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Cork St once an area full of small companies plying there trades .destroyed by the road widening like so many other area's
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"Blue lights on the runway I love the colour of it all" -
Yep just like the village that was dolphins barn, decimated by road widening, a once vibrant little community linking rialto, crumlin, drimnagh, south cir rd, wrecked by some so-called "planner" to aleviate a traffic jam on the coombe or cork st, what a shame at least we have memories of the barn in its heyday, anyone remember the shop think it was connollys nextdoor to the bank a ladys shop one side and gents outfitters on the otherside, with the big huge ladder to get the stuff down from the shelves, like something from are you being served!Originally posted by pigsparlour View Post
anyone remember dublins first late nite shop where ziggys hairdressers is now, it used to open at half nine at night till the early hours, it was also a hardware! it was way ahead of its time! believe it or not i'm only gone 40 meself!!Who loves ye baby? -
I remember from growing up in chamber St, just off cork street , we used to always hang around the factories at weekends, was a great little community, than after i moved when i was 19 it all changed, Its even sad to see it now a big pile of apartments every were, i lived at the back of the old corporation woodyard, now apartment blocks, even the flats are gone, i say that land will be high rise as well.Comment
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Was the Name of the shop Mannions, I am sure it started with an M. Me and my mates used to hang around there of an evening. They had an unusaual phone kiosk inside the shop.Originally posted by jakey boy View PostComment
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remember that late nite shop well and powers supermarket beside dolphin houseOriginally posted by jakey boy View Post"Blue lights on the runway I love the colour of it all"Comment
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shopped in powers as a nipper, late shop mite of been mannions alrite, anyone remember feeneys hardware or the florintine chipper?Who loves ye baby?Comment
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the florintine was that beside the rialto ??Originally posted by jakey boy View Post"Blue lights on the runway I love the colour of it all"Comment
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"Blue lights on the runway I love the colour of it all"Comment
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One of the Healy's of Healy's Court
'I was born on December the 15th, 1824,' said Father James Healy, 'being one of twenty-three children.' Several of his brothers and sisters died young, and were buried at Blue Bell, a rural graveyard near Dublin, once the happy hunting-ground of those who, for anatomical purposes, effected pre-mature resurrections.
His mother, Mary Meyler, came of a respectable family in Wexford. His father was a humourist, and is described as wearing, under almost every phase of circumstance, a broad smile. Traces of this unfailing geniality are found in the features of the son.
Dr. Mahaffy, F.T.C.D., writes of Father James: 'His outward presence expressed perfectly the soul within. It would have been a common face but for the uncommon qualities which marked it, for it was broadened with smiles, lit up with a twinkling eye, refined by the thin nostril and mobile lips, which told of his delicate perception and his ready utterance - an utterance rich with the flavour of his origin. He was never at a loss for a kindly word; to meet him in the street was like passing suddenly into sunshine.'
Old John Healy shone too, but merely as a rough diamond. He had close business relations with Patrick Kehoe, of Francis Street, in whose family are traditionally preserved ana of his humour; but these turn merely oh local and personal traits. No one would have laughed more than John Healy if informed that he was descended from the ancient race of O'Hely, who are described by the Four Masters as 'princely brughaidhs' in 1309 [Archdeacon O'Rorke, in his 'History of Sligo,' vol. ii., p. 307, says that the ancestral home of the O'Helys was Ballinafad; but it would appear that their adventurous sons soon spread north and south, and, in the words of the old song,
'From Ballinafad to Tanderagee,
Now, if you're for sport, come along with me!'
There are, alas! tragic incidents in their tree. Bishop O'Hely was hanged on August 22, 1578, according to O'Renehan. At the trial O'Hely summoned his judge, Sir William Drury, to appear before the judgement-seat of God. Drury certainly died in October of that year]; nevertheless, there is some truth in the statement.
Vicissitude came; and the old race received its finishing touch in the operation of the. Penal Code, which, as Swift states, drove many a sept into the ranks of the coal-porters. Father Healy was once comparing notes with the Rev. Dr. O'Fay, P.P., Craughwell, on their respective travels in France, when the latter said, Of course you were au fait at the lingo?' 'Oh,' he replied, 'I was only O'Hely at it.' [Dr. O'Fay died on July 6, 1867. The Catholic Directory of that day says: 'He Was a Doctor in Divinity, received the Roman pension, an honour seldom conferred but on Italians, was made a Knight of the Golden Spur, and Count of the Holy Roman Empire.'] About the same time a lady volunteered to him the information that she was of the 'Dalys of Castle Daly,' and asked what family did he belong to. His answer, which greatly amused the company, was, 'I belong to the Francis Street branch of the Halys, of Castle Haly.' When afterwards recounting this reply to an English friend, he substituted for Castle 'Healy 'Castle Street' - a thoroughfare in Little Bray. 'One Who Knew Him,' with possibly a confused impression of the foregoing answer, writes in the Westminster Gazette that he replied to an inquiring lady 'I'm one of the Healys of Healy's Court.' It does not appear that she followed up her query with 'What number?' which was said to a pretentious boaster who described his seat in the country as 'The Court.' The writer just quoted goes on to say that Father Healy, when further pressed as to the whereabouts of the natal spot, mentioned a lane in the slumbs of the city, proverbial for poverty and dirt. [I have dwelt on this point because I once heard a monk of great asceticism say - one who also possesses a keen sense of humour - that in Father Healy's constant avowal of his origin, at the tables of the great, he showed a spirit of honest humility that did him more honour than even his wit.] This must be taken cum grano, as will be.
The name of Father Healy's father does not appear in the Dublin Directory for 1824 - the year James was born - but later on he is described as 'James Healy, Provision Merchant, 116, Francis Street.' The title 'Merchant' usually denotes a status superior to the ordinary shopkeeper. That Father Healy was born in Francis Street, we know on his own authority. The Duchess of Marlborough once asked if he spoke French. 'I ought, your Grace, for I was born in Francis Street,' was his reply. And perhaps there was more in it than superficially appeared, for in the last century a French patois was often heard near his natal spot, traceable to the Huguenot silk-weavers who had settled there. Francis Street - so called from a Franciscan abbey, which has disappeared – is described in old records as a rural suburb; but it was finally embraced by squalid surroundings.
John Healy held his lease from Swift's Hospital. It will be remmbered that Dean Swift endowed a madhouse-
'To show by one satiric touch
No nation needed it so much.'
A block of houses belonging to Swift extended from Garden Lane to Marks Alley. John Healy's house, which was one of them, is now absorbed into the larger premises of Patrick Kehoe, a well-known firm of bacon-curers.Comment
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Francis Street was no obscure parish when James Healy was born. It grasped Rathmines, Ranelagh, Miltown, and Harold's Cross. In Francis Street lived at first John Keogh, the leader of the Catholics before O'Connell; and in its chapel meetings had been held in furtherance of emancipation when Curran and Grattan spoke, and students of Trinity College cheered them to the echo.
Until 1796 it was the mensal or archiepiscopal parish of the Diocese of Dublin. A flaming account is found in the Universal Magazine for 1789 of a great thanksgiving service here for the recovery of George III. Archbishop Troy and his suffragans officiated, while a splendid choir, in which many Protestants joined, sang the Te Deum. The traditions which James Healy imbibed fed and fostered his policy as a man.
Among incidents within his memory were the fights of which Francis Street was the arena. When one was about to come off, the inhabitants all put up their shutters, and the street seemed in a state of siege. He well remembered a man of proportions like Goliath with whom a smaller person declared that he would have it out. 'Take care!' exclaimed the latter; 'I'm an awkward sort of fellow. Maybe it's in the eye I'd hit you, ' suiting the action to the word, and with a strength of effect that Bell's Life could alone find suitable slang to describe! A form of challenge that Healy chanced to hear greatly amused him: 'I never saw the broth that was too hot for me - or the mait that was too fat for me.'
There can be no doubt that Father Healy's song, The Nowlans an' Neals,' which in after-years he often sang for a chosen few, derived its inspiration from those days. It described, very much in the style and spirit of the more recent 'Killaloe,' a faction fight between two stocks. This continued to such a late hour that candles had to be lit in order 'to pick out the Nowlans from Neals.' Such strange scenes were clearly traceable to encounters of a graver sort, which not many years before disgraced Dublin, and owed their origin to a feud between the Huguenot weavers and the butchers, whose 'guild' was that 'of the B. V. Mary.' On November 4, 1821, the Rev. Michael Blake [Afterwards Bishop of Dromore. Dr. Blake died in 1861.] preached a sermon on the necessity of an early religious education, and took occasion to refer to his sainted predecessor, Dr. Beatagh, in words highly useful to the local historian. 'When he commenced his luminous career, many amongst you may remember the abject and shameful state of public morals. Ireland had then, as she has now, all the capabilities of greatness ; but being neglected, the richer she was in natural qualities, the more vicious and profligate she became. Her children were frequently seen on each side of the quays of your city, drawn up in battle array, armed against each other with bludgeons, rusty swords, and missile weapons; and on almost every public occasion the exuberance of her nature wantoned in excesses of the most lawless and barbarous kind. Education has, under God, nearly remedied all these evils Those factions, which formerly were wont to fill the community with alarm, have disappeared.'
Mrs. Healy died in middle age, and her sorrowing husband - if, indeed, a man whose features had acquired a pose of chronic enjoyment can have grieved long - paid the compliment to the happiness of first marriage by promptly entering on a second.
Among Healy's more respectable neighbours in Francis Street - all familiar figures to him-were John Sweetman, a member of the Rebel Directory in '98; Joseph Denis Mullen, [Few would expect to find in a London publication of 1814 allusion made to a denizen of Francis Street. 'Anacreon in Dublin' (Stockdale, Pall Mall) sings:
'Haste thee now, ingenious Mullen;
Though the Liberty is dull in
Manufacture, trade or pay,
Thou must form a cup to-day.'
The writer was Edmond Lenthal Swift, Keeper of the Regalia at the Tower. Letters to Mullen will be found in the O'Connell and Wellesley correspondence.] the popular orator, and eventually Governor of the Four Courts, Marshalsea; the Rev. Dr. Kenrick, P.P.; Gervais Taylor, well known at home and abroad; Edward MacCabe, afterwards Cardinal; and the Rev. Dr. Dawson, Dean of St. Patrick's, nephew of the author of 'Bumper Squire Jones.'
But there were other 'Liberty birds,' all characters in their way, 'Zozimus,' 'Stoney Pockets,' 'Billy in the Bowl,' Kearney, the singer, 'Owny' and 'Hughy,' not to speak of Joshua Jacob and Abigail Bayle, both White Quakers, but who afterwards became Catholics, and are buried at Glasnevin. Of all these people Father Healy had something to say.
The saintly Dr. Kenrick was uncle of the present Archbishop of St. Louis. One day he missed his hat, and having astutely peeped into Plunkett Street - a famous mart for old clothes - he found a woman in the act of selling it. 'I only wanted it as a relic of your reverence,' she said. 'You Seem very anxious to get rid of it, then.' 'I was merely asking the value of it,' rejoined the ready-witted crone.
Dr. Kenrick died soon after the recovery of his stolen hat, and a medal in commemoration of his worth was struck - one familiar to collectors of such things. A bust of him from the chisel of his friend and successor, Rev. Mathew Flanagan, is preserved at the presbytery, Francis Street. Flanagan, afterwards Chancellor of the diocese, was a pompous, austere man, tall, and of imposing presence. He showed skill in moulding objects in clay and afterwards transferring the result to marble, and, several of his works are still to be seen about the Church of St. Nicholas.
At a time when John Hogan was comparatively unknown, Flanagan secured his study in clay of a dead Christ, which he placed over the high altar. Having heard that some of the curates had gone up on a ladder to examine the work, he said to them in his nasal twang, 'If you injured one finger of it, it is more than your miserable lives could ever atone for.'
Visitors' came to see his art galleries. A small statue of Achilles wounded in the heel was made the subject of special contemporary notice. Canon Pope became his curate for a time, and imbibed the same tastes. One day Dr. Flanagan found a poor, ill-clad boy in an adjoining slum, who gave such promise as a draughtsman that be took him up and gave him pictures to paint; and this youth N. J. Crowley, became an Academician in the end. Dr. Flanagan's works, though striking, all things considered, bore traces of the amateur. Father Healy used to describe the visit of a doctor (who had the reputation of being 'a quiz') to Flanagan's art gallery. Pointing to a bust, 'By Canova, sir?' 'No – I,' and - feigning to be much struck by a picture - 'Michael Angelo?' 'No - I.'
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In 1834 James Healy is found a day-scholar, with Thomas Nedley, Edward Fottrell, J. C. Kelly, and others, at the Vincentian Seminary, 34, Usher's Quay, Dublin. The Directory of the day describes it, from the above date until 1840, as simply 'Day-school under the patronage of Most Rev. Dr. Murray, conducted by a number of clergymen' These good fathers were technically known as 'Lazarites,' and will be found fully noticed when Healy becomes an alumnus of Castleknock. At the Usher's Quay school James was shorter than his schoolfellows, and as one of them, Mr. Kelly, remembers, he always contrived when the class remained in line that his feet should rest on a projecting part of the surbase. Though a smart boy, he was no infant prodigy but he is described as quick in spirit, and one who could box to some purpose if aggressively approached.
After a few years the good Vincentians - the name by which its clerical managers are best known – gave up this school, when for a short time it continued to be carried on by their late usher, Mr. Michael Hickey, A.B. This usher had been popular with the boys, and one of the 'archest' of them told a new-comer that the quay derived its name in compliment to the pedagogue.
The priests of Francis Street, including the Rev. Patrick Murray, subsequently highly distinguished as Professor of Theology at Maynooth, were constant guests at John Healy's table. 'Little James' was the incarnation of fun, and the source of infinite enjoyment to the curates. Amongst the latter was Father Smith, of whose love of a practical joke Canon Pope gave me many laughable anecdotes.
James, beside being a regular attendant at Catechism, was constantly in and out of the presbytery and vestry, and it was hard to control the explosions of laughter which, except at times of solemn duty, his quaint sallies provoked. 'We must kill Healy, or, if we don't, Healy will kill us,' Father Smith was one day overheard to say. [Father Smith was an old man who, unpromoted, tottered into the tomb. The aorta, doctors say, is easily ruptured at advanced life by much emotion. There is no knowing what risks he may have run. Zeuxis, the artist, was so amused at the sight of a hag he had painted that he died in a fit of laughter. The aged philosopher, Chrysippus, died from a 'side-splitter,' and Tertullian relates that Licinius Crassus laughed himself to death from witnessing an ass trying to swallow some' thistles.] Old Healy, addressing Gusty Grehan, asked, 'Do you know my son James?' proudly adding, 'that's himself!' A story has it that the youngster once puzzled his father by describing the efforts of a fat pig to escape through a narrow door as 'Bacon's Essays,' but I cannot quite satisfy myself as to its authenticity. Anything about bacon had always piquancy for both.
John Healy was a plain, straightforward trader, who scorned all affectation in describing his craft. Father Meehan, in his 'History of the O'Tooles,' remarks that 'in Rome the man who sells bacon calls himself by a modest name,' but 'in Dublin the person who advertises gambs, jowls, pigs' faces and middles, styles himself an Italian warehouse-man! O shades of Raphael and Angelo!' adds Meehan in words eminently characteristic. The connection that subsisted to the end between Charles Meehan and James Healy is not the least interesting of the episodes in this modest history. [The guide to an Italian priest who had wished to see Dublin was dryly told that he should have taken the stranger round to show him all the Italian warehouses.]
Father Smith continued to be a favourite figure in Healy's retrospects, and his example, in some respects, was not lost upon him. Smith was one of the most hospitable of men, and regularly every Tuesday gave a feast, to which the professors of Maynooth, Drs. Murray, Molloy and others, were bidden. Years rolled on, and the old curate, almost doubled in two, was a familiar and touching object; At last Dr., afterwards Cardinal, MacCabe, who, as a boy, had often served his Mass, dispensed Smith from duty. It may be added that he had property in his own right, and, furthermore, had been left £1,000 by Miss Sherlock, a near relation of the well-known Serjeant-at-Law. Some of her kinsfolk reported this bequest to Rome, and Smith's exclusion from promotion is said to have been due to that circumstance.
In 1839 James Healy became a pupil, and subsquently a novice, in St. Vincent's College, Castleknock, and it may be interesting to recall the circumstances in which 'the Congregation of the Missions' originated.
Early in the 17th century the Abbé Vincent, a tutor in the family of the Comtesse de Joigney, was hurriedly summoned to the death-bed of a man who, though he had often approached the Sacraments, now admitted, on inquiry, that several un-confessed crimes burthened his breast. Vincent was so successful with this sinner that the Countess urged him to preach near Amiens on the crime of making bad confessions. Vast numbers responded to his voice; his confessional was crowded, and the Countess conceived the good thought of founding an institute for conducting missions in rural districts. For this purpose the Archbishop of Paris offered the Collége des Bons Enfants, which the Countess duly endowed, and pious secular priests came to help Vincent de Paul. Urban VIII. by Bull in 1632 gave the congregation a threefold object - the sanctification of its own sons, the special work at first proposed, and the training of a very ascetic priesthood.
In 1632 the Fathers moved to the College of St. Lazare. Harvests of conversions year by year rewarded their labours, and in 1737 Vincent was canonized. There were now 84 houses of the institute, and among so many it is hardly surprising that some of the Fathers should have favoured Jansenism and refused to accept the Bull 'Unigenitus'; but M. Bonnet, their prudent general, drew them from the gulf on which they stood. During the Reign of Terror St. Lazare was twice plundered, some of the Fathers were butchered, and the remainder driven from France. The Lazarites rose again like Lazarus from his tomb, but the Maison St. Lazare, from which women had been strictly excluded, became, as it remains to this day, a prison for women.
In 1835 the Rev. William Gwynne, D.D., who had long conducted a most respectable Protestant school at Castleknock, sold his establishment to the Vincentian Fathers. The now well-known college soon flourished on its site. The purchase included 40 acres of land and a ruined castle of much interest and antiquity, to which reference shall again be made.
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Men of the present generation regard Castleknock as essentially a lay school; but it does not seem to have been so at first. The following announcement caught the eye one day of old John Healy, and decided him as to what he would do:
ST. VINCENT'S ECCLESIASTICAL COLLEGE,
CASTLEKNOCK.
Principal- Rev. P. Dowley.
This establishment was undertaken by the direction of the Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, and in conformity with the expressed wishes of several of the clergy of the Diocese of Dublin. The study and exercises are directed to facilitate the entrance of students into ecclesiastical colleges, and to obviate the evils resulting from their presenting themselves as candidates for the sacred ministry without being acquainted with the nature of that holy state or the dispositions required for embracing it.
With all the higher branches of languages, Greek and Roman classics, modern and ancient history, geography, mathematics, etc., the study of the English language, the principles of composition, and the practice of public delivery, are particularly attended to.
Father and son were soon en route to Castleknock; passing through the undulating scenery of the Phoenix Park. Troops were being paraded on the 15 acres, cannon roared, and a feu de joie was discharged while the popular Viceroy, Lord Mulgrave, galloped along the red line. Some minutes later found father and son passing under Knockmaroon Hill and penetrating the tranquil enclosure of St. Vincent's College.
From the nursery of childhood James Healy passed to the nursery of bishops. Patrick Moran, afterwards Bishop of Dunedin, New Zealand, entered Castleknock at the same time. The Vincentian Fathers - including Dr. Dixon, brother of the Primate; Lynch, afterwards Archbishop of Toronto; Gilloly, afterwards Bishop of Elphin; MacCabe, Bishop of Ardagh; and Dr. James Lynch, now Bishop of Kildare - solemnly received the new boys. The latter acted as ghostly director to the school.
I don't know whether Healy made it a subject of confession, but it is certain that during a vacation ramble he visited Donnybrook Fair, with its deafening din of gong, trumpet and drum. Calvert's theatre was there to harrow the soul with 'Varney the Vampire; or, The Feast of Blood.' Camped around were smaller stages, on which strode kings and clowns, queens and Columbines, and a peep-show, where, among other wonderful sights, Bonaparte was pointed out crossing the Alps in an open boat. Tents without end, in which people danced like mad, displayed outside all sorts of signs and legends, one of which Father Healy often quoted to amuse his friends:
'This is the sign of the Cock;
Step in, my ould hen,
Empty your glass,
And fill it again.
Many a man took the bait,
'Stept into a tent, and spent halt a Crown!
Came out, met a friend, and for love knocked him down,
With his sprig of shillalagh and shamrock so green.'
But James Healy was content to study the scene as a laughing philosopher. By the exertions of local clerics the time-honoured observance of Donnyrook Fair was, later on, suppressed; but the
Was for life or death, and brought more than one priest to his grave. For centuries Donnybrok Fair opened in August with 'walking Sunday,' and its orgies went on, night and day, for a week.
James Healy's smartness was soon recognised at Castleknock, and gradually its lay school assumed large proportions.
As I how nothing about them, I will not venture to describe the doubtless frequent forewarnings of grace which may have marked him, like the youthful Timothy, for the priesthood Christ. "Unfortunately, we have not the records of the public examinations of these years,' writes the present president. Mr. John Gannon was in the Humanity class with Healy, but he is unable to say that the youth was remarkable in any way, unless as a good ball-player. Captain Keogh, R.M., states that Healy acted as a monitor and instructed him in Virgil.
The Congregation of the Mission includes of late years many genial and pleasant men, whom to know is to love; but most of the earlier Fathers at Castleknock were 'Northerns,' with a demeanour which James regarded as austere and depressing. The sports that now attract so many visitors to the school on the hospitable call of its Rector were then wholly unknown. There were no running in sacks, no jumping, no marquees, no amateur bands. Solemnity was the order of the day. [On the other hand, Francis O'Beirne, who was at Castleknock with James Healy, described it to me, in 1841, as 'the Happy Valley'; but his head was of a mould very different from that of James Healy.]
Father Hoaly has described a primitive and very ascetic Father who was much shocked by a reply be got when catechizing a sailor's son:
'What is cursing?'
'Wishing ill to one's neighbour.'
'Cannot you give me a more comprehensive definition, child?'
' --- your eyes, holy Father.'
The Fathers saw that James Healy had talent; they also saw that he had a vocation for the Church; and it was only natural that they should expect him to become a priest at Castleknock. He did not like to say 'No,' and at last entered the earlier stage of the noviciate preparatory to completing it at Paris. 'He is one whom I can never forget,' writes the venerable Bishop 'Lynch; 'I was so struck with his sterling virtue.' [The Bishop, the sole survivor of the founders of Castleknock, adds a date which will be interesting to his friends useful for his future biographer: 'On Saturday, January 9 , 1895, if God spares me, I will be in my 89th year.']
The time James Healy was now spending was one of enforced silence - what were his thoughts? When we remember the vivacity of his mind, they must have been kaleidoscopic. 'I loved to wander round the battlements of the old castle,' he said, 'and during part of the time I employed myself in throwing stones at the jackdaws which, with a great deal of talk, clustered at the top of the tower.'
But gradually the ruined castle was found to convey 'sermons in stones.' There were few graves of dead Fathers [On digging the grave of Father Plunkett, within the castle, a wonderful pagan cromlech was found, with human bones that fell to dust on exposure] to stumble over then; and some of his thoughts, it may be concluded, were given to the past history of the towering ruin, with its double lines of fortifications, from which trees and fern shoot up and proclaim the empire of nature over that once almost impregnable citadel. It was at one time held by the Danes, afterwards by Nial, monarch of Ireland. Within its walls the patriot prelate St. Laurence O'Toole nerved King Roderick O'Conor by his voice and blessing: from its pinnacle Owen Roe O'Neill denounced Oliver Cromwell.
O'Byrne, chieftain of Wicklow, was a name which never failed to interest James Healy, who will be found in after-years often entertaining the representative of that sept. Eibhleen - daughter of a former O'Toole - had been carried off by Roger Tyrrell, and locked up in the turret of Castleknock. Hearing footsteps at night on the stone stairs outside, she used a brooch to open a vein in her neck, and bled to death. Of this girl, who preferred death to dishonour, a Vincentian Father writes: 'It was long a popular belief that at the hour of midnight a female figure robed in white might be seen moving slowly round the castle.'
Lady de Lacy was of a different type. In the absence of her husband, who had gone forth in the van of the Catholic army, she is found defending the same castle with 50 men against Ormond's 4,000 foot and 500 horse, and by her prowess laying 400 of the besiegers low. Other memories recalled the march of Bruce to Castleknock, when the mingled music of pibroch and harp resounded through the peaceful valley. Holier thoughts succeeded the profane. St. Patrick, as St. Elvin records, had made a special mission to Castleknock. The Apostle, describing his visions, tells us that he heard, in his mind, a voice cry, 'We pray thee, holy youth, to come and henceforth walk amongst us.'
These were thoughts no doubt highly suggestive, but James Healy, on reflection, felt that he could not 'go and do likewise.' A hurried line to his father announced this decision, and John Healy in a day or two proceeded to break the news to Dean Dowley. This ecclesiastic little James held in special awe. When the President came down, he found his visitor surveying, with seeming satisfaction, the furniture, pictures, and general surroundings. 'You have got a beautiful place here!' he said; 'and, so far as I am concerned, I could live here for ever; but as for James, he says he can't stay here at all.'
'We had his trousseau ready,' said good Bishop Lynch; [It does honour to this good man, who had the reputation of being one of the severest of the Fathers, that he felt far from annoyed with James Healy for breaking away from the Vincentian rule. Since the death of the latter, his lordship has addressed a letter to the committee of the Healy Memorial, proudly claiming him 'as his old pupil and very friend,' and enclosing £6 towards the object in view.] and it is not improbable that, had he remained, it would have given place at last to the rochet, cope, and pectoral cross, as in the case of is contemporaries, Kilduff and MacCabe. Possibly, too, he might have become a second Basil, who, in addition to his classical gifts and great skill in argument, is thus described by his bosom friend, St. Gregory Nazianzen: 'Who more amiable than he? who as pleasant as he in social intercourse? who could tell a story with more wit? who could jest more playfully?'
A taste of this quality is found in a remark of James Healy's in 1886 on meeting, after a long absence, his new Diocesan, who had just then grasped the ecclesiastical reins of Dublin. 'My Lord, James O'Donnell's mother once said to me, "If you had only behaved yourself, you might have been a bishop yourself now."'Comment
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