DEATH OF "THE DUHALLOW POET."

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XII, Issue 27, 24 October 1884, Page 5

DEATH OF "THE DUHALLOW POET."

(The Nation, August 30.) On Tuesday, 19th in&t., there died at his residence, Banteer, Kanturk county Cork, one of the very few who in late years have successfully cultivated Irish poetry of that class which was brought to such perfection by those souls of fire whose impassioned lyrics inspired the Young Ireland party, and laid deep and broad the foundations of a national literature in this country. Mr. J. C. Deady was but a child at the time when a combination of causes dispersed to the uttermost ends of the eaith that brilliant crowd of poets, orators, and statesmen whose efforts had produced results equal to those of the potent strains Baid to be able " to create a soul within the ribs of deatb." But from his earliest boyhood he was an earnest student of the compositions of Davis, Daffy, M'Gee M'Carthy, and the other writers of that era whose writings were then accessible. His most fervent admiration, however, was reserved for Bdward Walsh, whose life and poetry were so intimately associated with Mr. Deady's native barony. For a long time he had it in contemplation to write a life of Walsh, and publish it with a complete edition of his poems. With this object he had collected a great deal of manuscript and other material ; and possibly the future biographer of Walsh will find in Mr. Deady's collection the fullest aad most authentic particulars of that pure, though, as regards worldly success, unfortunate child of song. It is to be remarked in reference to Mr Deady's admiration of Walsh, that he formed the subjecFof what seems to the present writer the most spirited of Mr. Deady's published poems. It appeared in the Nation in 1875. Walsh was, in fact, to J. C. Deady what Sir John Denham wished the Thames to be to him —

His great example, as he was his theme.

In the present neglected state of Irish literature Mr. Deady's poems may be forgotten in the ephemeral pages of the journals in which they first appeared, yet there are many of them that will deserve to be preserved in a more durable form. The present is not the time to enter into any elaborate criticism of Mr. Deady's poetry. But this may be said of it, that, above all its other characteristics, it was eminently racy of the soil. There was not a wild flower that grew on mead or hillock in Duhallow that his muse disdained to pluck and cherish. There waß not a stream in the barony whose windings she did not trace— from the lordly Blackwater to the tiniest rivulet that meanders towards it. The rath, the tottering ruin, the names of the famous pipers and fiddlers and other men ot renown in the neighbourhood, are all lovingly enshrinedhere and theiethrough his songs and ballads. In his poetry is little of passion or action, but the milder affections, especially those with a meloncholy tinge the pensive moods of the lover of natural scenery, the dreams of the historical student— afforded the subjects which he loved best to delineate.

The following may be mentioned a3 a few of the most fielect productions of Mr. Deady'spen :—": — " Mabel Brown," " The Conversation of Saint Colonan," "Midsummer Eve," "The Assault of Liscarrol." and that already referred to in memory of Edward Walsh. Mr. Deady had attained only his forty-second year. He had been a frequent poetical contributor to the columns of the Nation, Irishman, Lamp, N&v York Irish World, S/utmrock, Boston Pilot, &c. ; but latterly the care of providing for hia numerous family absorbed all nig time. For some years past he did not contribute anything to the Press ; and severe and prolonged illness compelled him to abandon all hope of completing what he at one time intended to ba his rnagnim opus— the life of Edward Walsh.

Mr. Deady's remains are interred in the family burial ground in Clonmeen, and the announcement of his early demise will be received with deep regret by his extensive circle of friends ia this country and in America.