OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY.NO. XLI.

EDWARD BUNTING.

AMONGST the many indications observable of a tendency towards right thinking in our own beloved portion of the empire, the writings of some of our local cotemporaries might lead us to the conclusion that, as a people, we are beginning to entertain feelings of interest and pride in the illustrious men of our own country, who, by their virtues or well-directed talents, have contributed to our stock of happiness, and made the name of Irishman deservedly respected: and, could we be satisfied that such is the fact, we might well rejoice at an evidence so incontrovertible of our advance in the social state, and indulge the best founded hopes of an ultimate national greatness. Towards such a desirable result we have ourselves endeavoured to contribute-with pure intentions certainly, though, we fear, not always well or wisely; for we acknowledge with regret, that, in common with our literary cotemporaries, the human idols we have set up for popular worship, have not always been of that class deserving such reverence, while some eminently entitled to it have been allowed to rest in darkness. And as, working with various hands, we are necessarily, to a great extent, as well the reflectors as leaders of public opinion, we fear that this acknowledgment may be taken as a proof that, as yet, the country has made but small progress towards that mental character which is indicative of high civilization. It is the same with nations as with individuals-we can judge of them unerringly by the company which they keep and that country which takes to its affections those only who minister to its faults, its prejudices, or its worldly selfish interests, has no more claim to the reputation of true greatness, than the man who makes knaves and sycophants his familiar associates. As old Æsop has told us, the jewel on the dunghill was worthless to the cock, in comparison with the grain of barley which contributed to his bodily comfort; and the noblest works of human genius, the noblest qualities of human virtue, will be little esteemed by a semicivilized people, in comparison with those coarser mental qualities on which they are predisposed to feed and content to wither. Can we, then, honestly say, that amongst us, as yet, the men who have been most applauded, and held up to popular admiration, have been chiefly of those distinguished for the former qualities or for the latter; the men deserving of a nation's regard, for the enduring happiness they have contributed to confer upon it, or the men who, by their craft and dishonesty, their reckless animal courage, or their misapplied talents in the furtherance of factious objects, have contributed to retard and too often obstruct its progress. Alas! we fear not. Nor have we, perhaps, in a country so unhappily circumstanced-from many concurring causes unnecessary to be stated here -a right to expect that for a time it can be otherwise. Yet we have no reason to despair, or, perhaps, even to complain overmuch. A bright and glorious light is obviously illuminating our long darkened-horizon, and is daily becoming more and more refulgent. It is the conquering light of education; and it is our duty as well as our interest to do our utmost in the right direction of its beams, so that they may penetrate the most darkened and unwholesome recesses of the national mind, and we call upon our literary cotemporaries to aid us, not coldly, but ardently and wisely, in this good work. And in the holding up to our countrymen, as objects to be honoured or imitated, the illustrious men of Ireland, either of the present or past times, let them in future be less of the fighting or of the talking classes, for we have had enough of them, and they have but rarely deserved such glorification. Let our worthies be chiefly of the peaceful and intellectual kind, who have laboured for good for its own sake, and the satisfaction of their own consciences. Let them be of the pastors who have most worthily fulfilled their duties to their

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Divine Master, by the inculcation of the principles of peace, and charity, and brotherly love of the physicians who have most eminently distinguished themselves in their god-like calling, and we have had many such, by the alleviation of human suffering, and whose benevolence has been equal to their skill—of the lawyers whose eloquence and intellectual attainments have been devoted not to selfish aggrandizement and the purposes of faction, but to the furtherance of order, truth, and justice. Let them be of the politicians who, whatever may have been their errors, have laboured solely for their country's good-of the men of learning and research, who have given us pictures of the past, not distorted to mislead us, but, by their truth, to enlighten and guide us for the future. Let them be of the poets and men of literature, who have best sounded the depths of the human heart to show us how much there is in it not earthy, but derived from heaven. Let them, again, be of the men of science, who, by their labours, have made us more deeply appreciate the omnipotence of the Creator and Sustainer, by making us more acquainted with the wisdom and goodness of his wondrous works. And of the men of arts-the painters and sculptors, who, by the exercise of their fine sensibilities, backed by a laborious intellectual toil, have given us a deeper insight into the mysterious principles of beauty which reigns throughout those works-the architect, who has best taught us how to construct works conducive to our national glory, and according with the spirit of that mysterious beauty which reigns in the works of God, and to erect fit temples to His honor, and for His praise. And, lastly, of the musicians, who, gifted with the same fine sensibilities, and employing the same toil, through a different organ of sense, by no vain, or trifling, but by a right and solemn direction of their art, have drawn down strains of melody and harmonies from heaven, to elevate, or soothe, or soften our earthly tendencies, and given us the purest pleasure receivable through the senses of which our nature is susceptible. Of such should be the men whom a nation should take to their affections, and whose memories it should hold in honor; but not of these alone, for there are many other modes by which the nobler qualities of man's nature may be exercised for the benefit of his country and kind, which should equally entitle him to our reverence, and which, though from their unobtrusive nature they may fail to meet such return, will be sure of their reward from a higher dispenser; and when, of such, a nation proudly boasts, it may also assert its right to be considered civilized, and the claim will be allowed-but not till then.

But, our readers will exclaim, what in the world has all this, we confess somewhat common place, though, we trust not, useless, sermonizing to do with the portrait of the poor Irish musician placed at the front of our article. Have patience, reader, for a moment, and we shall enlighten you. Be it known to you, then, that we have been beguiled into it unconsciously by the consideration, that, at a period when we are making daily some fuss about our nation. ality, and genius, and so forth, and lauding to the skies the memories of men whose claims to such honour are often very doubtful, the said musicianEdward Bunting-was allowed to be carried to the grave, and to slumber there, without even the tribute of a newspaper paragraph to do his memory honour! He was of no party, and therefore honoured of none. And yet this unhonoured man was the preserver of his country's music -a treasure, of which, perhaps, more than any other they possess, they may be justly proud, for it is peculiarly their own-the unmistakeable evidence of a soul in the national character, deep, noble, most tender and impassioned, and from which any amount of improvement or of greatness may under happy circumstances be anticipated—a copious stream of melody so exquisitely touching that it is sure to reach the hearts of and be honoured by all who happily have music in their souls, yet which is doubly powerful on the hearts of those of which it is the true expression, and which from a thousand associations should be ever dear to them. For ourselves, who can only claim to be in part Irish by blood, though, we trust, wholly so in heart, we confess that had we been without this treasure our affections for our country would not be, or ever have been, as intense as they now are. That music has been the dearest enjoyment of our leisure hours when our minds required rest-a precious uniting link around the domestic hearth-and a priceless solace under the pressure of worldly cares

and sorrows; and as we ever felt, while he was amongst us, a most grateful and affectionate regard for the man who had supplied us with so much pure happiness, so, we can do no less than honour his memory now that he is in the grave. But this is not the only, though it is the greatest claim, which the memory of Edward Bunting has to our regard. It is to him that, in a certain sense, we owe the origin and existence of those exquisite lyrics of our national poet so honorable to our country as well as to himself, and from which, more perhaps than any other of his works, his memory will be sure to live. It was the early collection of Irish melodies published by Bunting that first called up, and we may well believe supplied to some extent the inspiration exhibited in so many of those immortal works; and we may well hope that they will yet awaken in the minds of future poets of our country powers not less deserving of honour than his own. As the poet himself says :—

"If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,

Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone,
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own."

But let us quote our poet's own frank acknowledgment of a fact so honourable to Mr. Bunting's memory. It is found in the Preface to the fourth volume of Mr. Moore's collected poetical works, and which contains his Irish Melodies:

"There can be no doubt," the poet writes, "that to the zeal and industry of Mr. Bunting his country is indebted for the preservation of her old national airs. During the prevalence of the Penal Code the music of Ireland was made to share in the fate of its people. Both were alike shut out from the pale of civilized life; and seldom anywhere but in the huts of the proscribed race could the sweet voice of the songs of other days be heard. Even of that class, the itinerant harpers, among whom for a long period our ancient music had been kept alive, there remained but few to continue the precious tradition; and a great music meeting held at Belfast in the year 1792, at which the two or three still remaining of the old race of wandering harpers assisted, exhibited the last public effort made by the lovers of Irish music, to preserve to their country the only grace or ornament left to her, out of the wreck of all her liberties and hopes. Thus what the fierce legislature of the Pale had endeavoured vainly through so many centuries to effect-the utter extinction of Ireland's minstrelsy-the deadly pressure of the Penal Laws had nearly, at the close of the eighteenth century, accomplished; and, but for the zeal and intelligent research of Mr. Bunting, at that crisis, the greater part of our musical treasures would probably have been lost to the world. It was in the year 1796 that this gentleman published his first volume; and the national spirit and hope then wakened in Ireland, by the rapid spread of the democratic principle through Europe, could not but insure a most cordial reception for such a work;-flattering as it was to the fond dreams of Erin's early days, and containing in itself, indeed, remarkable testimony to the truth of her claims to an early date of civilization.

"It was in the year 1797 that, through the medium of Mr. Bunting's book, I was first made acquainted with the beauties of our native music. A young friend of our family, Edward Hudson, the nephew of an eminent dentist of that name, who played with much taste and feeling on the flute, and, unluckily for himself, was but too deeply warmed with the patriotic ardour then kindling around him, was the first who made known to me this rich mine of our country's melodies-a mine, from the working of which my humble labours as a poet have since then de. rived their sole lustre and value."

Having, now, as we trust, sufficiently established Edward Bunting's claim to a place and a distinguished one too-in our "Portrait Gallery," we proceed to lay before our readers a sketch of his life, such as our limited space and scanty materials will permit us to supply.

Like many of those who have rendered our country most worthy service, Edward Bunting, as his name indicates, was of English origin, at least by the male side. His father, who was by profession an engineer, was a native of Derby, who came over to this country to direct the works at the Dungannon colliery; and who, marrying an Irishwoman, remained and died here, leaving three sons after him, who were all musicians, and of whom Edward was the