The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1906-04-14
No Sweeter Touch Ever Awoke Ireland's
Harp, No Finer Spirit Ever Presided
Over Its Music.
There Are Nancy who Think That Manean
Should Supersede Moore as the
National Poet of Ireland.

ough knowledge of German, French aud
Latin has to be conceded, and the in
Scnulty OF his poems. supposed to be
from the Arabic, Coptic and other east
crn languages. Was Il puzzle ut the
time. About 1880 he started to write
verse for the Dublin Penny Journal,
under the name of Clarence, which
consisted chiefly OF translations from
the German. 1t must have been a. very
bold resolve to take up literature un-
der these conditions, the emoluments
were mcagcr and 1t was certainly Il
Srotcsque illustration of the dictum.
Art for Arts Sake"
And SO poor Mangan tolicd on, writ
ing for the Comet. the Dublin Penny
Journal and the Dublin University
Magazine. In Il conversation with Mr..
L. @ Neil Russell some twenty years
ago 'ie told me something of Mangan's
method OF work at this time. When he
had an idea he would go into Il public
house and put it into an appropriate
verse in. perhaps, blue ink Then he
would wander on to the next place and
continue his work in. possibly, rod ink.
So that when he got to the publications
Office his work was Il picturesque look
ing map.
Some influential friends procured
him II position in the library of Trim
ity College and it was here that John
Mitchell, the distinguished patriot and
scholar, met him for the first time
This is Mitchels graphic pen picture OF
the occurrences: Being in the college
library and having occasion for 4 book
in the Fogcl library. which is in the in
ncrmoSt rcccsScS Of the stately build
ing. an acquaintance pointed out to me
Il man pcrched on the top of 4 ladder
with the whispered information that he
was Clarence Mangan. 1t was an un-
earthly and Ghostly figure in brown
sarmcnt-the same garment that to
all appearances, lasted to the duy OF
tally unkcpt. a book was in the hand
and his soul was in the book
Let us hear what John Savage, poet
artist journalist, has to say of Man
gan about this time:
"A crooked little street called Trim
ity. Off one Of the greatest thorough
lr.lS of t>S 1tt
lcrs of the excitement which moves the
city and country have their being in
this little street famous in Irish his
tory. in the shape Of two journals, The
Irish F'elon and the Irish Tribune both
preaching the same creed and rivals
only in their devotion to 1t. Out OF
either of these offi.cs--they are side by
side like brothers in n flght--we per-
| ceive n strange individual has come.
"rhat shy, distracted looking man
has held not the least powerful tails
man. We must look at him more
| minutcly. He is about middle size and
glides more than walks, yet at that il
but intirln. A threadbare dark coat. or
is it brown?-buttoned up to the throat
shields his attcnuated body. His eye
is lustrously mild and beautifully blue.
| and his silver white locks surround lik,e
tender halo the now pale and intel
lectual face Of the prematurely aged
man before us. He glides along and
| through the people as if he did not be-
| long on the same earth with them. His
F steps seem as If they were not directed
by any thought, but mechanically
wcnded their way to his wretched
abode"
Clarence Mangan died in 1849 in
public hospital in Dublin, and is bur-
led in Glasnevin Cemetery. There is IL
| stone to mark his grave, SO that this
gifted genius is not entirely forgotten.
His was death-in-life, and whether it
was better or worse than the horrors
Of n prison is question would like
to see decided by my friend, Thomas
j. Clarke. 1t is psychological ques-
| tion-but they say that Gagged bird
! sings sweetest. 1 don't believe Tom
Clarke gave the least tremolo during
his sixteen years residence in Queen
Victoria's prisons. And I think Man
gan, as negative rebel, couldn't do
any better because the governor would