1853.] LOTUS-EATING. 3 translated for the first time into a sort of lotus-eating existence. Of physical activity and of incentives to physical activity he had enough; but of incentives to mental and spiritual activity he had none. Now, few men who have not experienced it can understand how intolerable it is for a man of Mitchel's nature, and who has lived as Mitchel had lived, to find himself coerced by a force outside of his own will to lead a life of spiritual lethargy, a life in which circumstances force him to allow the better part of his nature "to rust unburnished, not to shine in use." And this quotation from Tennyson's "Ulysses" reminds me of a conversation which I had with John Mitchel shortly before his death, and which well illustrates what I am now trying to explain. We were talking about Tennyson. He said he could imagine that for some people Tennyson's poetry might be more suitable, but, for himself, he did not as a rule care much for it. "Yet," he added with emphasis, "he certainly has written some fine things; take, for example, his 'Ulysses.' The wandering instinct, the vague longing for change, and still more, the eager desire for intense and passionate life as distinguished from calm existence—these feelings, so beautifully expressed in the "Ulysses," were but too familiar to John Mitchel— "I cannot rest from travel; I will drink So says Ulysses in the poem, and so said John Mitchel in his heart. He, like Ulysses, spurned the suggestion that mere existence without noble passion was a state to be desired, with an indignant "as if to breathe were life." Both extremes have been painted for us by Mr. Tennyson and with almost equal power. In the "Ulysses we see the eager, restless heart for which calm and peaceful existence means stagnation and death. In the "Lotus Eaters," the cry is not for action, but for rest; not for passion, but for calm. Mitchel conformed to the type of Ulysses." With him, to live was to act; and when he was called on to lead the lotus-eating existence, he found it intolerable; all the more so because it was forced upon him by a power he detested. A long letter which he received from his friend Devin Reilly, then at New York, early in 1853, stimulated his longing to get away. Reilly's letter is a strange effusion, and is given at length in the “Journal.” He (Reilly) had been interviewing Kossuth, and gives his impressions of the "intellectual Kalmuck," as he calls him, and most vivid impressions they are. He tells, too, how, with his wonted impetuosity, he had flung himself into American politics, and was then engaged in waging an implacable war against a political party whom he denominated "the old Fogies." On the whole, the letter, although it did not show that Reilly was happy certainly did show that he was intensely alive. The reading of the letter over, a discussion upon its contents follows between Mitchel and Martin. Martin maintains the thesis that a gum-tree hut were better for Reilly than this life inAmerica, at least for the present. Mitchel goes strongly the other way. Here is a portion of the conversation. Martin has said of Reilly, "better a shepherd at the lakes until better times," and Mitchel is anwering this. I may here observe that the "Knox" of the following extract is John Martin. Some one of the exiles had nicknamed him John Knox, whether or not on the lucus a non lucendo principle I cannot say. "That may do well enough for you and me, Mr. Knox; but for Reilly, action is his life. In this same vehement action and passion, in this grapple and struggle with fate and the busy world, in exercising, and even wantonly wasting every faculty and energy of mind and body, fitfully flashing out the rays of his intellect, be it to illuminate or to set on fire—that restless spirit finds its only .1853.] A VOICE FROM THE LIVING WORLD. 5 joy, its only possibility of being. Bring him here, and he would hang himself on a gum-tree. Rather let him expend himself there, in fighting fogies, in crushing joyfully under his heel the head of humbug and cant. He has, at all events, a noble aim, and he will prosecute it nobly. Like Ram-Das, that Hindoo saint or god, he feels that there is fire enough in his body to burn up all the baseness and poltroonery in the world. Let him fire away.” "But he will perish." "Let him perish. It will be in a great cause ;—and to have an aim and a cause, is not this happiness? How many are there of all the human race who have faith in anything, or aspiration after anything, higher than their daily bread and beer, their influence, social position, respectability in the eyes of the unrespectable world? Even in this very devout, almost despairing loyalty to his discrowned queen and mother Ireland, is there not a joy that colder, tamer spirits never know? Through his dreams there shines in upon him the beautiful mournful face of his sad Roisin dubh, the torn and crushed dark rose that he has worn in his heart from a boy-thrilling him with an immortal passion, like the passion that consumed the chieftain of Tir-conail. * * * * -Happy, whose veins yet shoot and glow with red lightning 'blood, instead of trickling white serum and Bothwell beer!" "Don't the men," said Knox, "finish the hay to-night?" "Confound the hay! I tell you that I envy Devin Reilly for being alive-alive as you and I will never, never be alive again." "And Nathan said unto David, 'Thou art the man." If Martin had so said unto Mitchel as he sat there discussing of Reilly's need for vehement action and passion, he would not, I think, have been very wide of the truth. From what I have been saying the reader will easily see that Mitchel's state of mind was such as to make it certain that an opportunity of escape would be eagerly welcomed by him; that is, of course, provided the escape could be effected honourably. The opportunity soon came. About the middle of January, 1853, a week or so after the talk over Reilly's letter, Mitchel had occasion to go to Hobart Town. He went first to St. Mary's Hospital to see O'Doherty. O'Doherty at once drew him into a private room, making it evident by his manner that he had some important news to tell. The news was soon told. "Pat Smyth," * as O'Doherty called him, had arrived in Van Diemen's Land. He had been sent by a body known as the Irish Directory at New York, with instructions to bring about the escape of one or more of the principal Irish prisoners at Van Diemen's Land. Smyth was abundantly supplied with money, and O'Doherty expressed himself confident of success. Mitchel was not quite so confident, but he admitted that the matter looked serious. As he observes in his "Journal," Smyth was a cool-headed rebel, by no means likely to come so far without a plan, or to play at any child's game. It was arranged that Smyth was to meet O'Brien at a place called Bridgewater, some ten miles from Hobart Town, on the evening of the day on which Mitchel arrived. O'Doherty and Mitchel at once provided themselves with horses and rode to the place of meeting. There they found O'Brien, but Smyth had not yet come. He was expected by the stage coach from Launceston; and the coach, though overdue, had not yet passed. Mitchel and O'Brien spent the afternoon in discussing various possible plans of escape; and O'Brien, at Mitchel's request, gave his view as to what it was incumbent upon them to do, before attempting to escape, in order to discharge themselves of their parole. The course which O'Brien prescribed as necessary to an honourable escape was that which Mitchel afterwards adopted. At a certain hour in the evening O'Brien and O'Doherty were obliged to leave for their respective districts, the * Well known as P. J. Smyth. He was afterwards Member of Parliament for Tipperary. 1853.] ARRIVAL OF SMYTH. 7 Launceston coach not yet having arrived. Mitchel remained at the Bridgewater Hotel for the night, waiting for the coach. The coach did at last arrive, and here is Mitchel's account of his meeting with Smyth :— Amongst others, a young man stepped down from the coach, and entered. He looked me full in the face, and I him. It was Smyth; but neither of us, after four years knew the other. I listened, as he went to the office, and engaged a bed; yet I did not know his voice. He came out to get his portmanteau, and we passed each other again in the hall. "It must be Smyth," I said; "nobody else would be stopping short here, within ten miles of Hobart Town." So I followed him out, and went round after him to the outer side of the coach, where all was dark. "Is your name Smyth?" He turned upon me suddenly; clearly he thought it was a detective-thought that he had been traced all the way to the very spot where he was to meet us-that he was a prisoner, and all was over. I hastened to undeceive him, for he looked strongly tempted to shoot me and bolt. "All right, Smyth. Silence! follow me into the parlour." The next day they went to see O'Brien. Smyth's instructions were to secure the escape of O'Brien and Mitchel, or of either of them, if both could not be got off. O'Brien declined to make the attempt. The reasons he alleged are given in the "Journal" : He had already had his chance, had made the attempt to escape from Maria Island—it had failed; and the expenses incurred by it had been defrayed by public money. "This,” he said, "is your chance. Besides, you have stronger motives to betake yourself to America than I have; and you will be more at home there. It may be," he continued, "that the British Government may find it, some time or other, their best policy to set me free, without making submission to them; in that case, I return to Ireland. If I break away against their will, Ireland is barred against me for ever." O'Brien's determination proved to be immovable. Mitchel and Smyth gave up the attempt to persuade him, |