The Irish have never been known as explorers or as discoverers. Their forte is recognized as establishing success where others have tried and failed. Stranded as they were on their desert habitat, we can easily understand why the early annals of our country are not more frequently embellished by Irish names. As early as October 12, 1605, Sir Arthur Chichester wrote from Ireland to the English prime minister, Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, that it “was absurd folly to run over the world in search of colonies in Virginia or Guiana, whilst Ireland was lying desolate.” The first expedition that left England—almost three years before Henry Hudson discovered the river that bears his name—brought over the first Irishman to America, Francis Maguire, who arrived at Jamestown Virginia, with Captain Christopher Newport, May 6, new style, 1607. Maguire remained in the new country for nearly a year and returned to England with Newport. He wrote an account of his voyage to Virginia and submitted it to the Privy Council of Spain. Many years elapse before an Irish name is discovered among the early settlers of New York, and then it is so overwhelmed and encumbered with Dutch orthography and Dutch pronunciation as to be well nigh indistinguishable, even to its owner if he ever ran over it. Against an ancient Dutch muster roll profound knowledge must bow deferentially. The most expert linguist stands in awe of it, and his most skilful expedients are often baffled in efforts to translate it, for the Seventeenth Century Dutch scrivener knew, read, saw, felt, thought, recognized nothing but Dutch—nor were mustees, Indians and negroes exempt from this classification. All were clothed in Dutch orthographical habiliments as religiously as they were fed with suppawn at breakfast, whether it was welcome or not. When the time arrived, however, for Irish names to appear officially in the Archives of the Province of New York, it is supremely gratifying to us, who are proud of our Irish blood and the State and country in which we live, to discover two bright particular stars blazing steadily from a firmament black with corruption. When Thomas Dongan, a gallant soldier and experienced man of affairs, arrived in New York City, in the fiftieth year of his age, as governor of the province, liberty of action was restrained as arbitrarily as liberty of speech was repressed. The printing press was embargoed. Freedom of worship was circumscribed. Quakers and Jews were ostracized and driven from the pale. Dongan was charged by his royal master with three important duties: 1. To call an assembly of representatives of New York. 2. To allure the Indians from the French. 3. To introduce the Roman Catholic religion into the Province.