This essay is taken from William Maginn's Miscellaneous Writings (see bibliography). As Maginn explains in a footnote, it originated in a review of Henry David Inglis's Ireland in 1834, a book which he describes with his usual outspokeness as "an amusing but very superficial and self-conceited work," and is a "brief tribute to the ascendancy and generality of Irish genius." Maginn starts by remembering the origins of periodical literature, and, ironically, while seeking to combat prejudice against the Irish, giving full rein to contemporary prejudice against native Americans — and even, rather more subtly, against the Italians.
He continues by listing Irishmen and women who have excelled in many walks of life: military leaders, politicans, scientists, authors and actors. While some are still household names, and appear in our own website, others have faded from memory. As is the nature of periodical, topical literature, and perhaps particularly so in the case of a writer with a broad-ranging intellect and interests, many of these figures need identifying now. Extra information has been added in square brackets.
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WOULD express my sincere regret that some of my military friends, accomplished gentlemen as they are, have not heretofore put forth, as they easily might have done by the devotion of not many hours of "laborious idleness," a couple of volumes upon Ireland as it is. No book is more wanted. Really, in England, less is known about Ireland than about any other country of the same importance in the world. There is a perfect confusion of ideas in England about the inhabitants of this portion of the British empire. The feeling at the bottom of every body's heart is that the Irish are a nation of savages. "Well might a man, in entering upon the history of any given year of the Irish people, use the words of the greatest Roman historian : "Opus aggredior plenum variis casibus — atrox prœliis, discors seditionibus, IPSA ETIAM PACE SÆVUM." [Maginn is quoting from Tacitus's introduction to his Histories, to the effect that the story will be one full of strife, discord and undependable periods of peace.] The insane restlessness of the population — (for even when all may appear calm, there is no rest, in fact; there is only what the poet fancifully styles "the peaceless rest" of the ocean floods; let any sordid traitor be but pleased to play the Æolus, and in an instant all again is wild commotion) — those vilest assassinations, perpetrated with all the cunning, and more than the cruelty, of the American Indian — those astounding massacres continually brought before our eyes fail not to strike every English heart sick with horror. We turn aside in the depth of disgust from a people who seem not to have the glimmering of a notion of "fair play."
In foreign parts, the practices wherein, as to men's quarrels generally; we so cordially despise, [197/198] it is considered infamous to oppress a man by numbers. Ay, even the Italian goes forth alone to stab his enemy: he would disdain to share even the treachery of his vengeance with a multitude. Not so in Ireland! There hundreds of stalwart villains will combine to assassinate, and, to use a French phrase which applies happily here, "assist," at the assassination of a single man — of an old man — of a "minister of peace!" O'Connell, too, has of late years exhibited much amongst us. What can we think of a people that, after a fashion so costly, worship such an idol? Why, even Caliban would disdain him for a god. All these things do and should deeply prejudice and incense us against impracticable Ireland; and doubtless many an honest Englishman has in earnest responded to Sir Joseph Yorke [Admiral Yorke, 1768-1831]'s joking wish, that the island might be scuttled and stuck under water for some four-and-twenty hours. [Maginn adds the following sentence about Admiral Yorke's accidental death in a footnote]: By a curious coincidence, which many of the Irish thought retributive, Sir Joseph Yorke was himself thrown in the English Channel — thus personally realizing the "scuttling" and being "stuck under water," to which he had charitably condemned Ireland.
Left: Portrait of Wellington by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1818, painted after the victory at Waterloo (© Stratfield Saye Preservation Trust). Right: Statue of Wellington's elder brother Richard, Marquess Wellesley, who became Governor-General of India, by Henry Weekes, in the Foreign Office.
Yet, strange to say, notwithstanding the apparent justice of this feeling, you look around you and you find that the first man in Europe, the Duke of Wellington, "the very topmost man of all the world," is an Irishman. His brother, too [Richard, Marquess Wellesey], whom all acknowledge to have been our greatest governor of India, is an Irishman. Lord Beresford, and a host of our most distinguished oflicers, are Irishmen. Hamilton, one of our greatest astronomers, is an Irishman. The man who, with - the single exception of Sir R. Peel, THE ORATOR AND STATESMAN of the Current generation, displayed the greatest energy, learning, and power, in the anxious debates on the Reform-bill, John Wilson Croker, is an Irishman. Boyton [Charles Boyton, c. 1799-1844, Protestant clergyman and powerful political speaker] and O'Sullivan [Mortimer O'Sullivan, 1791-1859, another Protestant clergyman and polemicist], who, no later than the other day, charmed listening thousands of Englishmen by their impassioned eloquence, are Irishmen.
Of your literary and scientific men, moreover, many of the most distinguished are Irish. Sir R[ichard] Steele, an Irishman, was the creator of your periodical literature [Steele founded the Tatler in 1709, and co-founded the Spectator in 1711, with his friend Joseph Addison]; and ever since some of the very best, the wittiest, and the most learned of the contributions to our Reviews and Magazines have been made by Irishmen. [198/199]
Left: Portrait of Maclise, by E.M. Ward. Right: Clarkson Stanfield, photographed by W.F.L. Price. Both © National Portrait Gallery, London.
One of your most famous and most classical sculptors, John Carew, is an Irishman. Your painter that gives best promise of works which may raise the character of our national school, Maclise, is an Irishman. Stanfield, highly eminent in every ordinary branch of the pictorial art to which he addresses his attention, and the creator of that branch which must prove the most useful, as tending to affect the senses and improve the taste of the multitude, and which, therefore, entitles him to rank amongst the benefactors of the country, is Irish. In a word, look to every avocation, from that of serving the king in the highest offices of state, down to the humblest whereby bread may be honorably won, and you will find that of the most distinguished individuals a large proportion is Irish. Again, gaze around you in any fashionable drawing-room of the metropolis, and on inquiry you will discover that several of the most lovely and lady-like women, and of the finest and most accomplished gentleman, are Irish.
This is strange. Let us philosophize. How comes it? Is it the advent of a comet or the advance of the schoolmaster ? No; you will find that at the gallant court of "the merry monarch" many of the choicest spirits were Irish. I appeal to Anthony Hamilton [1646-1720, nobleman, soldier and author], himself an Irishman. Were not the great Ormond, and Ossory, and Arran, Irish? And thinking of them, the rival Anglo-Hibernian house — the name of Geraldine suggests itself. Were not the Desmonds Irish? — they, the Guises of the English empire [The Ormonds and others mentioned here were all ancient Irish dynasties, still with their representatives, similar in prominence to the House of Guise in France]. You will find, moreover, that some of the noblest monuments in your literature, and of the brightest names in your history, may be claimed for Ireland. The finest orations ever yet composed in any language, with the solitary exception of the orations of Demosthenes, are the work of an Irishman. The noblest specimens of irreproachable reasoning, of multifarious knowledge, instinct with genius as its soul, now drawn upon the subject like rays concentrating to a focus, that subject to illuminate with a blaze of living light which makes its past, its present, and its future alike manifest to the dullest or the most unwilling eye; and, lastly, of that mighty eloquence which,
Like the oracular thunder, penetrating, shakes
The listening soul in the suspended blood,
[199/200] were furnished forth by Burke. Herein I make no exception of the Athenian's grand orations. The Irishman was right, Demosthenes was wrong; Burke saved Great Britain, Demosthenes ruined Athens. Ay, Burke saved Great Britain! It was an Irishman who first grappled with the revolutionary demon, who checked him. in his fierce career, and sent him howling from our shores — "alone he did it!" It was an Irishman (the much-injured Marquis of Londonderry [Castlereagh (1769-1822)], who became Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs] who continued on foreign lands the struggle which an Irishman had begun; and it was an Irishman [i.e. Wellington] who, on the plains of Waterloo, brought that struggle to a consummation, giving glory unequalled to Great Britain that had fought the fight, and freedom to the world! The voice of the last great orator that sounded in the Commons' House was an Irishman's,- George Canning's [Maginn adds in a footnote, "Canning's father was an Irishman, and his family was Irish, but he himself was born in London."]
Left to right: (a) Statue of George Canning by Sir Richard Westmacott, facing Parliament Square, London. (b) Oliver Goldsmith, . (c) Laurence Sterne, .
One of the very greatest and most vigorous prose writers in our own or any other tongue, Swift, was an Irishman. The author of the sweetest, the most heart-home [sic] story in the world, The Vicar of Wakefield [Oliver Goldsmith], was an Irishman. The pleasantest and wittiest and wisest of all light works, Mémoires de Grammont, was written by an Irishman [Anthony or Antoine Hamilton, mentioned above. The British Rabelais, and, moreover, the imaginer of Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim [i.e. Sterne], was an Irishman. Sheridan [Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1751-1816], the author (I quote Byron) of "the best comedy, the best opera, and the best farce," on the English stage — I speak not of his speeches, or his far more valuable wit — was an Irishman. The fact is, that all the English comedy worth reading, excepting only that of Shakespeare, was written by natives of Ireland. Need I name Steele, Farquhar [George Farquhar (1677-1707)], Congreve [WilliamCongreve (1670-1729)], Murphy (Arthur Murphy (1727-1805)], O'Keefe [John O'Keefe (1747-1833)], Mrs. Centlivre [Susanna Centlivre (c. 1669-1723)], in proof of this assertion? I speak not of the Earl of Mornington [Professor of Music, composer (1735-1781)], or of Barry the Painter [James Barry (1741-1806)], or of Sheridan's father, the compiler of the dictionary [Thomas Sheridan, 1719-1788]— or of K. O'Hara, the author of Midas [Kane O'Hara (c.1711-1782)] — or of Col. Jephson [William Jephson (1609-1658)], or of Sheridan Knowles, the only man in Great Britain who has of late years written any thing wearing the semblance of an original play [Knowles (1784–1862) was related to Richard Brinsley Sheridan]— or of the multitude of famous actors and actresses who have kindled the smiles and drawn down the tears of your audiences, from the days of Mossop [Henry Mossop (1729–1773)], Barry [Ann Street Barry (1703-1801], Sheridan [Thomas Sheridan, father of Richard Brinsely Sheridan, the playwright (1719-1788)], down to those of Miss O'Neill [Elizabeth O'Neill (1791–1872)], the last, and I do believe [200/201] the greatest, actress that trod your boards — certainly the only lady in carriage, demeanor, appearance, expression, sensibility, who has appeared upon them in the memory of those belonging to the present generation.
Thomas Moore, and engraving from the Illustrated London News.
But I will observe that the celebrated meta-physician Berkeley [the empiricist George Berkeley (1685—1753)], the learned Usher [the philosopher James Usher (c.1720–1772), the great chemist Boyle [Robert Boyle of Boyle's Law. (1627-1691), the great theologian Magee [William Magee, Lord Archbishop of Dublin (1766-1831)], Tom Moore, a song-writer second only to Beranger [the French poet and song-writer,Pierre-Jean de Béranger (1780-1857)], were all Irishmen. Curran [John Curran (1750-1817)], Grattan [Henry Grattan (1746-1820)], Flood [Henry Flood (1732-1891)] Bushe [Charles Kendal Bushe (1767–1843)], North [Christopher North, nom de plume of the moral philosopher Professor John Wilson (1785-1854), another major and outspoken figure at Blackwoods.
Who held the bar and senate in their spell,
were all, all Irishmen. Let me add, too, for those who set store by such matters, that the best English blood now flows in the veins of the Irish nobility —
"Oh, day and night, but this is wondrous strange!"
Ay, sooth to say, here is a mystery!
[Maginn concludes in a final footnote:] In a subsequent part of this article the "mystery" in question was solved by the declaration that up to that time (February, 1835) Ireland had not yet been civilized! — M.
Bibliography
Miscellaneous Writings of the Late Dr. Maginn. Vol. 5: Fraserian Papers.... Edited by R. Shelton Mackenzie. New York: Redfield, 1855. 198-201.Internet Archive, from a copy in the University of Michigan Library. Web. 9 October 2024.
Created 15 February 2016