fire of genius within him can long; or as the youth whose flower of health is withering away, hopes for its re-blossoming-to him, indeed, feeling and knowing his own genius, having worked for bread, and having won it, and fame, life was doubly life; and he must have known but too deeply, that thought of Schiller, which Bulwer Lytton has so beautifully translated “ Earth and Heaven which such joy to the living one give
From his gaze darkened dimly!—and sadly and sighing The dying one shrunk from the Thought of the grave,
The World, oh! the World is so sweet to the Dying !"
It was after he had called to see his friend thus expiring that Bayly wrote the following lines : I.
He spoke of health, of spirits freed I saw him on his couch of pain,
To take a noble aim; And when I heard him speak,
Of efforts that were sure to lead
To fortane and to fame!
They bear him to a genial land,
The cradle or the weak;
Oh! may it nerve the feeble hand,
And animate the cheek !
Oh! may he, when we meet again, Among the first spring flowers;
Those flattering hopes recall, Despairing thoughts had passed away, And smiling say-" They were not rain, He spoke of future hours;
I've realised them all! *** London, even with friends like Bayly, could now offer nothing to the poor, broken, world-weary man, comparable to the quiet beauty of the humble resting place which his fancy had created, and which he hoped to discover annidst the green and leafy scenes of his native place. He quitted London for
See Irish QUARTERLY Review, Vol. III. No. 11. p. 6S6, Art. “ Fashion in Poetry and the Poets of Fashion."
ever, and arrived in Dublin, at the close of the month of July, 1835.
" When," writes Michael Banim to us, “I hastened up to Dublin in August, 1835, to meet my brother, I could not at once recognise the coinpanion of my boyhood,—the young man, who, thirteen years before, had been in rude healtli, robust of body, and in full vigour, could scarcely be identified with the remnant I beheld.
I entered his room unannounced. I found him laid listlessly on a sofa, his useless limbs at full lengthhis open hand was on the arm of the couch, and his suuken cheek resting on his pillow. I looked down on a meagre, attenuated, almost whiteheaded old man. I spoke, my voice told him I was near. He started, and leaning on his elbow bie looked eagerly into my face. Ilis eyes were unlike what they had been, there was an appearance of effort in his fixed gaze, ,1 had not seen before-I had been prepared to meet a change, but not prepared for such a change as was now apparent, — we were not long, however, recognising each other, and renewing our old love.
When we thus met, John was the wreck of his former self. He was unable to change his position; dependent altogether on extraneous help.-—To remove from one place to another, he should clasp with both his hands the neck of the person aiding him, and sitting on the arms of his assistant, be carried wherever it was necessary to bear him.-Ile should be conveyed in this manner from the bed to the sofa, and from the sofa elsewhere.--It required expertness more than strength to convey him safely, -and when one unaccustomed to be luis carrier, undertook the task, his apprehension of falling effected him strongly.—His extremities hung usclessly from the trunk, and were always cold, --it appeared as if the vital warinth had no circulation through them; and when out of bed, his legs and thighs should be wrapped closely in rags and furs, or the heat of the upper portion of the body would pass away through them.
No day passed without its term of suffering, -for two, or at most three hours after retiring to bed, he might, with tlie assistance of opiates, forget himself in sleep,-he was sure to awake, however, after a short repose, screaming loud from the torture he suffered in his limbs, and along his spine : the attack continuing until exhaustion followed, succeeded by, not
sleep, but a lethargy of some hours continuance.--This was not an occasional visitation, but was renewed night after night. It was not during the hours of darkness only, that he suffered-frequently the pains came on in the day timeafter he endured them all night long, if the weather lowered, or the atmosphere pressed heavily, they were present in the day : to say nothing of his decrepitude, few of his hours were free from agony.
The account of one day and night will answer for every succeeding day and night; the only difference, a greater or lesser degree of torture.-On one occasion, after his establishment at Kilkenny, I visited him about noon, and found him as at the same hour was often the case, languid and drooping after the night and morning-With a melancholy smile he said, as he took my hand. - My dear Michael, I can be food for the worms any time I please. If I wish for death, I need only stay abed, and resign myself to what must inevitably follow-If I make no effort against my malady, all will be over in three or four days, -I will not act thus, however,-1 will live as long as God pleases.- Butcome, come my honest fellow, let us talk of something cheerful, --cheerful conversation is a balm to me.—The sun is banishing the clouds; we will have a ride together in the Shanderadan--and look about us, and talk of something else besides my crippled body.'
In the intervals between one attack of pain and another, and when recovered from the consequent exhaustion, the spirit of the enduring man seemed to rebound, as it were, from its prostration.
He cheered up,--his brow relaxed from its compression; his eye brightened ; and as a smile displaced the contortion of bis lip,--and he enjoyed with a high relish, every thing from which he could extract a temporary gleam of pleasure, any thing that could induce a forgetfulness. The mere negative good; the absence of actual suffering, was an enjoyment, and he became even mirthful.
In the intermissions of extreme illness his conversation, if I do not judge partially, was very attractive.- His youthful sense of nature's beauties would return; and he would become enthusiastic as he pointed out favourite bits of landscape.He would indulge in pleasant badinage. He would discourse of books and theories, or he would sketch vividly the vanities of human character he had encountered through life.-It was a blessing to him he had the power to forget, and to make his