T

THOMAS D'ARCY MCGEE

POET, HISTORIAN AND STATESMAN.

HE subject of this paper was descended from

a family remarkable for devotion to the cause of oppressed Ireland. His maternal grandfather took an active part in the rising of 1798, and suffered for his participation in that movement. the father's side, also, there were patriots whose devotion to the old land was tested and found true.

On

Thomas D'Arcy McGee, the second son of James McGee and Dorcas Catherine Morgan, was born on the 13th day of April, 1825, at Carlingford, in the County Louth. His mother was a woman of education and refinement, an enthusiastic lover of her country, its music and its ancient lore. The lullaby she chanted over his cradle thrilled with the spirit of "ninety-eight," and Thomas, from his infancy, breathed an atmosphere of patriotism.

Eight listless years had passed over the future poet's head, by the shores of Carlingford Bay, when his father, James McGee, there serving as a coastguard, was transferred to Wexford, whither the family accompanied him. Here the cultured mother instilled into the youthful mind of the bard those

legends and traditions which years and years afterwards formed the ground-work for many a thrilling ballad.

That gentle, loving mother died while Thomas was

Yours merry duck.
Ron Dary Magee

yet a boy, and the darling of her heart wept over her grave,

as only poets can weep. Though dead, her lessons lived in his heart to prompt and guide him through all the changes of a busy and eventful life.

Years went on, and young McGee was busy with the cultivation of a great mind. He attended a day school in the town of Wexford, where his progress was so rapid that after a few years he became his own master. At the age of sixteen he had read a great many books on the history of his native land. Poetry was his chief delight, and, like Collins, he was willing to walk many a weary mile, provided the hope of procuring some old volume of legendary lays at the end of the journey was held out to him. In 1842, when he was only seventeen years of age, he resolved to seek fame and fortune on the shores of the New World, where

There is honor for the men of worth
And wealth for those who toil.

The parting from the land that contained the ashes of his forefathers and the green grave of his idolized mother was to him a source of keen, heart-rending sorrow. Thus he pours forth his agonizing wail as Ireland receded from his sight, and the good ship Leo disappeared in the dim horison.

Tell me truly, pensive sage,
Seest thou signs on any page?

Know'st a volume yet to ope,

Where I may read of hope-of hope?

Dare I seek it where the wave
Grieves above Leander's grave?
Must I follow forth my quest
In the wider, freer West?

He did "follow forth his quest" in the great and beauteous West where he won fame and fortune.

He was not long in Boston when the rejoicing of the multitude ushered in the ever "glorious 4th of July." The youthful immigrant delivered a speech on the great National anniversary that astonished everyone and secured for himself a position from Mr. Patrick Donohue on the Boston Pilot.

This boy from the banks of the Slaney soon gained the editorial management of the Pilot, and in this capacity did good service for his religion and race. His mighty genius developed rapidly, and in three years he was offered the editorial chair in the office of the Dublin Freeman's Journal. He returned to his native land a man of mark at the age of twenty and assumed the chief place in the office of that enterprising journal. The Freeman's views were entirely too tame for one who was accustomed to speak his mind in no uncertain or faltering tones. He would not be permitted to change its character, so he decided to change his place, and went over to the office of the Nation, where he worked with Duffy, Davis, Mitchel and Devin Reilly for the propagation of "Young Ireland" doctrines. There' was not in any metropolis of Europe at that time a paper so ably edited or one that could boast of such a galaxy of genius as the Dublin Nation. Mitchel,

McGee, Duffy, Davis and Devin Reilly were men of great minds, and in their hands the pen was truly "a mighty instrument." That brilliant band of

agitators, editors, orators and poets has never since been equalled in Ireland

When shall Erin see their like again? She sadly needs such men to-day

O'Connell, the great Liberator, died in 1847. An attempt at Rebellion was made in 1848. The after tale is easily told. In that short and abortive struggle Thomas D'Arcy McGee did faithfully and well all that was assigned to him. While addressing his countrymen in Wicklow he was arrested and lodged in prison. After obtaining his liberty, he went over to Scotland pursuant to the orders of the "Irish Executive," with the intention of securing the co-operation of the Irish operatives in the contemplated rising. While thus engaged in Scotland the chiefs of the Confederation were arrested at home. McGee managed to return to Derry where he was sheltered by the learned Catholic Bishop of the North, Dr. Maginn. After an interview with his young wife, he made his way to Galway whence he sailed a second time for the United States, the Land of Freedom, dressed in the garb of a clergyman. It was while being borne away from the shores of Hibernia that he penned the the following ballad, entitled: