Henry O’Brien, the most daring and ingenious explorer of that recondite mystery, the origin and purpose of Irish Round Towers, was born in 1808. On both his father’s and his mother’s side he came of good descent,[1] being connected with two of the oldest and most influential families in the west of Ireland. At the time of his birth that branch of “the O’Briens” to which he belonged were settled in Kerry, where his father resided in a wild, mountainous district, known as Iveragh, forming a portion of the Marquis of Lansdowne’s Irish estates. That his family were in affluent circumstances is improbable, for up to the age of twelve the boy’s education seems to have been neglected in a way very uncommon with Irish people who are well off. “Though I could then tolerably well express myself in English,” he says,[2] referring to this portion of his life, “the train of my reflections always ran in Irish. From infancy I spoke that tongue; it was to me vernacular. I thought in Irish, I understood in Irish, and I composed in Irish”; and again, “I was twelve years of age before ever I saw a Testament in any language.” From this unusual neglect, coupled with the fact of his becoming a private tutor soon after he had settled in London, and an obscure reference to certain “difficulties” at the outset of his career as an author, we are probably justified in assuming that money was a rather scarce commodity in the paternal home. There is, however, reason to suppose that when he had reached the age of twelve, or thereabouts, his education was taken in hand, though how, or by whom, does not appear. Evidence of his having been sent to school and placed under systematic and qualified instruction is not forthcoming. In fact, circumstances go to negative that supposition. His acquaintance with Greek and Latin authors seems to have been more extensive than accurate, and his quotations from them are marked by solecisms which any properly taught schoolboy would avoid, but in which the self-educated are prone to indulge. It is true that (at p. 481) he describes in terms of unqualified praise a “tutor” with whom he commenced the study of the Greek Testament; but there is internal evidence in the same passage that such praise was not wholly deserved, and that the tutor in question was certainly not the person referred to in Father Prout’s statement that O’Brien had been “brought up at the feet of the Rev. Charles Boyton.”[3] Mr. Boyton was at the time a highly distinguished Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, who, in addition to holding the position of Greek Lecturer at that University, was the most eminent mathematical “coach” of his day; and the only connection likely to have existed between him and young O’Brien was that of college-tutor and undergraduate in statu pupillari. The probability is, therefore, that any instruction which the boy received at this early period of his life was of a very elementary character, and that his education was mainly conducted by himself, a probability which is certainly not discounted by the wide and promiscuous character of his reading. From the outset of his introduction to letters he is known to have been an omnivorous reader of all books that came in his way, nor was his mode of studying classical authors that by which the scholastic proficiency essential to aspirants for success at college examinations is usually attained. O’Brien did not resemble the ordinary boy-student, to whom Roman or Greek classics represent merely a given quantity of “text” possessing certain peculiarities of diction or allusion which have to be nicely dissected, analysed, and mastered, but who regards the subject-matter of each work as being of very minor importance. On the contrary, he manifestly read them as authors, or rather authorities upon the subjects with which they respectively dealt, paying, so far as we can perceive, little or no attention to the diction or distinctive literary character of their writings. The result was what might be expected. If, whilst an undergraduate of Dublin University, it be true that he was regarded by many of his fellow-students as a prodigy of learning, their seniors appear to have been less enthusiastic about his scholarship, for we have not been able to discover his name in the college archives.[4] Still, from the fact of his having obtained, after he took his degree in 1831, the appointment of private tutor to the sons of the then Master of the Rolls,[5] it is possible that he may have distinguished himself previously.
What seems absolutely certain is, that during his stay at the University he must have availed himself to the full of opportunities presented by the library for which Trinity College is famous. Here, no doubt, he laid the foundation of that Oriental learning in which he was second to no Irishman of his day, and probably to few Englishmen. It is hardly too much to say that in the early part of the century Orientalism was comparatively untrodden ground. Sir William Jones had indeed, many years before, thoroughly explored this field of knowledge, but the results of his splendid labours had not as yet been properly assimilated by the general mass of readers, or supplemented to any remarkable extent by other workers in the same field. Hence the scope of European knowledge of the East was by no means so extensive then as now; and an enthusiastic student thereof, which O’Brien undoubtedly was, had it in his power to acquire an almost complete mastery of the subject, so far as it was then known. It was one peculiarly fitted to his ardent, dreamy, and speculative nature. He read, he pondered, he divined, he foresaw. Dark places in the history of his own country began to grow clear in the light of this Eastern dawn. Hitherto, like so many of his compatriots, he had found no way of accounting for the extraordinary contrast between the distinctive superiority of “the Ireland that was” and the relative obscurity of “the Ireland that is.” To what, he must apparently have asked himself, was the fact to be attributed, that a people who in days of old were admittedly pre-eminent in learning and civilisation, should have afterwards lost all claim to such distinction; or how was it that, in a land covered with the ruins of structures evincing the ripest skill and most fanciful artistic device, architecture should have sunk to a level that was almost barbarous? Why was it that this decadence did not take place gradually, as one would expect, but was plainly the result of a sudden check that stopped the erection of such edifices at once and for ever? Why were the materials, structure, and conformation of the edifices in question so different from those of other ancient buildings found in their immediate neighbourhood? Why had their sculptured ornamentation reference to what was unconnected with, nay even opposed to, the teachings of that religious faith to which its execution was attributed; and why did the peasantry, inheriting the tradition of bygone ages, not recognise them as identified with that religion? Questions like these are very stimulating to inquisitive young souls, which usually become fired with an ambition to solve them; and as O’Brien pored over Sir William Jones and The Asiatic Researches—not to mention his beloved, though decried, Herodotus—it was only natural that he should draw certain conclusions from the undoubted affinity that exists between the languages, folk-lore, customs, superstitions, and modes of thought of his own country and those of the Orient. Similar conclusions had forced themselves upon older people who did not possess a tithe of his Eastern lore. Moore, that versatile Anacreontic, in his ill-fitting disguise of an Edinburgh Reviewer, avowed “That there exist strong traces of an Oriental origin in the language, character, and movements of the Irish people, no fair inquirer into the subject will be inclined to deny;” and it is further instanced by the same reviewer how the famous traveller, Bishop Pococke, on visiting Ireland after his return from the East, was much struck with “the amazing conformity” he observed between the Irish and the Egyptians.[6] From early childhood the questions to which we have referred seem to have been present to O’Brien—even from the time when he gazed upon the stunted ruin of Bally-Carbery Round Tower, not far from his father’s house, and had been told by awestruck peasants that the real name of that desolate and unsightly object was Cathoir Ghall, or “The Temple of Delight” (p. 48). Since then he had seen other and complete round towers; had noticed that all were of the same peculiar shape, and possibly had detected for himself, or learned from other sources, the existence of that phallic analogy upon which he so strongly insists. He must have read in Sir William Jones and elsewhere how, in Eastern lands, the idea which lay beneath this same analogy formed the basis of a widespread religious faith, and was expressed in structures devoted to public worship. His next step was, almost inevitably, one of conjecture. If, as the voice of national tradition asserted, the round towers are “temples,” and if certain analogous associations are connected with them, might they not have been temples of a kindred religious belief? Having settled this to his own satisfaction, the speculation would naturally rise—How came that particular form of belief to prevail in Ireland? Was it native to the soil; or if not, by whom was it introduced, and when? His book being mainly an answer to these questions, we need not continue to follow the various stages by which conjecture may have passed into theory, and theory into conviction. With men of O’Brien’s temperament the hypothetical interval is rarely of long duration. Before he had assumed the toga virilis of a full-fledged graduate, he probably felt confident that in an Eastern origin lay the true solution of the mystery of the round towers; and the more he studied the subject, the stronger grew his belief. Being an ambitious man, too, he had no intention to forego the honour which he was persuaded must accrue to the discoverer of this key to a problem that had baffled so many generations of inquirers, and longed for an opportunity to display his acquisition.
That opportunity soon came. In December 1830, the Royal Irish Academy offered the prize of a gold medal and fifty pounds to “the author of an approved essay on the Round Towers, in which it is expected that the characteristic architectural peculiarities belonging to all those ancient buildings now existing shall be noticed, and the uncertainty in which their origin and uses are involved be satisfactorily removed.” Unfortunately, the advertisement of this offer escaped O’Brien’s notice, and he did not join in the competition which it evoked. But on the 21st February 1832 the advertisement was repeated, and this time it caught his attention. It declared that none of the essays which had been sent in “satisfied the conditions of the question,” and extended the period of competition for another three months (i.e. until 1st June 1832), in the alleged hope “of receiving other essays on said subject,” and also for allowing the authors of the essays already sent in “to enlarge and improve them.” Considering the task that was set, new competitors were thus placed at a singular disadvantage—being expected to do in three months what the others had been unable to accomplish in two years. With all due respect to the Royal Irish Academy, it is difficult to believe that its members can have fully realised the nature of their own conditions. There still exist some scores of round towers in a more or less perfect state; and they are scattered all over Ireland, being situated for the most part in remote and not easily accessible places. The work of visiting and inspecting these—which was, surely, a necessary preliminary to describing “the characteristic architectural peculiarities belonging to all”—would require much time, after which candidates must apply themselves to the by no means trifling task of dispelling “the uncertainty in which their origin and use are involved,” and all within three short months.[7] O’Brien was not, however, to be deterred by considerations of time or space when confronted with such a chance of winning deathless fame. Besides, he was, in one respect at any rate, well equipped for the enterprise, having already made up his mind as to the “origin and uses” of the Round Towers. That he had examined them all is not to be supposed, nor is it at all likely that at his age he could have possessed sufficient technical knowledge of architecture, in its historical and scientific aspects, to profit much by their inspection. Still, he was probably acquainted with whatever had been written on that branch of the subject, and had actually made an examination of some towers, which would give him a fair general idea of the whole. Moreover, he had a formidable quantity of Eastern learning to fall back upon, in which latter respect he would have enjoyed an immense advantage over all other possible competitors, if his judges had only been qualified to appreciate that learning as it deserved. Be his equipment for the enterprise what it might, the enthusiastic young Irishman saw no rocks ahead, felt no mistrust, and rushed into the fray. “I grappled with the question,” he assures us, “with all the ardour of my nature; and, heaven and earth, night and day, in difficulties and in sorrow, I laboured until I finished my ‘essay’ against the appointed hour, when—a brain blow to their (sc. the Academy’s) expectation—I sent it in—fully satisfied, from the consciousness of its imperturbable axioms, that all the powers of error and wickedness combined could not withhold from it the suffrage of the advertised medal.”[8] The meaning of this passionate reference to malign influences in the background will appear later on; as yet, he had no cause for misgiving on the subject of fair play, and his overweening self-confidence precluded any anticipation of failure. Bad omens seem to have attended his venture from the very outset. The Academy had requested that each essay should be inscribed with some motto; and it would appear that the motto appended to O’Brien’s was “Φωνη εν τη ερεμω” (sic[9])—a sorry introduction to the notice of learned Academicians.
The heartburnings of suspense, with which most young authors are familiar, soon began. Four days after his essay had been sent in, the Academy issued a third advertisement, requiring all the essays to be taken back, and extending the period of preparation by an additional month, “so as to admit of the receiving of other essays on said subject, and for allowing the authors of essays already given in to improve and enlarge them.” O’Brien afterwards saw fit to attribute this fresh delay to a cause very different from that alleged; but just then, being persuaded that his triumph was merely postponed, he reconciled himself as best he could to the infliction, and calmly waited for apotheosis. Six months more passed by—wearily enough, we may be sure; and then, one direful morning, just at the close of 1832, came news that the premiums had been adjudged as follows:—“£50 and the gold medal to George Petrie, and £20 to Henry O’Brien, Esq.”
It may be stated here that an additional premium of £100, which had been placed by Lord Cloncurry at the disposal of the Academy, was also awarded in its entirety to Mr. Petrie, and that the essay sent in by that gentleman was, by order of the Academy, printed in their Transactions. It further appears that O’Brien’s essay was at first accepted for publication in the Transactions, but afterwards rejected on the ground of having been made too lengthy by the insertion of additional matter, though in its most enlarged form it never attained to the dimensions of Mr. Petrie’s work, and, presumably, must have been smaller in its original than in its present shape. The true reason for its exclusion from the Transactions (as will, we think, appear from what follows) was that the Academy took offence at the way in which O’Brien received their decision. Nor was such resentment to be wondered at. So confidently had our author reckoned upon an overwhelming triumph for the revelation which, as we have seen, he believed to be not only unprecedented, but given to the world with flawless perfection of statement, that the award seems to have almost maddened him. Belonging to a race which has never been remarkable for the silent endurance of wrongs, he lost no time in giving expression to his feelings of disappointment. At first came distant mutterings of the storm that was brewing. “On hearing of the decision,” he informs us, “I wrote off to the secretary, tendering, in indignant irony, my thanks for their adjudication, taking care, however, to tell them that I had expected an issue more flattering to my hopes.” This dignified attitude having apparently failed to imbue the Academy with a desire to remedy his grievance, he flung off the mask of satire, and rushed into downright, unmistakable personalities of a kind rarely addressed to august and learned associations. He declared that, from information which had come to his knowledge, he was prepared to prove “that the Royal Irish Academy, at the very moment in which they published their second invitation (i.e. that by which the time for receiving essays was extended to 1st June 1832), had actually determined to award the gold medal and premium to one of their own Council.”[10] He then went on to denounce the successful essay as “a farrago of anachronisms and historical falsehoods.” He prophesied that when both essays were published, and the public given an opportunity of seeing “the truth,” in the shape of his own essay, there would be a general acclamation of “This alone is right.” He warned the Academy that, “though separated from them by a roaring sea” (he was living in London at the time), his eye was on their plans, and he demanded from them an opportunity for making his ascription of the Round Towers “a mathematical demonstration by all the varieties and modes of proof”; and further, that upon such demonstration they should at once award him the gold medal and premium, “or, if that could not be recalled, an equivalent gold medal and premium”—not that, as he is careful to assure them, this offer was to be construed as an admission that his original essay was not “all-sufficient, all-conclusive, all-illustrative, and all-convincing.” As was only to be expected, the reply sent to this challenge ran to the effect that, “whatever might be the merits of any additional matter supplied to them after the day appointed by advertisement, the Academy could not make any alteration or revocation of their award.” Then came the rejoinder,—“I do not want them either to ‘alter’ or ‘revoke’ their award; but simply to vote me ‘an equivalent gold medal and premium’ for my combined essay, or, if they prefer, the new portion of it. Should this be refused, I will put my cause into the hands of the great God who has enlightened me, and make Him the Umpire between me and the Academy.”[11] One is not surprised to learn that “no answer was received to this communication,” which, as already pointed out, may have afforded one of the reasons why the Academy declined to publish the essay in their Transactions. We may sympathise with O’Brien’s disappointment, and even go further in deprecation of the attitude assumed by the Academy; but it is impossible to deny that his conduct showed a want of dignity and common sense, excusable only on the ground of youth.
As regards the Academy’s decision, assuming that the competition was conducted fairly,—and, a priori, everything seemed in favour of that assumption,—it is not easy to see how it could well have been other than it was. With all possible admiration for O’Brien’s talents and learning, candour obliges us to own that his essay—taken merely as a literary performance—was inferior to that of his rival. Apart from the question as to whether his theory was the true one, and that of Dr. Petrie the reverse, the Academy were in a manner bound by regard for their own dignity, and by the literary standard then prevailing, to withhold the meed of their unqualified approval from a composition which violated in so many respects the established precedents of literary “form,” not to mention the canons of good taste. Besides, O’Brien was, in archæological matters, so far in advance of his generation, that a body of elderly gentlemen, who simply represented the standard of knowledge prevalent at the time, might well be excused for declining to follow him. They had, in fact, to decide between the respective merits of two essays,—one of which was well put together, conforming, at least in appearance, to the stipulated conditions, expressing the most approved views, bearing the marks of careful and systematic investigation and of superior technical knowledge, also of literary skill much above the average; the other, daring, novel, incoherent, propounding views which were not only unfamiliar, but even shocking, to grave and reverend seignors, rambling in method, deficient in proof, and slipshod in language. Was it not, then, almost inevitable that they should have preferred the former? But if one has to pronounce upon the way in which the competition was started, carried on, and finally decided, we are by no means sure that O’Brien had not some reason to complain. First of all, with regard to his charge of the Academy having awarded the prize to a member of their own Council, the evidence to support it is primâ facie strong. Upon turning to vol. xvi. of the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, we find the names of “The Committee of Antiquities of the Council” for the year 1830 (that in which the competition was first invited) given as follows:—“Isaac D’Olier, LL.D.; Thomas Herbert Orpen, M.D.; Hugh Ferguson, M.D.; Sir William Betham; John D’Alton, Esq.; George Petrie, Esq.; and the Rev. Cæsar Otway.” In the next volume of the Transactions, extending to 1837, the above list is given without any alteration, except that Mr. D’Alton’s name is omitted, that of the Dean of St. Patrick’s being substituted. From this the inference seems only natural that “George Petrie, Esq.,” was a member of the Council (being likewise, as we find, “antiquarian artist to the Academy”) at the time when the idea of offering a prize for an essay on the Round Towers was first started; that he continued to be a member while the competition was in progress, and was actually one when the said prize was adjudicated. Next, as to the charge that the Academy had predetermined to award the prize to a member of its own Council, we have the very compromising letter of the Rev. Mr. Otway (himself a member of the Council) to the editor of the Dublin Penny Journal, which is cited in the Preface to the first edition of this work,[12] coupled with those repeated postponements of the date for sending in essays, which O’Brien assures us were inexplicable on any other ground than that of giving Mr. Petrie time to finish his essay. We are far from contending that the reasons adduced in support of both these charges should weigh against the high repute which the Royal Irish Academy has always enjoyed from the time of its foundation; still, it is impossible to deny that, in the absence of all satisfactory explanation,—at least so far as we have been able to discover any,—they wear a rather ugly look.
O’Brien was resolved that, as the Academy would not publish his essay, he must do so himself; but in the meantime he had been engaged upon a translation of Dr. Villanueva’s Ibernia Phœnicia, which appeared in 1833. Personal liking for the author must have been his motive for undertaking this task, as his own views do not always harmonise with those of the Spanish savant; and certain letters which are quoted in the “Translator’s Preface” show that the two were very intimate. Having made this concession to friendship, he busied himself with the production of an enlarged and amended version of his essay. The first edition of this was published, early in 1834, by Whittaker & Co. of London, and J. Cumming of Dublin. It seems to have met with a ready sale, for a second edition appeared during the same year, bearing the imprint of Parbury & Allen, London, and J. Cumming, Dublin. Both editions are in octavo, and to outward appearance uniform, but differ in some respects. On the title-page of the first it is described as the “Prize Essay of the Royal Irish Academy, enlarged”—a description omitted in the second. Further, the title itself is given as “The Round Towers of Ireland (or the Mysteries of Freemasonry, of Sabaism, and of Budhism, for the first time unveiled)”; but the words within brackets are absent from the title-page of the second. A few corrections, too, appear in the latter edition; but, upon the whole, it is not much more carefully edited than the first—the curious omission of chapters vii. and xxxii. being common to both. What is known in the book-trade as “The Long Preface,” together with an amusingly comprehensive “Dedication,” is omitted from the second edition, a much more commonplace dedication to the Marquis of Lansdowne (described, of course, as “The Mæcenas of his age”) being substituted for the latter. As the second, and last, edition is that which had the author’s latest revisions, it has been thought advisable to reproduce it in the present issue. No interference with its text has been attempted—typography and pagination being alike preserved. Nor has anything in the shape of comment been inserted. A few supplementary additions to the original work will probably not be considered out of place. Together with this Introduction, they comprise a “Synopsis,” of which the object is to assist readers in following the track of the main argument—not always an easy task in the face of the author’s numerous divagations, annotated lists of the principal Round Towers and crosses, and an Index to the body of the work.
The reception accorded to the book by those whose verdict was most important to its success, was decidedly hostile, and—what must have been especially galling to a man like O’Brien—took the shape of ridicule. Though it cannot be said that he had given no occasion for the latter, it is equally apparent that much of it was owing to ignorance; for there is not to be found among all the censorious judgments of those “irresponsible reviewers” a single attempt at sterling criticism. They attacked his style, and they laughed his theory out of court, but they never resorted to anything that deserved to be called refutation; and showed plainly by the character of their strictures that they were quite in the dark with respect to the nature of the evidence which he adduced in support of his statements. It was profanely said of the late Professor Jowett, that whatever he did not happen to know was held by him not to be knowledge; and such was the view which his critics seem to have taken of O’Brien’s dependence upon Eastern authorities, with which they themselves were unfamiliar. As occasionally happens in Irish affairs, a countryman of his own led the attack. In one of the weakest articles that ever appeared in the Edinburgh Review,[13] Moore, the poet, accused O’Brien of plagiarism and other misdeeds. Considering the extent of Moore’s acquaintance with Oriental literature, and the character of his mind, it is perhaps not surprising that he mistakes the whole drift of O’Brien’s argument, fails to perceive the force of those analogies upon which the latter chiefly relied, and, in fact, only succeeds in proving his own incapacity as a critic. But it is less conceivable that he should seek to overwhelm a young aspirant for literary honours, who was of his own nationality, and with whom he was on terms of at least nominal friendship, with unfounded charges and clumsy ridicule. The secret of this otherwise unaccountable severity is disclosed to us by “Father Prout,” in his article on “The Rogueries of Tom Moore.” From it we learn that Moore had endeavoured unsuccessfully to secure the co-operation of O’Brien in his forthcoming History of Ireland, and that, upon the negotiation falling through, a “coolness” ensued between the two. As “Father Prout” had the whole correspondence laid before him, the story does not rest upon O’Brien’s own version of what took place. But, be it reliable or not, there is no denying that the poet went out of his way—and out of his depth, too—in the effort to crush a young author, who might fairly be supposed to have some claim upon his sympathy. The scent which Moore thus struck was followed up by the whole critical pack. The Gentleman’s Magazine, for instance,[14] without attempting anything like serious criticism, quizzed O’Brien unmercifully. He committed the fatal indiscretion of sending a lengthy, but for him most temperate, reply, in which he is fain to cite the Freemason’s Quarterly Review as his solitary backer. The Gentleman’s Magazine reserved its answer until he was no more; when, in an obituary notice (November 1835), it flung back this retort: “Fondly imagining that he was the author of most profound discoveries, and as it were the discoverer of a new historical creed, Mr. O’Brien was always in a state of the highest excitement; and when his lucubrations were treated with ridicule instead of serious refutation, he was acutely irritated”—which last observation somehow reminds one of that fastidious man-o’-war’s man, who, whether the bo’sun “hit him high or hit him low,” took no pleasure in being flogged. In fact, there was no real scholarly criticism of the book from any quarter, though its eccentricities of style and treatment received due attention. Superficially regarded, indeed, it bristled with salient points for attack, and of these the gentlemen of the press naturally availed themselves. They described it as “wild and extravagant”—and no one could say them nay; but they failed to point out, probably because they failed to see, that under this same wildness and extravagance lay profound knowledge of a most unusual kind, powerful if somewhat erratic reasoning, and the only theory as to the genesis of ancient Irish proficiency in the arts of civilisation which is consistent with the traditions, customs, superstitions, folk-lore, and antiquities of the country.
O’Brien had now settled in London, where such time as could be spared from his tutorial duties was spent in the study of his favourite literature. It appears that he had at least two works then in contemplation—one a Dissertation on the Pyramids, partly written, and the other a Celtic Dictionary—which latter project excited the ribaldry, altogether unfounded,[15] of certain critics. His health, never strong, was now such as to cause some apprehension to his friends; still he was able to share the pleasures which London life affords. He went into the fashionable world—which, by the way, does not appear to have taken him quite seriously, while acknowledging his talents and erudition. The Marquis of Lansdowne’s house was open to him; and mainly, no doubt, through the influence of that kindly nobleman, he was even presented at Court. The military career, for which, as he informs us (p. 130), he had a predilection second only to “his love for truth and the rectification of his country’s honour,” was no longer an object of ambition; and he may be regarded as having resigned himself contentedly to the peaceful avocations of a man of letters. Bad health, aggravated by his studious habits, seems indeed to have been the only drawback from which he suffered; but although this had previously excited the apprehension of his friends, it was without any immediate warning that the end came. He had been paying a visit to some acquaintances in the suburbs of London; had spent with them an evening, during which he displayed his usual cheerfulness and vivacity; had retired to rest without any symptoms of indisposition; and the next morning was found lifeless in his bed,—death having, to all appearance, taken place quite painlessly during sleep. By those who knew him he was mourned, and by none more sincerely than the genial “Father Prout,” who added the following postscript to his article on “The Rogueries of Tom Moore,” already in print when the news of his young friend’s death reached him:—
“Mem.—On the 28th of June 1835, died, at The Hermitage, Hanwell, Henry O’Brien, author of The Round Towers of Ireland. His portrait was hung up in the gallery of Regina on the 1st August following; and the functionary who exhibits the ‘Literary Characters’ dwelt thus on his merits:—