ome
blunted in the hands of the "buff and blue," and that the race of useful
parodists should seem to have expired with the wits of "Fraser." As a
poet Griffin is comparatively little known; and yet, to make a seeming
paradox, few poets have been more universally popular. The exquisite
songs, "A Place in Thy Memory," "Schule Agrah" and "Aileen Aroon" have
been read and sung wherever the English language is spoken. Yet very few
young Irish ladies and gentlemen are aware that Gerald Griffin is the
author. The religious spirit which exhibits its moral influence through
the thread of his stories appears more extensively and more perceptibly
in his poetry. If his shorter poems are the best of all he has written,
the best of all his short poems are those which breathe a religious
spirit. To verify our assertion we need only mention, "Old Times, Old
Times!" "The Mother's Lament," "O'Brazil" and "The Sister of Charity."
It is a matter for much regret that Griffin should have written so
little poetry. Had he devoted more exclusive attention to this
department of literature, he would undoubtedly have become the Burns of
his country; for his muse had taught him a kindred song, and given him
to write with equal tenderness and simplicity.

In the year 1838, Gerald Griffin had attained a popularity which would
have satisfied the wishes of the most ardent literary enthusiast. He was
no longer the literary hack, the despised minion, the swindled victim at
the mercy of harpy publishers and newspaper knaves. He could now write
at his leisure, and be handsomely rewarded for his labor. Positions from
which much emolument might be derived were offered him, but he answered
them with a polite refusal. Contributions were solicited to no purpose.
The desultory articles written under pressure of hunger in the
confinement of the garret near St. Paul's were hunted for by publishers,
who were too happy to pay a handsome premium for any thing printed over
the name of the now popular author. To those who have never tried to
realize the working of divine grace in the hearts of the pure and
virtuous, Gerald Griffin would now seem to have nothing more to wish
for, no unacquired honor to enkindle a new aspiration, no need of money
to compel him once more to write for a living. The wisdom of advanced
years, and a religious discernment guided by the spirit of God, and
becoming more devotional day by day, began at last to discover the
sophistry and the dece