PREFACE.
There are several questions which at this present time remain unsettled. One of them is, "who invented gunpowder?" Another is, which of them was it, Faust or Guttemberg, "that invented printing?" Another is, "whether the Deity created nature, or nature created itself?" That is a poser. Another is "whether the original egg was the parent of the chicken, or the egg was the original ancestor of that celebrated feathered fowl?" "De novum ovum," says Xinctillios, "inseperatum primero, cum possibilitas, et credentia, in meo judicio, quam supra calcis phospas, qui est, in the bones of the chicken." In other words, and to make it plain to the reader, he, Xinctillios, cannot understand how it is possible for human comprehension to see a new laid egg, without permitting in his judgment the idea of phosphate of lime existing in the osseous structure of the bones of the original hen. St. Bardolphus entertains a contrary opinion, "Anam, aname, mona mike," says he, "Barcelona bona strike," says he, "harum scarum, wy frone whack!" (I give you the original Coptic) "Harrico barrico, we won frac!"
Between these two contending opinions I have nothing to say. The dogmas of the Roman Catholic Church, and the folatreries of the philosophers of the high school of nature, differ so widely, that it is impossible for common sense to adopt either the one or the other—and the Greek Church on these points has given no decided opinion!
Such a dilemma presents itself when we come to consider the contents of this volume. Who wrote it? Some say, Lord Brougham; and some attribute it to the Duke of Wellington, who understood the Irish vernacular to a dot. I have a shrewd suspicion that Maginn, a high tory, although a good Roman Catholic, and one of the prominent contributors to Blackwood, lent his helping hand to it, if he were not the real author of it all? "Howandiver," to use a phrase of the author, let us look into the history of it.
Father Tom Maguire, a prominent Roman Catholic priest in Killeshandra, Ireland, of the parish of Innismagrath, was one of the most celebrated men of his time. He was a splendid orator, trained at Maynooth; he was a high liver—everything consisting of meat and drink on his table was of the best; his wines were excellent, and he kept the best stable and the finest greyhounds in Ireland. He was a bold fox-hunter; rode over ditch, hedge and five-barred gate, and when his good Bishop interdicted these sports of the Irish clergy, says he, "I will give up my hunting," says he; "but if I must give up my greyhounds, there is a little Protestant parish church hard by waiting for me." Whether this threat had the desired effect is not known. It is said that he abjured his church and died a heretic. How much of this we can believe depends altogether upon the amount of our credulity. It may be true, and, alas! it may not! Father Tom, as the great Roman Catholic controversialist, was challenged to decide by argument, the superiority of the Romish Church over that of the Established Church of England, by the Rev. Richard T.P. Pope, a clergyman of the latter persuasion. The controversy took place in the Rotunda, at Dublin, about forty years ago.[1] Crowds of spectators assembled to witness the religious contest. Of course the ladies, who always take a great interest in religious disputations, were present in great numbers. The beauty and the fashion, the graceful, the wise and the witty of Dublin assembled to hear these knotty points discussed. The Rev. Mr. Pope, who was a very learned scholar, but unfortunately a timid man, based his great argument upon the Bible itself. So long as he stood upon this ground his arguments were unassailable. But Father Tom, by one of those dexterous twists so well known in polemics, managed to get Pope to shift his ground from the Bible to the Fathers. The dispute, which had occupied several days, up to this time had been in favor of Pope, but when Father Maguire got him entangled in the Fathers, and hurled at him quotation after quotation from St. Austin, St. Chrysostom, and others—poor Pope, who knew very little of the Fathers, became so dumb-founderd that he was incapable of making a reply, and the victory rested with Father Tom. But after the controversy was over the Rev. Mr. Pope took up the Fathers, and to his surprise could not find any of the quotations that Father Tom had cited! Like a true scholar, he published a book, exposing the fallacies of his antagonist. But the time had gone by. Few people cared to read it, fewer still had patience to wade through laborious denials of the smart sayings of Father Tom in the Rotunda; the sparkle was off—the champagne had ceased to effervesce—and Mr. Pope never recovered the ground he had lost.
Some years elapsed, and the Rev. Tresham D. Gregg, of the Established Church, took up the polemical cudgels to demolish the redoubtable champion of the Romish Church. He was just such a man as his antagonist, vehement, loud voiced—of the ad captandum, knock-down-and-drag-out school. Although not acknowledged by the Church of England as the Goliath of its faith, yet there is no doubt of the secret exultation of its clergy at his success. The challenge was accepted, and for a fortnight the Rotunda of Dublin rang with the verbal blows of these doughty combatants. Victory poised her scales, the contest hung in the balance. At last, one afternoon, after the battle of the day was over, Gregg raised his mighty arm high in the air, and said "that on the next day, the secrets of the confessional would be the subject of the discourse, and warned the ladies, 'that no modest woman would appear, or could appear, while he revealed the secrets of that powerful instrument of the Romish Church.'"
The consequences may be imagined. The hall was packed to overflowing by the gentler sex. Ladies of the Catholic persuasion, conscious of the inability of the orator to make his words good, flocked to hear his discomfiture. Those of the other persuasion were induced to come from a laudable curiosity. The argument, if argument it might be called, consisted on Gregg's part of that style which Poe has properly denominated "the awkward left arm of satire—invective." He had caught Father Tom at single stick and paid him off in his own way. There was of course no little allusion to indelicate matters. After the argument the Rev. Mr. Gregg had to be escorted to his lodgings by a troop of dragoons. But at the close of the debate he announced, that on the morrow the subject would be continued. But on the following day Father Tom did not appear. The victorious Gregg was cock of the walk; the judgment went by default.
Whether any one among the speakers or listeners became better Christians after the controversy, is a question. It is doubtful whether Gregg or Father Tom made or lost a single convert to either faith.
"Father Tom and the Pope" first saw the light in Blackwood, ten years after these controversies. It may have been written by Maginn, who was a good Catholic, but it may truly be said of him, that although he "loved the Church much, he loved fun more." As a work of mere wit it must take its place with some of the brightest efforts of Rabelais, of Montaigne, or of Pascal.
The ingenuity with which the conversation between the Pope and Father Tom is developed to the reader, forms no little part of its felicitousness. A hedge priest, one Michael Heffernan, of the National School of Ballymacktaggart, is the interlocutor. This keeper of a ragged school, under the shadow of an Irish hedge, is the exponent of theological controversies that have shaken the world! Happy satire! which like summer lightning, clears up the atmosphere, and makes even the skies bright, blue, beautiful and buoyant. To us! poor mortals! to whom a touch of nature shakes the laughter out of us, or brings the tears into our eyes, such books are the treasures of our language.