[3] Dr Smith, in his History of the County of Cork, thus mentions
Colonel Barry:--“The town of Rathcormack also belongs to this gentleman,
who is descended from an ancient branch of the Barry family, commonly
called M’Adam, who have been seated here 500 years, and formerly sat
in parliament; particularly David de Barry of Rathcormack, who sat in
the upper house, in a parliament held 30th Edward I., 1302. South of
Rathcormack is a fair stone bridge over the _Bride_, upon which is this
inscription,--‘The foundation of this bridge was laid June 22, 1734;
Colonel Redmund Barry, Jonas Devonshire, and James Barry, gentlemen,
being overseers thereof.’”
* * * * *
THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN.--How often have I seen a company of men, who
were disposed to be riotous, checked all at once into decency by the
accidental entrance of an amiable woman; while her good sense and
obliging deportment charmed them into at least a temporary conviction
that there is nothing so beautiful as female excellence, nothing so
delightful as female conversation. To form the manners of men, nothing
contributes so much as the cast of the women they converse with. Those
who are most associated with women of virtue and understanding will
always be found the most amiable characters. Such society, beyond
everything else, rubs off the protrusions that give to many an ungracious
roughness; it produces a polish more perfect and pleasing than that which
is received by a general commerce with the world. This last is often
specious, but commonly superficial; the other is the result of gentler
feelings, and a more elegant humanity: the heart itself is moulded, and
habits of undissembled courtesy are formed.--_Fordyce._
* * * * *
OUR ATTACHMENT TO LIFE.--The young man, till thirty, never feels
practically that he is mortal. He knows it indeed, and if needs were,
he could preach a homily on the fragility of life; but he brings it not
home to himself any more than in a hot June we can appropriate to our
imagination the freezing days of December. But now--shall I confess a
truth? I feel these audits but too powerfully. I begin to count the
probabilities of my duration, and to grudge at the expenditure of moments
and shortest periods, like misers’ farthings. In proportion as the years
both lessen and shorten, I set more count upon their periods, and would
fain lay my ineffectual finger upon the spoke of the great wheel. I am
not content to pass away “like a weaver’s shuttle.” Those metaphors
solace me not, nor sweeten the unpalatable draught of mortality. I
care not to be carried with the tide that smoothly bears human life to
eternity, and reluct at the inevitable course of destiny. I am in love
with this green earth--the face of town and country--the unspeakable
rural solitudes--and the sweet security of streets. I would set up my
tabernacle here. I am content to stand still at the age to which I am
arrived--to be no younger, no richer, no handsomer. I do not want to be
weaned by age, or drop, like mellow fruit, as they say, into the grave!
Any alteration on this earth of mine, in diet or in lodging, puzzles
and discomposes me. My household gods plant a terribly fixed foot, and
are not rooted up without blood. They do not willingly seek Lavinian
shores. A new state of being staggers me. Sun and sky, and breeze and
solitary walks, and summer holidays, and the greenness of fields, and
the juices of meats and fishes, and society, and the cheerful glass, and
candle-light, and fire-side conversations, and jests and irony--do not
these things go out with life? Can a ghost laugh, or shake his gaunt
sides when you are pleasant with him?--_Life and Remains of Charles Lamb._
* * * * *
A man cannot get his lesson by heart so quick as he can practise it: he
will repeat it in his actions.
* * * * *
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