considerable popularity. The second of these tales, ‘The Fetches,’ was the work of John Banim, as was also ‘John Doe’ or ‘The Peep o' Day,’ with the exception of the opening chapter. He next wrote the ‘Boyne Water,’ a political novel, which dealt with the period of William of Orange and James II. It contained graphic descriptions of the siege of Limerick and other episodes of the time. ‘This work was severely handled by the critics, and we have good authority for stating that the author regretted having written it, and his brother prevented its being reprinted in the new edition of the “O'Hara Tales,” published by Messrs. Duffy & Son in 1865’ (Read's Cabinet of Irish Literature). As sometimes happens, however, that which the critics abused found fervent admirers amongst the reading public; and after the appearance of the ‘Boyne Water,’ Colburn offered a very large sum for the next tale of the O'Hara family.
Accepting the offer, John Banim produced ‘The Nowlans,’ a powerful though painful story. Success was insured to the toiler, but he was harassed by bodily affliction. Nevertheless he toiled on, suffering ‘wringing, agonising, burning pain.’ Though not eight-and-twenty, he had the appearance of forty, and he tottered as he walked. At this time he found an excellent friend in John Sterling. In 1826 Banim wrote his tragedy of ‘Sylla,’ founded upon the play of M. Jouy. Domestic illness and anxiety now preyed upon him, but he laboured on, producing ‘The Disowned’ and other stories for the second series of ‘The O'Hara Tales.’ In 1829 he went abroad, but continued to write for periodicals and for the stage. But he was straitened in circumstances as well as ill in body. Writing from Boulogne to his brother Michael, 25 Feb. 1832, he thus revealed his position: ‘Yes, it is but too true, I am embarrassed, more so than I ever expected to be. By what means? By extravagance? My receipts and my living since I left England would contradict that. By castle-building? No—“the visitation of God.”’ In another letter he stated that of twenty volumes he had written, and of treble their quantity of matter in periodicals, no three pages had been penned free from bodily torture. An appeal was made on his behalf in the ‘Times,’ ‘Spectator,’ and other journals, with liberal results, including contributions from Earl Grey and Sir Robert Peel. But Banim's sufferings increased; he lost the use of his lower limbs, and was pronounced incurable by his physicians. He was brought from France to London by easy stages, and finally he was conveyed home to Kilkenny. This was in the year 1835, and in passing through Dublin Banim was greeted with popular enthusiasm. He experienced much kindness from the lord-lieutenant, the Earl of Mulgrave, and a performance in his honour and for his benefit was given at the Dublin Theatre Royal. On arriving at Kilkenny his fellow-townsmen showed their appreciation of his genius by presenting him with an address and a handsome sum of money. Banim, who was of a warmly sensitive and grateful nature, was deeply moved by this tribute from his native city.
In 1836 Banim was granted a pension of 150l. from the civil list, chiefly owing to the exertions of the Earl of Carlisle, who more than once called upon the novelist in his little cottage of Windgap, just outside the town of Kilkenny. A further pension of 40l. was granted on account of Banim's daughter, whom he was otherwise unable to educate. These pensions greatly lessened his anxiety, and when the evening of his life closed in upon him prematurely it found him patient and resigned. When ‘Father Connell,’ the last joint work of the brothers, had been produced, it became apparent that John Banim was gradually sinking, and at length, on 13 Aug. 1842, he expired at the age of forty-four.
John Banim has been called ‘the Scott of Ireland.’ He delineated the national character in a striking manner, and his pictures of the Irish peasantry will doubtless live for many generations. ‘Fault has been found with him on the ground that there is throughout the whole of his writings a sort of over-strained excitement, a wilful dwelling upon turbulent and unchastened passions.’ Of the strong writing thus complained of, which was characteristic of both brothers, an example is furnished in the story of ‘The Croppy,’ relating to the rising in 1798. The authors wrote in this novel: ‘We paint from the people of a land amongst whom, for the last six hundred years, national provocations have never ceased to keep alive the strongest and often the worst passions of our nature; whose pauses, during that long lapse of a country's existence, from actual conflict in the field, have been but so many changes into mental strife, and who to this day are held prepared, should the war-cry be given, to rush at each other's throats and enact scenes that, in the columns of a newspaper, would show more terribly vivid than any selected by us from former facts for the purposes of candid though slight illustration.’
But full justice has been done to the realistic powers of Banim, one English critic acknowledging that he united the truth and circumstantiality of Crabbe with the dark and
