Father Murphy's Sermon on [JUNE, 



that owing to the energetic agency of the clergy, the doctrines of Mr. 

 Malthus, however they may make proselytes elsewhere, will never pre- 

 vail to any considerable extent in Ireland. The priests are wise in their 

 day. They make hay while the sun shines whether superfecundity 

 exist now, or is to exist hereafter, are not questions in their dogmatical 

 statistical metaphysics. On the contrary ; they hold superfecundity to 

 be impossible, and are, very naturally, delighted with us, because we 

 eptertain the same opinion, and publish it to the world, which they can- 

 not do so conveniently. 



Being thus, as it were, one of themselves, OLD MAG. comes in occa- 

 sionally for a snatch of the good things that are going. Whenever 

 there is a glorious to-do on saints' days, or festivals, OLD MAG., bound 

 superbly, and lettered in gold, as THE PRIEST'S MAGAZINE, is placed 

 at the head of the table under a cover, which is no sooner removed than 

 the ghostly company, standing, chaunt a preliminary stave, full of com- 

 pliments to us, which alone prevent us from shewing in what excellent 

 verse the priesthood delighteth. In these bustling times, a greater 

 degree of excitement than usual prevails at both sides of the water ; and 

 much as we are indebted to the zeal, activity, intrepidity, and intelli- 

 gence of our English correspondents in all quarters of the island, we 

 must confess that they yield in these qualities, and many others not to 

 be named here, to our ecclesiastical friends in Ireland. To them we 

 owe, amongst many rare documents that may hereafter be laid before 

 our readers, the following admirable sermon recently delivered by 

 Father Murphy, in the somewhat dilapidated, but pleasant little cow- 

 house of a chapel that stands on the height, well known as the Devil's 

 Rock, in St. Peter's parish one of the most remote of the western 

 districts. 



Father Murphy is " a strong man." He stands, in his stocking feet, 

 six feet three inches. He can hurl, play spoil the fire, wrestle either 

 with mortal man or the devil himself, drink whiskey-punch to an inde- 

 scribable extent, and preach, extempore, for an hour and better on any 

 text you please, at a moment's notice. In the present delicate crisis of 

 public affairs, he yields his own scruples to the demands his country 

 has upon his genius. He would be wholly apostolical if he could, but 

 he is forced now and then to guide his willing flocks into the proper 

 paths of politics as well as purgatory ; but he wields the weapon of 

 controversy gracefully, and never lendeth himself to the passions of the 

 day. Here is his recent discourse on the Elections, and the prospects 

 of Ireland. It will be seen with what genuine philanthropy he opens 

 and in what a spirit of Christian meekness he concludes. Happy Ire- 

 land ! that is blessed with pastors like unto Murphy ; and still more 

 fortunate Reform that hath such advocates. 



We should premise that the chapel, in which this discourse was 

 delivered, stands on a naked rock that bettles over the sea. Like most 

 Irish chapels that are begun without money in hand, and never finished 

 with money in hand, this chapel is, in fact, no chapel at all. It has 

 walls and half a roof some piles of stones for an altar huge tin 

 sconces for chandeliers and candlesticks and is covered within with 

 mixed ornaments of plaster of Paris, patches of coloured paper, palm- 

 branches, bits of glass, fragments of delf and pottery, and sundry 

 dazzling relics such as brass buttons, bulls' eyes, centre bits of check- 

 aprons, horses' teeth, fancy crosses, crucifixions, resurrections, and 



