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day. She knew she would never get his equal, or at least any one that she loved so well. At last the kemp day came, and with it all the pretty girls of the neighbourhood, to Shaun Buie's. Among the rest, the two that were to decide their right to him were doubtless the handsomest pair by far, and every one admired them. To be sure, it was a blythe and merry place, and many a light laugh and sweet song rang out from pretty lips that day. Biddy and Sally, as every one expected, were far ahead of the rest, but so even in their spinning that the reelers could not for the life of them declare which was the best. It was neck and neck and head and head between the pretty creatures, and all who were at the kemp felt themselves wound up to the highest pitch of interest and curiosity to know which of them would be successful.

The day was now more than half gone, and no difference was between them, when, to the surprise and sorrow of every one present, Biddy Corrigan's heck broke in two, and so to all appearance ended the contest in favour of her rival; and what added to her mortification, she was as ignorant of the red little woman's name as ever. What was to be done? All that could be done was done. Her brother, a boy of about fourteen years of age, happened to be present when the accident took place, having been sent by his father and mother to bring them word how the match went on between the rival spinsters. Johnny Corrigan was accordingly dispatched with all speed to Donnel M'Cusker's, the wheelwright, in order to get the heck mended, that being Biddy's last but hopeless chance. Johnny's anxiety that his sister should win was of course very great, and in order to lose as little time as possible he struck across the country, passing through, or rather close by, Kilrudden forth, a place celebrated as a resort of the fairies. What was his astonishment, however, as he passed a whitethorn tree, to hear a female voice singing, in accompaniment to the sound of a spinning-wheel, the following words: "There's a girl in this town doesn't know my name; But my name's Even Trot-Even Trot."

"There's a girl in this town," said the lad, "who's in great distress, for she has broken her heck and lost a husband. I'm

now goin' to Donnel M'Cusker's to get it mended." "What's her name?" said the little red woman. "Biddy Corrigan.'

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The little woman immediately whipped out the heck from her own wheel, and giving it to the boy, desired him to bring it to his sister, and never mind Donnel M'Cusker.

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"You have little time to lose," she added, "so go back and give her this; but don't tell her how you got it, nor, above all things, that it was Even Trot that gave it to you.' The lad returned, and after giving the heck to his sister, as a matter of course told her that it was a little red woman called Even Trot that sent it to her, a circumstance which made the tears of delight start to Biddy's eyes, for she knew now that Even Trot was the name of the old woman, and having known that, she felt that something good would happen to her. She now resumed her spinning, and never did human fingers let down the thread so rapidly. The whole kemp were amazed at the quantity which from time to time filled her pirn. The hearts of her friends began to rise, and those of Sally's party to sink, as hour after hour she was fast approaching her rival, who now spun if possible with double speed on finding Biddy coming up with her. At length they were again even, and just at that moment in came her friend the little red woman, and asks aloud, "is there any one in this kemp that knows my name?" This question she asked three times before Biddy could pluck up courage to answer her. She at last said,

"There's a girl in this town does know your name

Your name is Even Trot-Even Trot."

"Ay," said the old woman, "and so it is; and let that name be your guide and your husband's through life. Go steadily along, but let your step be even; stop little; keep always advancing; and you'll never have cause to rue the day that you first saw Even Trot."

We need scarcely add that Biddy won the kemp and the husband, and that she and Shaun lived long and happily toge ther; and I have only now to wish, kind reader, that you and I may live longer and more happily still.

Men no more desire another's secrets, to conceal them, than they would another's purse, for the pleasure only of carrying it.-Fielding.

WHAT ARE COMFORTS?

BY MARTIN DOYLE.

A FEW months ago I had the honour of passing a day in England with a gentleman of considerable property, who took the trouble of showing me a very extensive park and tillage farm near his manor-house, around which every thing indicated good taste and abundant wealth in the possessor. It has rarely been my good fortune to view more beautiful scenery than that which the demesne of F possesses within itself, or a place in which it would be more difficult to find a want, either in the nature or extent of the landscape : yet as we walked along, and were admiring some undulating land, about six miles distant, Mr F suddenly stopped, and remarked "that he had long wished for that hill, in order to plant on it a clump or two of trees, as a picturesque termination to his prospect: it would be such a comfort to have it! I have offered forty years' purchase for that land," said he; “but the possessor is an obstinate fellow, and won't part with it."

I ventured to suggest that he should endeavour to prevail upon the owner of the hill to plant the desired clumps; but to this he gave a decided negative, saying, that it would be very uncomfortable indeed to be indebted to such an unaccommodating person for any thing.

At dinner, the lady of the house, after asking me if I had been pleased with Mr F's farming, and proposing some other questions of that nature, which she considerately accommodated to my capacity, in order to relieve me if possible from the embarrassment natural to a man of my station in life when sitting at table with his betters, and surrounded with luxuries quite new to him, inquired with great suavity of manner if I did not think that the owner of the hill property was very "tiresome" in refusing Mr F-the little comfort on which his heart was fixed; and in the course of the dessert informed me that the governess was a very "comfortable" person to have about children: that the King of the French had no "comfort" in his ministers, and must find the attempts upon his life very "tiresome" indeed.

been really uncomfortable from the dread of doing something Having got over the dinner business, during which I had

very awkward, I became composed and familiar by degrees, and asked questions in my turn; and was assured that there is very little comfort to be had in a mere country life without a first-rate bailiff and gardener, newspapers, new publications, a billiard table, and society of a certain class within visiting distance; that hot baths are indispensable comforts within the house, and that one adjoining the stables is also a great comfort to a hunter after a hard day's work. remote wing, where the cry of a child could not reach the It was also among their comforts to have the nursery in a seniors of the family in their apartments, and a very great comfort to have a pew in the church with a fireplace in it.

My host, who would not allow me to leave Castle Fthat night, passed much of the evening in reading the papers of that day, standing at intervals with his back to the fire, which comfort he seemed to enjoy extremely, while I threw in a word now and then to him or his lady, to whom I detailed the receipt for making catsup from nettles, as it appears in my Cyclopædia of Agriculture. method of making catsup," she was pleased to say, a great comfort to the poor ;" and so it would, as I ventured to observe, if they had any thing to eat that required such sauce.

66 This economical "would be

I was conducted at night to a bedroom, with large mirrors, a pair of wax candles on the dressing-table, a luxurious chair placed opposite the fire, and an immensely high bedstead, curtained with damask satin. Being subject to the nightmare, I mounted this (by a step-ladder) with fear and trembling, this calamity in a strange house, and among great people, lest I should roll out in the night; and the apprehension of kept me from sleeping all night, and rendered me extremely

uncomfortable.

I could not help thinking what Mrs Doyle and the children and stretched under such a grand canopy; and to tell the would say if they saw me tucked under such fine bed-clothes, truth, I wished myself safely out of it, and in my own crib at Ballyorley. Yet to the obliging inquiries of my entertainers, on the ensuing morning, "if my bed had been comfortable?" I was unable to say No. But what are comforts? thought I to myself all the time. Indeed, the consideration of this question has occupied my mind a good deal since, for I find the notions attached to the term "comfort" are infinitely varied,

When I left Castle F- the weather was cold; I mounted, however, the roof of a coach, and proceeded with many other passengers for Salisbury. We had not gone far when rain fell in torrents, driven by a piercing blast; umbrellas and coats were not waterproof, and when we alighted at the inndoor at Salisbury, there were none of the outsides who were not more or less wet and miserable.

Four of us determined to remain at the inn all night; and as we threw off dripping cloaks and mufflers, and approached a blazing fire in a small snug parlour, where a cloth, and knives and forks, and a plate-warmer, gave indications of a hot dinner, we all agreed that this was true comfort; nor was this opinion changed when soon afterwards we sat in dry elothes by a fire, with but let no one mention this to Father Mathew a hot tumbler of brandy punch before each of us. But though we were unanimous on this occasion, I soon found that the utmost difference of opinion prevailed on other points, as to real comfort. One of the gentlemen, who sat at my right hand, whispered to me in confidence that there was no comfort in a single life, that his house was cheerless, his servants great plagues from want of a mistress to keep them in order, and his furniture going to destruction. My compa nion on the other side, whose wife I understood to be a virago, gave a groan, shook his head two or three times, and whispered to me, "If the gentleman wishes to enjoy comfort, he will leave matrimony alone."

Having occasion to hire a good brickmaker to bring over with me to teach my workmen how bricks ought to be made, I went into several cottages inhabited by labourers in Shropshire. In the first into which I went, and this was very well furnished, were a man and his wife at breakfast. They had tea and sugar, a large white quartern loaf, and some crock butter. Very good, said I to myself; these people are exceedingly comfortable. The man was a common field labourer, and earned twelve shillings a-week the year round. They had a piece of meat every day at dinner with their greens or potatoes, and bread into the bargain, and bread and butter in the evening.

There stood a little boiler in a back kitchen, which I understood was for brewing small beer occasionally; and nothing seemed wanting in the way of comforts to this couple. I was not offered a chair, nor did either of them ask me to sit down, but they answered such questions as I put to them. "I'm glad to see you so comfortable," said I. "May I ask if you have any others in family?"

"No, we're only ourselves. We ha'n't no children, boys nor girls," said the woman in rather a dissatisfied tone.

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Well, then," I rejoined, " you have the less cause for anxiety. Children are uncertain blessings, though certain cares; and depend upon it, you are much better off than many parents who have them."

"That is very true," replied the woman; "but still a child or two would be a great comfort to us in our old age."

Their next-door neighbours had four noisy children and the same weekly wages. Here I was told by the parents, who were also at a tea breakfast, that their childless neighbours were far better off than they, as they had comforts beyond their own reach. "We can't drink no beer," said the man(this was a lie, by the way, for he spent a shilling every week in the jerry-shop, to the real discomfort of his family), "nor eat no good wittals, nor have nothing comfortable.'

In short, in every house into which I went there was something wanting to constitute comfort.

In the dwelling of an artizan it was the want of a hot joint and a pudding on Sundays, or the substitution of an occasional dish of potatoes for bread or meat; and sometimes it was the house itself which was uncomfortable from some cause or other. One or two of the very poorest families which I visited were disposed to think they would have comforts in the Union house which they could not afford under their own roofs, although those who were within that establishment declared that they had no comforts at all.

An old woman in one of the cottages complained to me that John Snook had stolen one of her geese when it was just ready for the market, and that it would be a great comfort to her if John Snook could be taken and transported.

A parish schoolmaster assured me that he had no perfect comfort except in vacation time; the boys when at school were so unruly that he had little peace or comfort except by flogging them. The boys, on the other hand, derived no comfort from being flogged.

A sick man told me that a bowl of wine whey would be of

the greatest comfort to him; and a woman recovering from fever, whose bed linen had been just changed, spoke within my hearing to her sister of the comfort which she felt in consequence.

I hired a brickmaker in the course of that tour, and set off with him for Ireland. When I reached Liverpool, a steamer was about to leave for Wexford. Into this I entered. The steward showed me a comfortable berth, in which I was dreadfully sick during a passage of twenty hours, loathing the sight and smell of food; yet he often came to ask me if there was any little comfort in the way of meat and drink that he could supply. A few days after I had reached home, I went into the cottages of my own workpeople, and there the distinction between them and those of the corresponding class in England in their estimate of what is comfortable, struck me very forcibly. Although the principle which leads most of us to desire something more than we possess in the way of comforts, as they are called-but of extreme luxuries in many instancesoperates in the Irish labourer as among nine-tenths of his fellow men, his notions of what is comfortable are truly moderate. One of my ploughmen was at breakfast as I walked into his house. He and his family were seated round a table_it had no cloth I must admit-helping themselves at pleasure from a dish of stirabout, and dipping each spoonful into a mug of milk. This I thought a far more suitable breakfast for them than weak and adulterated tea and white bread, at a much greater expense than an oatmeal diet.

I asked Pat what he would think of bread and tea every morning and evening, to which he very sensibly replied that it wasn't fit for him nor the likes of him! but that a cup of tea and some bread would be very agreeable to them every Sunday evening, especially so to his old mother, who would think a little tea now and then a great comfort. As to meat, he would like that once or twice a-week, but was not so unreasonable as to wish for it oftener. As long as the potatoes and the milk stood to him, he had no reason to complain! Then what are comforts? I again asked myself. Returning home, I called at the house of a dying widow whose character I had long respected. She was very poor, but always contented, though she could hardly be said at any time to have enjoyed what are considered the blessings of this life. I asked her if she wanted anything that I could send her

any little comforts. The word excited her languid spirit. "I have wanted for nothing," said she, "that was really needful for me; and now, O God!thy comforts delight my soul." After a little time she said, "Blessed be the God of all comfort ;" and again, "I am filled with comfort."

These words gave another turn to my thoughts: the subject was placed in a new point of contemplation. Let my reader now in his turn, entering into the widow's application of the term comfort, ponder upon the question, "What is comfort?" and I am much mistaken if he does not discover that it is something which the world cannot give.

MALARIA. It is not a mere theory, but a well-founded opinion, that all the destructive epidemics that have afflicted this globe have had their origin in malaria, which in a cold climate has produced typhus fever, in a more temperate one plague and yellow fever, and within the tropics cholera, each modified according to the idiosyncratic state of the sufferers. A few examples may be enumerated. Ancient Rome was subject to frequent epidemics, generally caused by inundations of the Tiber; but in the year 81 of the Christian era, after a severe rainy season succeeded by intense heat, the mortality was so great as to carry off 10,000 citizens daily. It is narrated by historians that the year 1374 was marked by a comet, by excessive rain and heat, and succeeded by the most dreadful mortality that we have any record of, and by which twothirds of the human race were destroyed in a very brief period; many places were entirely depopulated; 20,000,000 died in the east in one year, 100,000 perished in Venice, 50,000 were buried in one graveyard in London, grass grew up in the streets of cities hitherto most populous, and people fled in boats and ships to sea, regardless of property and friends.

Printed and published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at the Office

of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.Agents: R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley, Paternoster Row, London; SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange Street, Manchester; C. DAVIES, North John Street, Liverpool; J. DRAKE, Birmingham; SLOCOMBE & SIMMS, Leeds; FRAZER and CRAWFORD, George Street, Edinburgh; and DAVID ROBERTSON, Trongate, Glasgow.

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THE MONUMENT TO THE MEMORY OF DR DOYLE, BY HOGAN. IN presenting our readers with a drawing, made expressly for the purpose, of the Monumental Sculpture intended to memorise the mortal form of an illustrious Irishman, who was beloved and honoured by the great mass of his countrymen, and respected for his talents by all, we have done that which we trust will give as much pleasure to most of our readers, as it has afforded gratification to ourselves.

This monument is indeed a truly interesting one, whether considered in reference to its subject the character of the distinguished individual whose memory it is designed to honour the circumstances which have given it existence-or, lastly, as a work of high art, the production of an Irishman whose talents reflect lustre on his country. It is, however, in this last point of view only, that, consistently with the plan originally laid down for the conduct of our little periodical, wescan venture to treat of it; and considered in this way, we

cannot conceive a subject more worthy of attracting public attention or more legitimately within the scope of one of the primary objects our Journal was designed to effect-namely, to make our country, and its people, without reference to sect or party, more intimately known than they had been previously, not only to strangers, but even to Irishmen themselves.

In our present object, therefore, of lending our influence, such as it is, to make the merits of a great Irish artist more thoroughly known and justly appreciated, by our countrymen in particular, than they have hitherto been, we are only discharging a duty necessarily imposed upon us; and the pleasure which we feel in doing so would be great indeed, if it were not diminished by the saddening reflection that it should be so necessary in the case of an artist of his eminence. But, alas! the scriptural adage, that no man is a prophet in his own country, is unfortunately nowhere so strikingly illustrated

as in Ireland, and of this fact Mr Hogan is a remarkable example. Holding, as he unquestionably does, a high place among the most eminent sculptors of Europe, he is as yet unpatronized by the aristocracy of his native country-is indeed perhaps scarcely known to them.

be extinguished but with life, and he immediately applied himself to their study with his whole heart and soul. Thus occupied he remained till 1823, surrounded and excited to emulation by the kindred spirits of Mac Clise, Scottowe, Ford the glorious Ford!-Buckley the architect, equally glorious-Keller, his own brother Richard, and many other of lesser names-many of whom, alas for their own and their country's fame! paid the price of their early distinction with their lives. Well may the people of Cork feel proud of this constellation of youthful genius-a brighter one was never assembled together in recent times.

The period, however, had now arrived when the eagle wing of Hogan was to try its strength; and most fortunately for him, an accident at this time brought to Cork a man more than ordinarily gifted with the power to assist him in its flight. The person we allude to was the late William Paulett Carey, an Irishman no less distinguished for his abilities as a critical writer on works of art, than for his ardent zeal in aiding the struggles of genius, by making their merit known to the world. In August 1823, this gentleman, on the occasion of paying a visit to the gallery of the Cork Society, "accidentally saw a small figure of a Torso, carved in pine timber, which had fallen down under one of the benches. On taking it up," to continue Mr Carey's own interesting narrative, "he was struck by the correctness and good taste of the design, and the newness of the execution. He was surprised to find a piece of so much excellence, apparently fresh from the tool, in a place where the arts had been so recently introduced, and where he did not expect to meet anything but the crude essays of uninstructed beginners. On inquiry he was informed it was the work of a young native of Cork, named Hogan, who had been apprenticed to the trade of a carpenter under Mr Deane, an eminent builder, and had at his leisure hours studied from the Papal casts, and practised carving and modelling with intense application. Hogan was then at work above stairs, in a small apartment in the Academy. The stranger immediately paid him a visit, and was astonished at the rich composition of a Triumph of Silenus, consisting of fifteen figures, about four. teen inches high, designed in an antique style, by this selftaught artist, and cut in bas-relief, in pine timber. He also saw various studies of hands and feet; a grand head of an Apostle, of a small size; a copy of Michael Angelo's mask; some groups in bas-relief after designs by Barry; and a female skeleton, the full size, after nature; all cut with delicacy and beauty, in the same material. A copy of the antique Silenus and Satyrs, in stone, was chiselled with great spirit; and the model of a Roman soldier, about two feet high, would have done credit to a veteran sculptor. A number of his drawings in black and white chalks, from the Papal casts, marked dis progressive improvement and seuse of ideal excellence. The defects in his performances were such as are inseparable from an early stage of untaught study, and were far overbalanced by their merits. When his work for his master was over for the day, he usually employed his hours in the evening in these performances. The female skeleton had been all executed during the long winter nights."

Mr Hogan is not, as generally supposed, a native of Cork: he was born at Tallow, in the county of Waterford, in 1800, where his father carried on the business of a builder. He is of good family, both by the paternal and maternal sides; his father being of the old Dalcassian tribe of the O'Hogans, the chiefs of whom were located in the seventeenth century at Ardcrony, in the county of Tipperary, four miles and a half to the north of Nenagh, where the remains of their castle and church are still to be seen. By the mother's side he is descended from the celebrated Sir Richard Cox, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland in the reign of William and Mary, and Lord Chancellor in that of Queen Anne, his mother, Frances Cox, being the great-grandaughter of that eminent individual. Having received the ordinary school education, he was placed by his father, in the year 1812, under an attorney in Cork, named Michael Footte, with a view to his ultimately embracing the legal profession, and in this situation he remained for two years. This was the most unhappy period of his existence; for, like Chantrey, the greatest of British sculptors, who was also articled to an attorney, being endowed by nature expressly to become an artist, the original bias of his mind to drawing and carving had by this time become a passion; and despite of the frequent chastisements his master bestowed on him, in the exuberance of his zeal to curb what he considered his idle propensities, his whole soul was given, not to law, but to the Fine Arts, and an artist he became accordingly. His father and his master seeing the utter uselessness of any further attempts to divert his mind from its apparently destined course, he was released from his irksome employment, and at the age of fourteen entered the office of Mr Deane, now Sir Thomas Deane, of Cork, as an apprentice, where he was soon employed as a draughtsman and carver of models, with a view to his becoming ultimately an architect. In Mr Deane he found a master who had the intellect to enable him to appreciate his talents, and the good feeling to induce him to encourage them; and the first use he made of the chisels with which his patron supplied him, was to produce a carving in wood of a female skeleton the size of life, on which Dr Woodroffe for a season was able to lecture his pupils, as if it were, what it actually seems, a real skeleton in form and colour. Under the instruction of this gentleman Mr Hogan studied anatomy for several years, during which period he made for his improvement many carvings in wood of hands and feet, and also essayed his talents on a figure of Minerva the size of life, which still remains over the entrance of the Life and Fire Insurance Office in the South Mall. But though Mr Hogan was thus employed in pursuits congenial to his tastes, and to a great degree conducive to his future eminence as a sculptor, the idea of embracing sculpture as a profession did not occur to him for several years after, nor were the requisite means of study for that profession provided for the student in Cork at this time. There Becoming thus acquainted with Mr Hogan's abilities, Mr was as yet in that city no Academy of Arts or other institu- Carey, with that surprising prophetic judgment with which tion like those in Dublin, provided, for the use of students, with he was so eminently gifted, at once predicted the young those objects which are so essential to the formation of a cor- sculptor's future fame, and proclaimed his genius in every rect taste in the higher departments of the Fine Arts, namely, quarter in which he hoped it might prove serviceable to him. a selection of casts from the antique statues; and until such He commenced by writing a series of letters, which were insubjects for study were acquired, the efforts of genius, how-serted in the Cork Advertiser, "addressed to the nobility, genever ardent, in the pursuit of beauty and excellence, were ne- try, and opulent merchants, entreating them to raise a fund cessarily blind and fortuitous. Happily, however, this desi- by subscription, to defray the expense of sending Hogan to deratum was at length supplied in Cork, where a Society for Italy, and supporting him there for three or four years, to afford Promoting the Fine Arts was formed in February 1816; and him the advantages of studying at Rome." But for some time to this Society the Prince Regent, in 1818, through the in- | these letters proved ineffectual, and would probably have failed tercession of the late Marquis of Conyngham and other Irish totally in their object but for Mr Carey's untiring zeal. Acting noblemen who had influence with him, was induced to present under his direction, Mr Hogan was induced to address a letter a selection of the finest casts from the antique statues, which to that noble patron of British genius, the late Lord de had been sent him as a gift by the Roman Pontiff, and the Tabley, then Sir John Fleming Leicester, and to send him at value of which the Prince but little appreciated. The result the same time two specimens of his carvings, "as the humble was not only beyond anything that the most sanguine could offering of a young self-taught artist." This letter, which was have anticipated in the rapid creation of artists of first-rate backed by one from Mr Carey himself, was responded to at excellence, but also in establishing the fact that among our once in a letter written in the kindest spirit, and which conown countrymen the finest genius for art abundantly exists, tained an enclosure of twenty-five pounds as Sir John's suband that it only requires the requisite objects for study, with scription to the proposed fund. This was the first money acencouragement, to develope it. The presence of these newly tually paid in, and subscriptions soon followed from others. acquired treasures of ancient art, which consisted of one hun- Through Mr Carey's enthusiastic representations, the Royal dred and fifteen subjects selected by Canova, and cast under Irish Institution was induced to contribute the sum of one hunhis direction, kindled a flame in Mr Hogan's mind never to dred pounds, and the Royal Dublin Society to vote twenty

five pounds for some specimens of his carvings which Mr Hogan submitted to their notice. These acts of liberality were honourable to those public bodies; yet, as Mr Carey well observed, it was to Lord de Tabley's generosity that Mr Hogan's gratitude was most due. Here, as he said, "was a young man of genius in obscurity, and wholly unknown to his lordship, rescued from adversity in the unpromising morning of life-a self-taught artist built up to fame and fortune by his munificence-a torch lighted, which I hope will burn bright for ages, to the honour of the empire. HOGAN may receive thousands of pounds from future patrons, but it is to Lord de TABLEY'S timely encouragement that he will be indebted for every thing." The subscriptions collected for Mr Hogan amounted in all to the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds; and thus provided, he set out for Italy, visiting London on his way, for the purpose of presenting letters to Sir Thomas Lawrence and Sir Francis Chantrey, which Lord de Tabley had given him, in the hope that they would procure him recommendatory letters from those great artists that would be serviceable to him in Rome. But these introductions proved of little value to him. Chantrey expressed regret that he knew no one in the "Eternal City" to whom he could give him a letter; and though Lawrence kindly gave him an introduction to the Duchess of Devonshire, that distinguished lady had died a few days before Mr Hogan reached Rome; "so that," as Mr Carey remarks, "he found himself an entire stranger, with little knowledge of the world, without acquaintance or patron, and incapable of speaking the language, at the moment of commencing his studies in Italy."

We have given these, as we trust, not uninteresting details of Mr Hogan's early life, at greater length than the limits assigned to our article can well allow, and we must notice his subsequent career in briefer terms. Though enrolled now among the resident sculptors in Rome, his difficulties were not yet over; and in spite of the most enthusiastic efforts on his part, they might and probably would have been ineffectual in sustaining him, if no friendly aid had come to his assistance. In two years after his arrival in Rome, or at the end of the year 1825, Hogan found himself again in a state of embarrassment, without a commission, his funds exhausted, or at least reduced to a state inadequate to the necessary outlay of a sculptor in the purchase of marble, the rent of a studio, and the payment of living models. For his extrication from these difficulties he was again indebted to the liberality of Lord de Tabley and the zeal of his advocate Mr Carey, by whom a second subscription was collected, chiefly in England, amounting to one hundred and fifty pounds; of which sum twenty-five pounds was contributed by Lord de Tabley in the first instance, and twenty-five pounds by the Royal Irish Institution. Trifling as this amount was, it proved sufficient for its object, and Mr Hogan was never again necessitated to receive pecuniary assistance from the public.

He applied himself forthwith to the production of a marble figure intended for his friend and former master Sir Thomas Deane, but which when finished his necessities obliged him to dispose of to the present Lord Powerscourt, and for which he received one hundred pounds, being barely the cost of the marble and roughing out or boasting. This statue, which is about half the size of life, is now preserved in Powerscourt House; and we may remark, that it is the only work of our countryman in the possession of an Irish nobleman. His next important work was the exquisite statue of the Dead Christ, now placed beneath the altar of the Roman Catholic church in Clarendon Street. This work was originally ordered for a chapel in Cork by the Rev. Mr O'Keeffe; but that gentleman, on its arrival in Dublin, not being able to raise the funds required for its payment, permitted Mr Hogan to dispose of it to the clergymen of Clarendon Street, who paid for it the sum originally stipulated, namely, four hundred and fifty pounds; and we need scarcely add, that this statue is one of the most interesting objects of art adorning our metropolitan city. Mr Hogan subsequently executed a duplicate of this statue, but with some changes in the design, for the city of but very inadequate y rewarded for his labours on that work, a sum of two hundred and thirty-seven pounds being still due him, and the amount which he has actually received (two hundred pounds) being barely the cost of the marble and rough workmanship.

But the young sculptor, on leaving his native country, was provided by Lord de Tabley with something more valuable than these letters to British artists-namely, a commission to execute a statue in marble for him, as soon as he should think himself qualified by his preparatory studies for the undertaking. The statue, which was to launch the young sculptor into professional life in Italy, was commenced soon after, but was not completed before his noble patron had paid the debt of nature. Its subject, which is taken from Gessner's Death of Abel, is EVE, who shortly after her expulsion from Paradise picks up a dead bird, which being the first inanimate creature that she has seen, fills her with emotions of surprise, terror, and pity. This statue, which is the size of life, and which is of exquisite beauty, is now at Lord de Tabley's seat in Cheshire. While this statue was in progress, Mr Hogan conceived the subject and completed the model of his second great work-Cork; but we regret to have to add that he has been as yet one in which the peculiar powers of his genius were more fully developed, and on the execution of which, from peculiar circumstances, he entered with the most excited enthusiasm. During the first year of his residence at Rome, Mr Hogan happening to be present at an evening meeting of artists of eminence, the conversation turned on the difficulty of producing any thing in sculpture perfectly original; and to Mr Hogan's astonishment, the celebrated British sculptor Gibson stated as his opinion that it was impossible now to imagine an attitude or expression in the human figure which had not been already appropriated by the great sculptors of antiquity. This opinion, though coming from one to whom our country. man then looked up. appeared to him a strange and unsound one, and with the diffidence of an artist whose powers were as yet untried, he ventured to express his dissent from it; when Gibson, astonished at his presumption, somewhat pettishly replied, "Then let us see if you are able to produce such an original work!" The challenge thus publicly offered could not be refused by one of Hogan's temperament; and the young sculptor, stung with the taunt, lost no time in entering upon a work which was to test his abilities as an artist, and to rescue his character from the imputation of vanity and rashness. Under such feelings Mr Hogan toiled day and night at his work, till he submitted to the artists in whose presence the challenge had been offered, the result of his labours-his statue of the Drunken Faun-a work which the great Thorwaldsen pronounced a miracle of art, and which, if Hogan had never produced another, would have been alone sufficient to immortalize his name. It is to be regretted that this figure, which has all the beauty and truth of the antique sculpture, combined with the most perfect originality, and which Mr Hogan himself has recently expressed his conviction that it is beyond his power to excel, should never have been executed in marble; but a cast of it, presented by Lord de Tabley to the Royal Irish Institution (though intended by Mr Hogan for the Dublin Society), may still be seen in their deserted hall.

The execution of this statue was followed by that of a large sepulchral monument in basso relievo to the memory of the late Dr Collins, Roman Catholic Bishop of Cloyne-a figure of Religion holding in her lap a medallion portrait of the bishop. For this work Mr Hogan was to have received two hundred pounds, but there is still a balance of thirty pounds due to him. We next find Mr Hogan engaged on a second work for our city-the Pieta, or figures of the Virgin and the Redeemer, of colossal size, executed in plaster for the Rev. Dr Flanagan, Roman Catholic Rector of the chapel in Francis Street, which it now adorns. Of this work, an engraving, with a masterly description and eulogium from the pen of the Marchese Melchiori, a great authority in matters of critical taste in the fine arts, has been published in the Ape Italiana-a work of the highest authority, published monthly in Rome; and we should state for the honour of our country, that our own Hogan and the sculptor Gibson are the only British artists whose works have as yet found a place in it.

Mr Hogan's subsequent works, exclusive of a number of busts, may now be briefly enumerated. First, a marble figure of the late Archbishop of Paris, about two and a half feet high, executed for the Lord de Clifford; second, the Judg ment of Paris-two figures in marble about the same height as the last-for General Sir James Riall, an Irish baronet resident in Bath; third, a monumental alto relievo to the memory of Miss Farrell of Dublin, executed for her mother, and considered by Gibson as the best of all our sculptor's works; fourth, a Genio on a sarcophagus, a monument for the family of the late Mr Murphy of Cork; and, lastly, the Monument to Dr Doyle, on which we have now to offer a few remarks.

Of the general design of this noble monument our prefixed illustration will afford a tolerably correct idea; but it would

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