ARTHUR SEVERUS O'TOOLE. THE O'TOOLES, .ANCIENTLY LORDS OF POWERSCOURT (FERACUALA.N), FERTIRE, AND IMALE; WITH SOME NOTICES OF FEA_GH 1IAO HUGH O'B.YRNE, CHIEF OF CLA.N-RANELAGH. BY J O H N O'T O O L E, E SQ., tu CHIEF OF HIS NAME. Virtute et Fidelita.te. DUBLIN: A. M. SULLIVAN, 90 MIDDLE ABBEY-STREET. DIS. MANIBUS .. TO THE SHADE OF THE REVEREND FATHER F--, S.J., WHlLOl\I l\1Y VENERATED PRECEPTOR IN THE COLLEGE OF CLONGOWES ; .AND TO THAT OF' THE REVEREND FATHER n·--, FORMERLY PASTOR OF THE PARISH OF SAINT MICHAEL, RATHDRUM, IN THE COUNTY OF WICKLOW. I UFFER, DEDICATE, AND CONSECRATE THE FOLLO,\'ING PAGES, J. O'T. PREFACE. EVERY man's life·has its epoch. :Th-line dates from the close of July, 183-, when I completed my academic career in the College of Clongowes. That, indeed, is to n1e a mernorable day, for it terminated the mild restraint to w·hich I had been subject for n1ore than seven years, ancl allowed me to exchange the scene of my childhood and dawning manhood for the ,vide, wide world . .Strange as.it 1nay appear, I was not at all anxious to leave the place, but rather calculated on spending another year there to perfect myself in the Italian, French, and German languages, which I could easily have done by conversing with some of the revere1id Fa,thers, who had passed 1nany years on the Continent, and were familiar with each of these tongues. ''I too," said I to myself, '' will visit Rome and other co1itinental capitals ; but how . can I do so profitably :without a colloquial acquaintance with their languages ? Here, then, I'll put in another year, and devote every n1oment of it to linguistic studies ; for although .language may be said to be a system of signs, I'd deem it unbecoming to depend on the latter for intercourse with society. 1.Y~ute eloquence has no charms for me." While revolving this project n1y venerated friend and earliest preceptor, Father F---, entered my room, and askecl 1110 to accompany hhn in a walk. ",Vhither would you go, kind father P' I de­ manded. "To the old grave-yard of Boclenstown, where we will be sheltered fro1n the heat," was his reply. Silently and slowly we passed· through the lawn, and then crossed the stile into the grave-yard, or more christianly, "Campo Santo"-holy fielcl-as the Italians call such places. On reaching it we seated ourselves on a rudely lettered to1nb-stone, over which the long drooping branches of an a.ged willow cast a solemn shade, and screened us from the fierce rays of the sun. '' John," said n1y companion, breaking the silence we both m:1intained during our walk, "this holy field suggests serious reflections-indeed, I " know no atmosphere so well suited to purify thought as this .. It PREFACE. "we are respiring ; and how that you are about to enter on the "cross-road of life, it occurred to me that I could not do better '' than take leave of you here among the me1norials of the dead. "Yonder in the college your childhood and boyhood lie buried ; "should it please Heaven to grant you a long life, you may "perhaps, after n1any years have elapsed, revisit the scene of "your youth, but not till then will you be able to fully realise " the truth of my words." " Father," said I, " perhaps we are '' not to part so soon, for if I am allowed to have n1y own will '' I'd gladly spend another yea~ in Clongowes, and devote it to '' the study of modern languages, in order that I n1ay be able to "travel the Continent with advantage and ease." " John," re­ ,' plied Father F ___:___, " that cannot be. The rector and his "council have been made aware of your project, and they one "and all refused to entertain it." "And why," I asked, "have "they decided thus?" "The why," said Father F--, ''is I "easily given. "\Vhen your intention was made known to the . "rector he could hardly suppress his an1azement. ' What !' he 1 '' exclaimed, ' keep John O'Toole another year in Clongowes ! ''John O'Toole, who has won every highest pren1ium we had to '' bestow at the close of each academic year since first he came '' among us ! No, gentlemen, I will not listen to it ; were I to do "so you'd discover that your heretofore pupil would soon "become a professor, if not better, n1ost certainly the equa.1 of "any of us. In fact, I don't see what n1ore we could teach him, "and the probability is tha,t a lad of his extraordinary capacity "and attain1nents would set about teaching ourselves. :Father "F---, I am conscious that you are and have always been '' much concerned for him. I know that you are justly proud· "of his unequalled success. To him, indeed, you have been the '' intellectual father, and n1ethinks I 1nay congratulate you as "the poet Claudian did Honorius on the glo1·ious career of "that emperor's son- Aspice, completur votum, jam natus adaequat Te meritis, et quod magis est optabile, vincit.'* "Now, John," continued my good preceptor, "be reconciled to * Lo thy prayer is hea,rd, thy Son not only equals but surpasses thee. ...... FREFACE.. 111 your fate, and dismiss that project at once." I made no answer, but, fixing my eyes on an uninscribedgrave at our feet, communed with myself this wise-Here's the first of your disappointments, the first thwarting of your hopes-well, it can't be helped, there's no alternative but resignation. But Father F--­ cut short my musing by asking me did I know who was· the tenant of the noteless grave, and when I told hin1 that I did nothe resumed, as well as I can remember, thus-" John, the 1nan who '' moulders there was famous in his day; you doubtless have '' heard of him, for who is there that has not heard of Wolf Tone 1 '' Yes, the mortality, or, as we used to call it in the schools, the "exn·viae of unfortunate Tone rest in that grave. He was ~, born int.his neighbourhood, and his friends thought it only "right that Bodenstown should keep his ashes." "I wonder," said I, "they raised no monu1nent to mark the spot." "They durst not," replied Father F---, '' £or the government of the "time would have laid a heavy hand upon them had they done '' so. And, after all, perhaps it was providential that his grave · '' should remain undistinguishable among the many by which it '' is surrounded. The pious aspiration of our old friend Virgil, " Tumulum facite tumulo carmen, "* "was not sung for hnn ; for indeed, however much his political "career may deserve our praise and sy1npathy, its termination " disentitled hiin to any record among those who died a Ch~is­ " tian death. He perished by his own hand, and thus sinned '' against the natural and the revealed law ; nay, more, he died " an egotist and coward, closing his brief span of existence with '' an execrable crime. Even in the brief interval between the ~, bar and the scaffold he might have left posterity an example '' of courage and resignation, but, bewildered by the thought of '' death, he chose' to anticipate rather than patiently wait its '' coining, as every true Christain should do. His was a b:1dly "tempered soul, and an over-heated brain, but neither can ex'. '' tenuate the enormity of his crime. Let us forget him, or, at. '' all events, his detestable exit from this world. Now tell me. * Raise a stone with a verse. lV PREFACE. " John, what do you conceive to be the best and most enduring "legacy a man can bequeath to those he leaves behind him here "below1" "This," I answered, "is a subject that I never yet " considered in any of its many phases ; allow me to remark, '' however, that thousands die every day in the year-I mean '' the poor-who have nothing at all to bequeath. Others, and '' they are the minority, think that hoarded wealth, a portion of "which they devise for alms-deeds, is the noblest of legacies, "while many, many others regard fame, or what is commonly " termed renown, as the grandest bequest they can transmit to "their successors. I have known some people who bequeathed "nearly all they possessed to themselves by expending large sums '' in erecting sumptuous tombs with glowing epitaphs, eulogiz­ '' ing them for virtues to which they had not the shadow of a " claim. I may also add that I have met others who had nothing '' to bequeath but an enormous quantity of empty bottles, debts '' that are not likely to be paid, and estates that are now figuring "in the Court of Bankruptcy." " John, I must interrupt and '' set you, right," said Father F--- ; '' no one goes through "this life, no matter how humble his circumstances, who '' may not, if he be right-minded, bequeath something truly '' valuable to his own kindred and society at large. The poor "man can leave his successors or children the legacy of good "example-honesty, self-denial,. whereby I mean abstinence "from everything that degrades and debases-the porter that "stupifies, and the whiskey that frenzies and makes him forget '' God, Heaven and Hell. Can he not bequeath a life-lesson of "thrift, cleanliness, and honourable industrial energy 1 You " are wrong, therefore, in stating that the poor man has nothing "to bequeath. Now, as for hoarding up 1noney, and directing '' that a portion of it should be given in alms, allow me to impress '' on you, as a truth never to be forgotten, that most of those '' who exhaust all their energies in accumulating riches are often '' little 1nore than trustees to spendthrift kinsfolk, who in an '' incredibly short time dissipate what falls to their share.