habit, indeed, of men who do nothing in life to employ themselves in showing those who do everything how they ought to have done better.
Smith O'Brien had hitherto held a neutral position in National politics; he was neither an Old Irelander nor a Young Irelander. But his integrity and his fearless character and perhaps his historic descent predetermined the side to which he would turn when a choice must be made. He was a dozen years older than me or the average of my comrades, but he was in the prime and vigour of life, and his generous nature kept him young. After Davis's death he showed himself disposed to honour me with the confidence he had given to my friend, and an intimacy commenced which only ended with his life. From that time I desired and aimed to make him the leader of the earnest and resolute men in the movement.
Richard O'Gorman had never written in the Nation and spoken infrequently in the Association, but he was now determined to speak often, and do his full share of work as one who embraced the whole creed of the party. When a modern writer alludes to the Young Irelanders, it is commonly one of these men he has in view, yet no one of them had any share in founding the party or giving it a creed.[1] But they came in a day of disaster, almost of desperation, to take up the task from which so many of the original workmen had been withdrawn. In the Nation I worked incessantly and kept the tone high on behalf of those who would not assent to any lowering of the National flag.[2]
- ↑ It is a curious evidence of this misapprehension that when Mr. Justin M'Carthy first wrote a sketch of the Young Ireland Party in his "History of Our Own Times," the name of Thomas Davis was not mentioned.
- ↑ John Dillon, who was anxiously watching the labours he could not share, wrote to me of one of my articles at this time: " The Nation has surpassed itself in the last two numbers. The one before the last was amongst the very best, and the article headed 'Another Year' in yesterday's, in my judgment, has never been surpassed in the Nation or elsewhere. It was a trumpet blast. While I read it my heart bounded with hope for the first time during many weeks. Who wrote it? It is not like your style, and yet I do not know where else to look for its strength and extreme clearness of thought. It is replete with manliness, sound sense, and strong genuine feeling, without the slightest tinge of obscurity or fustian. It vexes me much that I can do nothing at this time to lighten the load of your labour and sorrow. I would have gone to town if the state of my health did not absolutely forbid it. I have got a return of that ugly cough which brought on me some startling symptoms
