One of the criticisms most frequently made of O’Connell’s conduct of his agitation for repeal of the union has always been that he failed to build up a parliamentary party that would be a credit to his cause. The accusation comes in its harshest form, naturally enough, from his political opponents at the time. A whig journalist, for instance, writing in 1843, described O’Connell’s followers in these terms:
It would be difficult to have procured forty Irishmen with less of the wit or sparkling talent that abound in the ‘Emerald Isle’. The charge against them was not merely that they were such paltry senators, but that they were such wretched specimens of their countrymen. Judged by an Irish standard, without the slightest reference to English taste, their morale was of the lowest kind. There was nothing grand or elevating in their Donnybrook Fair school of patriotism. They could make a noise, and display animal vivacity, but when intellectual manifestations were demanded, they were powerless. With great opportunities, their party remained without distinction, for wit, eloquence, or conspicuous ability. Terribly afraid of O’Connell, who used them as the fingers and toes of his political system, they
Cringed to his face, consulted, and revered
His oracles—detested him—and feared.
And it was either a whig or a tory journalist who invented for O’Connell’s party the wounding nickname of ‘O’Connell’s tail’, with its implication that the members of the party were without wills of their own, completely subservient to their leader’s commands. But it was not from whigs and tories alone that criticism came: earnest repealers themselves complained that their party was damaging the cause they had at heart.