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diff --git a/old/42890-h/42890-h.htm b/old/42890-h/42890-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index bda4553..0000000 --- a/old/42890-h/42890-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,26691 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of -The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh The Irish Sketch Book, by William Makepeace Thackeray. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;margin:1% auto 1% auto;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - -.cbc {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;font-family:courier, serif;} - -.ind {text-indent:15%;} - -.eng {font-family: "Old English Text MT",fantasy,sans-serif;} - -.errata {color:red;text-decoration:underline;font-weight:bold;} - -.enlargeimage {margin: 0 0 0 0; text-align: center; border: none;} - -.hang {text-indent:-2%;margin-left:2%;} - -.hang2 {text-indent:-3%;margin:.1em auto .1em auto;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} - -small {font-size: 80%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} - - h2 {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;font-family:courier, serif;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - -hr.spc {width: 15%;margin:auto;} - - hr.full {width: 50%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;border:4px double gray;} - - table {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:5%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;text-align:left;} - -.bl {border-left:1px solid black;} - - body{margin-left:2%;margin-right:2%;background:#fdfdfd;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - - ul {list-style-type:none;text-indent:-1em;margin-left:25%;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:80%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} - -.bbox {border:solid 2px black;margin:1% auto 1% auto;max-width:35%; -padding:1%;} - -.caption {font-weight:bold;font-size:70%;} - -.figcenter {margin-top:3%;margin-bottom:3%; -margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.figleft {float:left;clear:left;margin-left:0;margin-bottom:1em;margin-top:1em;margin-right:1em;padding:0;text-align:center;} - -.figright {float:right;clear:right;margin-left:1em;margin-bottom:1em;margin-top:1em;margin-right:0;padding:0;text-align:center;} - -.footnotes {border:dotted 3px gray;margin-top:15%;clear:both;} - -.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} - -.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} - -.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} - -.poem {margin-left:25%;text-indent:0%;font-size:.9em;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.ist {display: block; margin-left: .3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. -Titmarsh: The Irish Sketch Book, by William Makepeace Thackeray - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh: The Irish Sketch Book - -Author: William Makepeace Thackeray - -Release Date: June 7, 2013 [EBook #42890] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Curnow, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Print project.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="343" height="520" alt="bookcover" title="" /> -</p> - -<p class="cb">THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK<br /> -OF MR. M. A. TITMARSH<br /> -THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/colophon.jpg" width="125" height="42" alt="colophon" title="colophon" /> -</p> - -<h1>THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK<br /> -OF MR. M. A. TITMARSH<br /> - -<small><small>AND</small></small><br /> - -THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK</h1> - -<p> </p> - -<p class="cb">BY<br /> -<br /> -WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY<br /><br /> -<br /> -<i>With Illustrations by the Author</i><br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -<span class="eng">London</span><br /> -MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> -<small>NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</small><br /> -1902</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th align="center" colspan="2">THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK</th></tr> - -<tr><td align="right" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#AN_INVASION_OF_FRANCE">An Invasion of France</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_001">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#A_CAUTION_TO_TRAVELLERS">A Caution to Travellers</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_012">12</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#THE_FETES_OF_JULY">The Fêtes of July</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_027">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ON_THE_FRENCH_SCHOOL_OF_PAINTING">On the French School of Painting</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_035">35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#THE_PAINTERS_BARGAIN">The Painter’s Bargain</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_051">51</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#CARTOUCHE">Cartouche</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_064">64</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ON_SOME_FRENCH_FASHIONABLE_NOVELS">On some French Fashionable Novels</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_076">76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#A_GAMBLERS_DEATH">A Gambler’s Death</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_095">95</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#NAPOLEON_AND_HIS_SYSTEM">Napoleon and his System</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_104">104</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_MARY_ANCEL">The Story of Mary Ancel</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_116">116</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#BEATRICE_MERGER">Beatrice Merger</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#CARICATURES_AND_LITHOGRAPHY_IN_PARIS">Caricatures and Lithography in Paris</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_139">139</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#LITTLE_POINSINET">Little Poinsinet</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_162">162</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#THE_DEVILS_WAGER">The Devil’s Wager</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_175">175</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#MADAME_SAND_AND_THE_NEW_APOCALYPSE">Madame Sand and the New Apocalypse</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_185">185</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#THE_CASE_OF_PEYTEL">The Case of Peytel</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_208">208</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#FRENCH_DRAMAS_AND_MELODRAMAS">French Dramas and Melodramas</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_233">233</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#MEDITATIONS_AT_VERSAILLES">Meditations at Versailles</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_251">251</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th align="center" colspan="2">THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK</th></tr> - -<tr><td align="right" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A Summer Day in Dublin, or there and thereabouts </td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_271">271</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A Country-house in Kildare—Sketches of an Irish Family and Farm</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_291">291</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>From Carlow to Waterford</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_300">300</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>From Waterford to Cork</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_310">310</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Cork—The Agricultural Show—Father Mathew</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_319">319</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Cork—The Ursuline Convent</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_327">327</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Cork</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_334">334</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>From Cork to Bantry; with an Account of the City of Skibbereen</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_345">345</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Rainy Days at Glengariff</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_355">355</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>From Glengariff to Killarney</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_362">362</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Killarney—Stag-hunting on the Lake</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_370">370</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Killarney—The Races—Mucross</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_377">377</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Tralee—Listowel—Tarbert</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_385">385</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Limerick</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_391">391</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Galway—Kilroy’s Hotel—Galway Night’s Entertainments—First<br /> - Night: An Evening with Captain Freeny</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_403">403</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>More Rain in Galway—A Walk there—And the Second Galway<br /> - Night’s Entertainment</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_419">419</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>From Galway to Ballynahinch</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_442">442</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Roundstone Petty Sessions</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_452">452</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Clifden to Westport</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_456">456</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Westport</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_462">462</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Pattern at Croagh-Patrick</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_466">466</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>From Westport to Ballinasloe</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_470">470</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Ballinasloe to Dublin</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_474">474</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Two Days in Wicklow</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_478">478</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Country Meetings in Kildare—Meath—Drogheda</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_494">494</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Dundalk</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_506">506</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Newry, Armagh, Belfast—From Dundalk to Newry</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_519">519</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Belfast to the Causeway</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_529">529</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Giant’s Causeway—Coleraine—Portrush</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_538">538</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Peg of Limavaddy</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_550">550</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Templemoyle—Derry</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_553">553</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Dublin at last</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_565">565</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<p class="cbc"><big><big>THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK</big></big></p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<p class="cbc">DEDICATORY LETTER<br /><br /> -<small>TO</small><br /><br /> - <big>M. ARETZ, TAILOR, <span class="smcap">ETC.</span></big><br /><br /> -27 RUE RICHELIEU, PARIS</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—It becomes every man in his station to acknowledge and praise -virtue wheresoever he may find it, and to point it out for the -admiration and example of his fellow-men.</p> - -<p>Some months since, when you presented to the writer of these pages a -small account for coats and pantaloons manufactured by you, and when you -were met by a statement from your creditor, that an immediate settlement -of your bill would be extremely inconvenient to him, your reply was, -‘Mon Dieu, sir, let not that annoy you; if you want money, as a -gentleman often does in a strange country, I have a thousand-franc note -at my house which is quite at your service.’</p> - -<p>History or experience, sir, makes us acquainted with so few actions that -can be compared to yours,—an offer like this from a stranger and a -tailor seems to me so astonishing,—that you must pardon me for thus -making your virtue public, and acquainting the English nation with your -merit and your name. Let me add, sir, that you live on the first floor; -that your cloths and fit are excellent, and your charges moderate and -just; and, as a humble tribute of my admiration, permit me to lay these -volumes at your feet.—Your obliged, faithful servant,</p> - -<p class="r"> -M. A. TITMARSH.<br /> -</p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<p class="nind">A<small>BOUT</small> half of the sketches in these volumes have already appeared in -print, in various periodical works. A part of the text of one tale, and -the plots of two others, have been borrowed from French originals; the -other stories, which are, in the main, true, have been written upon -facts and characters, that came within the Author’s observation during a -residence in Paris.</p> - -<p>As the remaining papers relate to public events, which occurred during -the same period, or to Parisian Art and Literature, he has ventured to -give his publication the title which it bears.</p> - -<p class="hang"> -<span class="smcap">London</span>,<br /> -<i>July 1, 1840</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/frontispiece_lg.jpg"> -<img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /></a> -<br /> -<img src="images/frontispiece_sml.jpg" width="232" height="311" alt="EXPLANATION OF THE ALLEGORY - - -Number 1’s an ancient Carlist, Number 8 a Paris Artist, -Gloomily there stands between them, Number 2 a Bonapartist; -In the middle is King Louis-Philip standing at his ease, -Guarded by a loyal Grocer, and a Sergeant of Police; -4’s the people in a passion, 6 a Priest of pious mien, -5 a Gentleman of Fashion, copied from a Magazine." title="" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">EXPLANATION OF THE ALLEGORY</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td>Number 1’s an ancient Carlist, Number 8 a Paris Artist,<br /> -Gloomily there stands between them, Number 2 a Bonapartist;<br /> -In the middle is King Louis-Philip standing at his ease,<br /> -Guarded by a loyal Grocer, and a Sergeant of Police;<br /> -4’s the people in a passion, 6 a Priest of pious mien,<br /> -5 a Gentleman of Fashion, copied from a Magazine.</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<p><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a></p> - -<p class="cbc"><big>THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK</big></p> - -<h2><a name="AN_INVASION_OF_FRANCE" id="AN_INVASION_OF_FRANCE"></a>AN INVASION OF FRANCE</h2> - -<p class="c">‘Cæsar venit in Galliam summâ diligentiâ.’</p> - -<p class="nind">A<small>BOUT</small> twelve o’clock, just as the bell of the packet is tolling a -farewell to London Bridge, and warning off the blackguard-boys with the -newspapers, who have been shoving <i>Times</i>, <i>Herald</i>, <i>Penny Paul-Pry</i>, -<i>Penny Satirist</i>, <i>Flare-up</i>, and other abominations into your -face—just as the bell has tolled, and the Jews, strangers, -people-taking-leave-of-their-families, and blackguard-boys aforesaid are -making a rush for the narrow plank which conducts from the paddle-box of -the <i>Emerald</i> steamboat unto the quay—you perceive, staggering down -Thames Street, those two hackney-coaches, for the arrival of which you -have been praying, trembling, hoping, despairing, swearing—sw——, I -beg your pardon, I believe the word is not used in polite company—and -transpiring, for the last half-hour. Yes, at last, the two coaches draw -near, and from thence an awful number of trunks, children, carpet-bags, -nurserymaids, hat-boxes, band-boxes, bonnet-boxes, desks, cloaks, and an -affectionate wife, are discharged on the quay.</p> - -<p>‘Elizabeth, take care of Miss Jane,’ screams that worthy woman, who has -been for a fortnight employed in getting this tremendous body of troops -and baggage into marching order. ‘Hicks! Hicks! for Heaven’s sake mind -the babies!’—‘George—Edward, sir, if you go near that porter with the -trunk, he will tumble down and kill you, you naughty boy!—My love, <i>do</i> -take the cloaks and umbrellas, and give a hand to Fanny and Lucy; and I -wish you would speak to the hackney-coachmen, dear; they want fifteen -shillings, and count the packages, love—twenty-seven packages,—and -bring little Flo; where’s little Flo?—Flo! Flo!<a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>’—(Flo comes sneaking -in; she has been speaking a few parting words to a one-eyed terrier, -that sneaks off similarly, landward).</p> - -<p>As when the hawk menaces the hen-roost, in like manner, when such a -danger as a voyage menaces a mother, she becomes suddenly endowed with a -ferocious presence of mind, and bristling up and screaming in the front -of her brood, and in the face of circumstances, succeeds, by her -courage, in putting her enemy to flight; in like manner you will always, -I think, find your wife (if that lady be good for twopence) shrill, -eager, and ill-humoured, before and during a great family move of this -nature. Well, the swindling hackney-coachmen are paid, the mother -leading on her regiment of little ones, and supported by her auxiliary -nursemaids, are safe in the cabin; you have counted twenty-six of the -twenty-seven parcels, and have them on board; and that horrid man on the -paddle-box, who, for twenty minutes past, has been roaring out, <span class="smcap">Now, -Sir!</span>—says, <i>Now, sir</i>, no more.</p> - -<p>I never yet knew how a steamer began to move, being always too busy -among the trunks and children, for the first half-hour, to mark any of -the movements of the vessel. When these private arrangements are made, -you find yourself opposite Greenwich (farewell, sweet, sweet -whitebait!), and quiet begins to enter your soul. Your wife smiles for -the first time these ten days; you pass by plantations of ship-masts, -and forests of steam-chimneys; the sailors are singing on board the -ships, the barges salute you with oaths, grins, and phrases facetious -and familiar; the man on the paddle-box roars, ‘Ease her, stop her!’ -which mysterious words a shrill voice from below repeats, and pipes out, -‘Ease her, stop her!’ in echo: the deck is crowded with groups of -figures, and the sun shines over all.</p> - -<p>The sun shines over all, and the steward comes up to say, ‘Lunch, ladies -and gentlemen! Will any lady or gentleman please to take anythink?’ -About a dozen do: boiled beef and pickles, and great, red, raw Cheshire -cheese, tempt the epicure: little dumpy bottles of stout are produced, -and fizz and bang about with a spirit one would never have looked for in -individuals of their size and stature.</p> - -<p>The decks have a strange look; the people on them, that is. Wives, -elderly stout husbands, nursemaids, and children predominate, of course, -in English steamboats. Such may be considered as the distinctive marks -of the English gentleman at three or four and forty: two or three of -such groups have pitched their camps on the deck. Then there are a -number of young men, of whom three or four have allowed their moustaches -to <i>begin</i> to grow since last Friday; for they are going ‘on the -Continent,’ and<a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a> they look, therefore, as if their upper lips were -smeared with snuff.</p> - -<p>A <i>danseuse</i> from the opera is on her way to Paris. Followed by her -<i>bonne</i> and her little dog, she paces the deck, stepping out, in the -real dancer fashion, and ogling all around. How happy the two young -Englishmen are, who can speak French, and make up to her: and how all -criticise her points and paces! Yonder is a group of young ladies, who -are going to Paris to learn how to be governesses: those two splendidly -dressed ladies are milliners from the Rue Richelieu, who have just -brought over, and disposed of, their cargo of summer fashions. Here sits -the Rev. Mr. Snodgrass with his pupils, whom he is conducting to his -establishment, near Boulogne, where, in addition to a classical and -mathematical education (washing included), the young gentlemen have the -benefit of learning French among <i>the French themselves</i>. Accordingly, -the young gentlemen are locked up in a great rickety house, two miles -from Boulogne, and never see a soul, except the French usher and the -cook.</p> - -<p>Some few French people are there already, preparing to be ill—(I never -shall forget a dreadful sight I once had in the little, dark, dirty, -six-foot cabin of a Dover steamer. Four gaunt Frenchmen, but for their -pantaloons, in the costume of Adam in Paradise, solemnly anointing -themselves with some charm against sea-sickness!)—a few Frenchmen are -there, but these, for the most part, and with a proper philosophy, go to -the fore-cabin of the ship, and you see them on the fore-deck (is that -the name for that part of the vessel which is in the region of the -bowsprit?) lowering in huge cloaks and caps; snuffy, wretched, pale, and -wet; and not jabbering now, as their wont is on shore. I never could -fancy the Mounseers formidable at sea.</p> - -<p>There are, of course, many Jews on board. Who ever travelled by -steamboat, coach, diligence, eilwagen, vetturino, mule-back, or sledge -without meeting some of the wandering race?</p> - -<p>By the time these remarks have been made the steward is on the deck -again, and dinner is ready: and about two hours after dinner comes tea; -and then there is brandy-and-water, which he eagerly presses as a -preventive against what may happen; and about this time you pass the -Foreland, the wind blowing pretty fresh; and the groups on deck -disappear, and your wife, giving you an alarmed look, descends, with her -little ones, to the ladies’ cabin, and you see the steward and his boys -issuing from their den under the paddle-box, with each a heap of round -tin vases, like those which are called, I believe, in America, -<i>expectoratoons</i>, only these are larger.<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a></p> - -<p>The wind blows, the water looks greener and more beautiful than -ever—ridge by ridge of long white rock passes away. ‘That’s Ramsgit,’ -says the man at the helm; and, presently, ‘That there’s Deal—it’s -dreadful fallen off since the war;’ and ‘That’s Dover, round that there -pint, only you can’t see it;’ and, in the meantime, the sun has plumped -his hot face into the water, and the moon has shown hers as soon as ever -his back is turned, and Mrs. —— (the wife in general) has brought up -her children and self from the horrid cabin, in which, she says, it is -impossible to breathe; and the poor little wretches are, by the -officious stewardess and smart steward (expectoratoonifer), accommodated -with a heap of blankets, pillows, and mattresses, in the midst of which -they crawl, as best they may, and from the heaving heap of which are, -during the rest of the voyage, heard occasional faint cries, and sounds -of puking woe!</p> - -<p>Dear, dear Maria! Is this the woman who, anon, braved the jeers and -brutal wrath of swindling hackney-coachmen; who repelled the insolence -of haggling porters, with a scorn that brought down their demands at -least eighteenpence? Is this the woman at whose voice servants tremble; -at the sound of whose steps the nursery, ay, and mayhap the parlour, is -in order? Look at her now, prostrate, prostrate—no strength has she to -speak, scarce power to push to her youngest one—her suffering, -struggling Rosa,—to push to her the—the instrumentoon!</p> - -<p>In the midst of all these throes and agonies, at which all the -passengers, who have their own woes (you yourself—for how can you help -<i>them</i>?—you are on your back on a bench, and if you move all is up with -you), are looking on indifferent—one man there is who has been watching -you with the utmost care, and bestowing on your helpless family the -tenderness that a father denies them. He is a foreigner, and you have -been conversing with him, in the course of the morning, in -French—which, he says, you speak remarkably well, like a native, in -fact, and then in English (which, after all, you find, is more -convenient). What can express your gratitude to this gentleman for all -his goodness towards your family and yourself?—you talk to him, he has -served under the Emperor, and is, for all that, sensible, modest, and -well informed. He speaks, indeed, of his countrymen almost with -contempt, and readily admits the superiority of a Briton, on the seas -and elsewhere. One loves to meet with such genuine liberality in a -foreigner, and respects the man who can sacrifice vanity to truth. This -distinguished foreigner has travelled much; he asks whither you are -going?—where you stop?—if you have a great quantity of<a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a> luggage on -board?—and laughs when he hears of the twenty-seven packages, and hopes -you have some friend at the custom-house, who can spare you the -monstrous trouble of unpacking that which has taken you weeks to put up. -Nine, ten, eleven, the distinguished foreigner is ever at your side; you -find him now, perhaps (with characteristic ingratitude), something of a -bore, but, at least, he has been most tender to the children and their -mamma. At last a Boulogne light comes in sight (you see it over the bows -of the vessel, when, having bobbed violently upwards, it sinks swiftly -down), Boulogne harbour is in sight, and the foreigner says:</p> - -<p>The distinguished foreigner says, says he—‘Sare, eef you af no ‘otel, I -sall recommend you, milor, to ze ‘Otel Betfort, in ze Quay, sare, close -to the bathing-machines and custom-ha-oose. Good bets and fine garten, -sare; table-d’hôte, sare, à cinq-heures; breakfast, sare, in French or -English style;—I am the commissionaire, sare, and vill see to your -loggish.’</p> - -<p>...Curse the fellow, for an impudent, swindling, sneaking, French -humbug!—Your tone instantly changes, and you tell him to go about his -business; but at twelve o’clock at night, when the voyage is over, and -the custom-house business done, knowing not whither to go, with a wife -and fourteen exhausted children, scarce able to stand, and longing for -bed, you find yourself, somehow, in the Hôtel Bedford (and you can’t be -better), and smiling chambermaids carry off your children to snug beds; -while smart waiters produce for your honour—a cold fowl, say, and a -salad, and a bottle of Bordeaux and seltzer-water.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The morning comes—I don’t know a pleasanter feeling than that of waking -with the sun shining on objects quite new, and (although you may have -made the voyage a dozen times) quite strange. Mrs. X. and you occupy a -very light bed, which has a tall canopy of red <i>percale</i>; the windows -are smartly draped with cheap gaudy calicoes and muslins; there are -little mean strips of carpet about the tiled floor of the room, and yet -all seems as gay and as comfortable as may be—the sun shines brighter -than you have seen it for a year, the sky is a thousand times bluer, and -what a cheery clatter of shrill quick French voices comes up from the -courtyard under the windows! Bells are jangling; a family, mayhap, is -going to Paris <i>en poste</i>, and wondrous is the jabber of the courier, -the postillion, the inn-waiters, and the lookers-on. The landlord calls -out for ‘Quatre biftecks aux pommes, pour le trente-trois’—(O my -countrymen! I love your tastes and your ways!)—the chambermaid is -laughing, and says, ‘Finissez donc,<a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a> Monsieur Pierre!’ (what can they be -about?)—a fat Englishman has opened his window violently, and says, -‘Dee dong, garsong, vooly voo me donny lo sho, ou vooly voo pah?’ He has -been ringing for half an hour—the last energetic appeal succeeds, and -shortly he is enabled to descend to the coffee-room, where, with three -hot rolls, grilled ham, cold fowl, and four boiled eggs, he makes what -he calls his first <i>French</i> breakfast.</p> - -<p>It is a strange, mongrel, merry place, this town of Boulogne; the little -French fishermen’s children are beautiful, and the little French -soldiers, four feet high, red-breeched, with huge <i>pompons</i> on their -caps, and brown faces, and clear sharp eyes, look, for all their -littleness, far more military and more intelligent than the heavy louts -one has seen swaggering about the garrison towns in England. Yonder go a -crowd of bare-legged fishermen; there is the town idiot, mocking a woman -who is screaming ‘Fleuve du Tage,’ at an inn-window, to a harp, and -there are the little gamins mocking <i>him</i>. Lo! these seven young ladies, -with red hair and green veils, they are from neighbouring Albion, and -going to bathe. Here come three Englishmen, <i>habitués</i> evidently of the -place,—dandy specimens of our countrymen: one wears a marine dress, -another has a shooting dress, a third has a blouse and a pair of -guiltless spurs—all have as much hair on the face as nature or art can -supply, and all wear their hats very much on one side. Believe me, there -is on the face of this world no scamp like an English one, no blackguard -like one of these half-gentlemen, so mean, so low, so vulgar,—so -ludicrously ignorant and conceited, so desperately heartless and -depraved.</p> - -<p>But why, my dear sir, get into a passion?—Take things coolly. As the -poet has observed, ‘Those only is gentlemen who behave as sich;’ with -such, then, consort, be they cobblers or dukes. Don’t give us, cries the -patriotic reader, any abuse of our fellow-countrymen (anybody else can -do that), but rather continue in that good-humoured, facetious, -descriptive style, with which your letter has commenced. Your remark, -sir, is perfectly just, and does honour to your head and excellent -heart.</p> - -<p>There is little need to give a description of the good town of Boulogne; -which, haute and basse, with the new lighthouse and the new harbour, and -the gas-lamps, and the manufactures, and the convents, and the number of -English and French residents, and the pillar erected in honour of the -grand <i>Armée d’Angleterre</i>, so called because it <i>didn’t</i> go to England, -have all been excellently described by the facetious Coglan, the learned -Dr. Millingen, and by innumerable guide-books besides. A fine thing it -is to hear the stout old Frenchmen of Napoleon’s time argue how that<a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a> -audacious Corsican <i>would</i> have marched to London, after swallowing -Nelson and all his gunboats, but for <i>cette malheureuse guerre -d’Espagne</i> and <i>cette glorieuse campagne d’Autriche</i>, which the gold of -Pitt caused to be raised at the Emperors tail, in order to call him off -from the helpless country in his front. Some Frenchmen go farther still, -and vow that in Spain they were never beaten at all; indeed, if you read -in the <i>Biographie des Hommes du Jour</i>, article ‘Soult,’ you will fancy -that, with the exception of the disaster at Vittoria, the campaigns in -Spain and Portugal were a series of triumphs. Only, by looking at a map, -it is observable that Vimieiro is a mortal long way from Toulouse, -where, at the end of certain years of victories, we somehow find the -honest Marshal. And what then?—he went to Toulouse for the purpose of -beating the English there, to be sure;—a known fact, on which comment -would be superfluous. However, we shall never get to Paris at this rate; -let us break off further palaver, and away at once....</p> - -<p>(During this pause, the ingenious reader is kindly requested to pay his -bill at the hôtel at Boulogne, to mount the diligence of Laffitte, -Caillard, and Company, and to travel for twenty-five hours, amidst much -jingling of harness-bells and screaming of postillions.)</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The French milliner, who occupies one of the corners, begins to remove -the greasy pieces of paper which have enveloped her locks during the -journey. She withdraws the ‘Madras’ of dubious hue which has bound her -head for the last five-and-twenty hours, and replaces it by the black -velvet bonnet, which, bobbing against your nose, has hung from the -diligence roof since your departure from Boulogne. The old lady in the -opposite corner, who has been sucking bonbons, and smells dreadfully of -anisette, arranges her little parcels in that immense basket of -abominations which all old women carry in their laps. She rubs her mouth -and eyes with her dusty cambric handkerchief, she ties up her nightcap -into a little bundle, and replaces it by a more becoming headpiece, -covered with withered artificial flowers and crumpled tags of ribbon; -she looks wistfully at the company for an instant, and then places her -handkerchief before her mouth:—her eyes roll strangely about for an -instant, and you hear a faint clattering noise: the old lady has been -getting her teeth ready, which had lain in her basket among the bonbons, -pins, oranges, pomatum, bits of cake, lozenges, prayer-books, -peppermint-water, copper-money, and false hair—stowed away there during -the voyage. The Jewish gentleman, who has been so attentive to the -milliner<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> during the journey, and is traveller and bagman by profession, -gathers together his various goods. The sallow-faced English lad, who -has been drunk ever since we left Boulogne yesterday, and is coming to -Paris to pursue the study of medicine, swears that he rejoices to leave -the cursed diligence, is sick of the infernal journey, and d—d glad -that the d—d voyage is so nearly over. ‘Enfin!’ says your neighbour, -yawning, and inserting an elbow in the mouth of his right-and left-hand -companion, ‘nous voilà.’</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nous voilà!</span>—We are at Paris! This must account for the removal of the -milliner’s curl-papers, and the fixing of the old lady’s teeth.—Since -the last <i>relais</i>, the diligence has been travelling with extraordinary -speed. The postillion cracks his terrible whip, and screams shrilly. The -conductor blows incessantly on his horn, the bells of the harness, the -bumping and ringing of the wheels and chains, and the clatter of the -great hoofs of the heavy snorting Norman stallions, have wondrously -increased within this the last ten minutes; and the diligence, which has -been proceeding hitherto at the rate of a league an hour, now dashes -gallantly forward, as if it would traverse at least six miles in the -same space of time. Thus it is, when Sir Robert maketh a speech at St. -Stephen’s—he useth his strength at the beginning, only, and the end. He -gallopeth at the commencement; in the middle he lingers; at the close, -again, he rouses the House, which has fallen asleep; he cracketh the -whip of his satire; he shouts the shout of his patriotism; and, urging -his eloquence to its roughest canter, awakens the sleepers, and inspires -the weary, until men say, What a wondrous orator! What a capital coach! -We will ride henceforth in it, and in no other!</p> - -<p>But, behold us at Paris! The diligence has reached a rude-looking gate, -or <i>grille</i>, flanked by two lodges; the French kings of old made their -entry by this gate; some of the hottest battles of the late revolution -were fought before it. At present, it is blocked by carts and peasants, -and a busy crowd of men, in green, examining the packages before they -enter, probing the straw with long needles. It is the Barrier of St. -Denis, and the green men are the customs’ men of the city of Paris. If -you are a countryman, who would introduce a cow into the metropolis, the -city demands twenty-four francs for such a privilege: if you have a -hundredweight of tallow-candles, you must, previously, disburse three -francs: if a drove of hogs, nine francs per whole hog: but upon these -subjects Mr. Bulwer, Mrs. Trollope, and other writers have already -enlightened the public. In the present instance, after a momentary -pause, one of the men in green mounts by the side of the conductor, and -the ponderous vehicle pursues its journey.<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a></p> - -<p>The street which we enter, that of the Faubourg St. Denis, presents a -strange contrast to the dark uniformity of a London street, where -everything, in the dingy and smoky atmosphere, looks as though it were -painted in India-ink—black houses, black passengers, and black sky. -Here, on the contrary, is a thousand times more life and colour. Before -you, shining in the sun, is a long glistening line of <i>gutter</i>—not a -very pleasing object in a city, but in a picture invaluable. On each -side are houses of all dimensions and hues; some but of one story; some -as high as the Tower of Babel. From these the haberdashers (and this is -their favourite street) flaunt long strips of gaudy calicoes, which give -a strange air of rude gaiety to the looks. Milkwomen, with a little -crowd of gossips round each, are, at this early hour of morning, selling -the chief material of the Parisian <i>café-au-lait</i>. Gay wineshops, -painted red, and smartly decorated with vines and gilded railings, are -filled with workmen taking their morning’s draught. That gloomy-looking -prison on your right is a prison for women; once it was a convent for -Lazarists: a thousand unfortunate individuals of the softer sex now -occupy that mansion; they bake, as we find in the guide-books, the bread -of all the other prisons; they mend and wash the shirts and stockings of -all the other prisoners; they make hooks and eyes and phosphorus-boxes, -and they attend chapel every Sunday:—if occupation can help them, sure -they have enough of it. Was it not a great stroke of the Legislature to -superintend the morals and linen at once, and thus keep these poor -creatures continually mending?—But we have passed the prison long ago, -and are at the Porte St. Denis itself.</p> - -<p>There is only time to take a hasty glance as we pass; it commemorates -some of the wonderful feats of arms of Ludovicus Magnus, and abounds in -ponderous allegories—nymphs and river-gods, and pyramids crowned with -fleurs-de-lis; Louis passing over the Rhine in triumph, and the Dutch -Lion giving up the ghost, in the year of our Lord 1672. The Dutch Lion -revived, and overcame the man some years afterwards; but of this fact, -singularly enough, the inscriptions make no mention. Passing, then, -<i>round</i> the gate, and not under it (after the general custom, in respect -of triumphal arches), you cross the Boulevard, which gives a glimpse of -trees and sunshine, and gleaming white buildings; then, dashing down the -Rue de Bourbon Villeneuve, a dirty street, which seems interminable, and -the Rue St. Eustache, the conductor gives a last blast on his horn, and -the great vehicle clatters into the courtyard, where its journey is -destined to conclude.</p> - -<p>If there was a noise before of screaming postillions and cracked<a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> horns, -it was nothing to the Babel-like clatter which greets us now. We are in -a great court, which Hajji Baba would call the father of diligences. -Half a dozen other coaches arrive at the same minute—no light affairs, -like your English vehicles, but ponderous machines, containing fifteen -passengers inside, more in the cabriolet, and vast towers of luggage on -the roof: others are loading: the yard is filled with passengers coming -or departing;—bustling porters and screaming commissionaires. These -latter seize you as you descend from your place,—twenty cards are -thrust into your hand, and as many voices, jabbering with inconceivable -swiftness, shriek into your ear, ‘Dis way, sare; are you for ze Otel of -Rhin? Hôtel de l’Amirauté!—Hôtel Bristol, sare?—Monsieur, l’Hôtel de -Lille? Sacr-rrré nom de Dieu, laissez passer ce petit Monsieur! Ow mosh -loggish ave you, sare?’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p10_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p10_sml.jpg" width="164" height="131" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>And now, if you are a stranger in Paris, listen to the words of -Titmarsh. If you cannot speak a syllable of French, and love English -comfort, clean rooms, breakfasts, and waiters; if you would have -plentiful dinners, and are not particular (as how should you be?) -concerning wine; if, in this foreign country, you <i>will</i> have your -English companions, your porter, your friend, and your -brandy-and-water—do not listen to any of these commissioner fellows, -but with your best English accent shout out boldly, <span class="smcap">Meurice</span>! and -straightway a man will step forward to conduct you to the Rue de Rivoli.</p> - -<p>Here you find apartments at any price: a very neat room, for instance, -for three francs daily; an English breakfast of eternal<a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> boiled eggs, or -grilled ham; a nondescript dinner, profuse but cold; and a society which -will rejoice your heart. Here are young gentlemen from the Universities; -young merchants on a lark; large families of nine daughters, with fat -father and mother; officers of dragoons, and lawyers’ clerks. The last -time we dined at Meurice’s we hobbed and nobbed with no less a person -than Mr. Moses, the celebrated bailiff of Chancery Lane; Lord Brougham -was on his right, and a clergyman’s lady, with a train of white-haired -girls, sat on his left, wonderfully taken with the diamond rings of the -fascinating stranger!</p> - -<p>It is, as you will perceive, an admirable way to see Paris, especially -if you spend your days reading the English papers at Galignani’s, as -many of our foreign tourists do.</p> - -<p>But all this is promiscuous, and not to the purpose. If,—to continue on -the subject of hotel-choosing,—if you love quiet, heavy bills, and the -best <i>table-d’hôte</i> in the city, go, O stranger! to the Hôtel des -Princes; it is close to the Boulevard, and convenient for Frascati’s. -The Hôtel Mirabeau possesses scarcely less attraction; but of this you -will find, in Mr. Bulwer’s <i>Autobiography of Pelham</i>, a faithful and -complete account. Lawson’s Hotel has likewise its merits, as also the -Hôtel de Lille, which may be described as a ‘second chop’ Meurice.</p> - -<p>If you are a poor student come to study the humanities, or the pleasant -art of amputation, cross the water forthwith, and proceed to the Hôtel -Corneille, near the Odéon, or others of its species; there are many -where you can live royally (until you economise by going into lodgings) -on four francs a day; and where, if by any strange chance you are -desirous for a while to get rid of your countrymen, you will find that -they scarcely ever penetrate.</p> - -<p>But, above all O, my countrymen! shun boarding-houses, especially if you -have ladies in your train; or ponder well, and examine the characters of -the keepers thereof, before you lead your innocent daughters, and their -mamma, into places so dangerous. In the first place, you have bad -dinners; and, secondly, bad company. If you play cards, you are very -likely playing with a swindler; if you dance, you dance with a—— -person with whom you had better have nothing to do.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Note</span> (which ladies are requested not to read).—In one of these -establishments, daily advertised as most eligible for English, a friend -of the writer lived. A lady, who had passed for some time as the wife of -one of the inmates, suddenly changed her husband and name, her original -husband remaining in the house, and saluting her by her new title.<a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="A_CAUTION_TO_TRAVELLERS" id="A_CAUTION_TO_TRAVELLERS"></a>A CAUTION TO TRAVELLERS</h2> - -<p class="nind">A <small>MILLION</small> dangers and snares await the traveller, as soon as he issues -out of that vast messagerie which we have just quitted; and as each man -cannot do better than relate such events as have happened in the course -of his own experience, and may keep the unwary from the path of danger, -let us take this, the very earliest opportunity, of imparting to the -public a little of the wisdom which we painfully have acquired.</p> - -<p>And first, then, with regard to the city of Paris, it is to be remarked, -that in that metropolis flourish a greater number of native and exotic -swindlers than are to be found in any other European nursery. What young -Englishman that visits it, but has not determined, in his heart, to have -a little share of the gaieties that go on—just for once, just to see -what they are like? How many, when the horrible gambling-dens were open, -did resist a sight of them?—nay, was not a young fellow rather -flattered by a dinner invitation from the Salon, whither he went, fondly -pretending that he should see ‘French society,’ in the persons of -certain Dukes and Counts who used to frequent the place?</p> - -<p>My friend Pogson is a young fellow, not much worse, although, perhaps, a -little weaker and simpler than his neighbours; and coming to Paris with -exactly the same notions that bring many others of the British youth to -that capital, events befell him there, last winter, which are strictly -true, and shall here be narrated, by way of warning to all.</p> - -<p>Pog, it must be premised, is a City man, who travels in drugs for a -couple of the best London houses, blows the flute, has an album, drives -his own gig, and is considered, both on the road and in the metropolis, -a remarkably nice, intelligent, thriving young man. Pogson’s only fault -is too great an attachment to the fair:—‘The sex,’ as he says often, -‘will be his ruin;’ the fact is, that Pog never travels without a <i>Don -Juan</i> under his driving-cushion, and is a pretty-looking young fellow -enough.</p> - -<p>Sam Pogson had occasion to visit Paris, last October; and it was in that -city that his love of the sex had like to have cost him dear. He worked -his way down to Dover; placing, right and left, at the towns on his -route, rhubarb, sodas, and other such delectable wares as his master -dealt in (‘the sweetest sample of castor-oil, smelt like a nosegay—went -off like wildfire—hogshead and a-half at Rochester, eight-and-twenty -gallons at Canterbury,’ and so on), and crossed to Calais, and thence -voyaged to Paris in the coupé<a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a> of the diligence. He paid for two places, -too, although a single man, and the reason shall now be made known.</p> - -<p>Dining at the <i>table-d’hôte</i> at Quillacq’s—it is the best inn on the -continent of Europe—our little traveller had the happiness to be placed -next to a lady, who was, he saw at a glance, one of the extreme pink of -the nobility. A large lady, in black satin, with eyes and hair as black -as sloes, with gold chains, scent-bottles, sable tippet, worked -pocket-handkerchief, and four twinkling rings on each of her plump white -fingers. Her cheeks were as pink as the finest Chinese rouge could make -them: Pog knew the article; he travelled in it. Her lips were as red as -the ruby lip-salve: she used the very best, that was clear.</p> - -<p>She was a fine-looking woman, certainly (holding down her eyes, and -talking perpetually of <i>mes trente-deux ans</i>); and Pogson, the wicked -young dog! who professed not to care for young misses, saying they smelt -so of bread-and-butter, declared, at once, that the lady was one of -<i>his</i> beauties; in fact, when he spoke to us about her, he said, ‘She’s -a slap-up thing, I tell you; a reg’lar good one; <i>one of my sort</i>!’ And -such was Pogson’s credit in all commercial rooms, that one of <i>his</i> sort -was considered to pass all other sorts.</p> - -<p>During dinner-time, Mr. Pogson was profoundly polite and attentive to -the lady at his side, and kindly communicated to her, as is the way with -the best-bred English on their first arrival ‘on the Continent,’ all his -impressions regarding the sights and persons he had seen. Such remarks -having been made during half an hour’s ramble about the ramparts and -town, and in the course of a walk down to the custom-house, and a -confidential communication with the commissionaire, must be, doubtless, -very valuable to Frenchmen in their own country: and the lady listened -to Pogson’s opinions, not only with benevolent attention, but actually, -she said, with pleasure and delight. Mr. Pogson said that there was no -such thing as good meat in France, and that’s why they cooked their -victuals in this queer way: he had seen many soldiers parading about the -place, and expressed a true Englishman’s abhorrence of an armed force; -not that he feared such fellows as these—little whipper-snappers—our -men would eat them. Hereupon the lady admitted that our Guards were -angels, but that Monsieur must not be too hard upon the French; ‘her -father was a General of the Emperor.’</p> - -<p>Pogson felt a tremendous respect for himself, at the notion that he was -dining with a General’s daughter, and instantly ordered a bottle of -champagne to keep up his consequence.</p> - -<p>‘Mrs. Bironn, ma’am,’ said he, for he had heard the waiter call her by -some such name, ‘if you <i>will</i> accept a glass of champagne,<a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a> ma’am, -you’ll do me, I’m sure, great <i>h</i>onour: they say it’s very good, and a -precious sight cheaper than it is on our side of the way, too—not that -I care for money. Mrs. Bironn, ma’am, your health, ma’am.’</p> - -<p>The lady smiled very graciously, and drank the wine.</p> - -<p>‘Har you any relation, ma’am, if I may make so bold; har you anyways -connected with the family of our immortal bard?’</p> - -<p>‘Sir, I beg your pardon.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t mention it, ma’am: but Bi<i>ronn</i> and <i>By</i>ron are hevidently the -same names, only you pronounce in the French way; and I thought you -might be related to his lordship: his horigin, ma’am, was of French -extraction:’ and here Pogson began to repeat:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Hare thy heyes like thy mother’s, my fair child,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Hada! sole daughter of my ouse and art.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘Oh!’ said the lady, laughing, ‘you speak of <i>Lor</i> Byron.’</p> - -<p>‘Hauthor of <i>Don Juan</i>, <i>Child Arold</i>, and <i>Cain, a Mystery,’</i> said -Pogson: ‘I do; and hearing the waiter calling you Madam la Bironn, took -the liberty of hasking whether you were connected with his -lordship;—that’s hall;’ and my friend here grew dreadfully red, and -began twiddling his long ringlets in his fingers, and examining very -eagerly the contents of his plate.</p> - -<p>‘Oh no: Madame la Baronne means Mistress Baroness; my husband was Baron, -and I am Baroness.’</p> - -<p>‘What! ‘ave I the honour—I beg your pardon, ma’am—is your ladyship a -Baroness, and I not know it; pray excuse me for calling you ma’am.’</p> - -<p>The Baroness smiled most graciously—with such a look as Juno cast upon -unfortunate Jupiter when she wished to gain her wicked ends upon -him—the Baroness smiled; and, stealing her hand into a black velvet -bag, drew from it an ivory card-case, and from the ivory card-case -extracted a glazed card, printed in gold; on it was engraved a coronet, -and under the coronet the words—</p> - -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="c"> -BARONNE DE FLORVAL-DELVAL,<br /> - -<small>NÉE DE MELVAL-NORVAL.</small></p> - -<p><small><i>Rue Taitbout</i>.</small><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p15_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p15_sml.jpg" width="221" height="334" alt="MR. POGSON’S TEMPTATION" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">MR. POGSON’S TEMPTATION</span> -</p> - -<p>The grand Pitt diamond—the Queen’s own star of the garter—a sample of -otto-of-roses at a guinea a drop, would not be handled more curiously, -or more respectfully, than this porcelain card of the<a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a> Baroness. -Trembling he put it into his little Russia-leather pocket-book: and when -he ventured to look up, and saw the eyes of the Baroness de -Florval-Delval, née de Melval-Norval, gazing upon him with friendly and -serene glances, a thrill of pride tingled through Pogson’s blood: he -felt himself to be the very happiest fellow ‘on the Continent.’</p> - -<p>But Pogson did not, for some time, venture to resume that sprightly and -elegant familiarity which generally forms the great charm of his -conversation: he was too much frightened at the presence he was in, and -contented himself by graceful and solemn bows, deep attention, and -ejaculations of ‘Yes, my lady,’ and ‘No, your ladyship,’ for some -minutes after the discovery had been made. Pogson piqued himself on his -breeding: ‘I hate the aristocracy,’ he said, ‘but that’s no reason why I -shouldn’t behave like a gentleman.’</p> - -<p>A surly, silent little gentleman, who had been the third at the -ordinary, and would take no part either in the conversation or in -Pogson’s champagne, now took up his hat, and, grunting, left the room, -when the happy bagman had the delight of a <i>tête-à-tête</i>. The Baroness -did not appear inclined to move: it was cold; a fire was comfortable, -and she had ordered none in her apartment. Might Pogson give her one -more glass of champagne, or would her ladyship prefer ‘something hot.’ -Her ladyship gravely said, she never took <i>anything</i> hot! ‘Some -champagne, then, a leetle drop?’ She would! she would! Oh, gods! how -Pogson’s hand shook as he filled and offered her the glass!</p> - -<p>What took place during the rest of the evening had better be described -by Mr. Pogson himself, who has given us permission to publish his -letter:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="r"> -‘<span class="smcap">Quillacq’s Hotel</span> (<i>pronounced</i> <span class="smcap">Killyax</span>), <span class="smcap">Calais</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Tit</span>,—I arrived at Cally, as they call it, this day, or, -rather, yesterday; for it is past midnight, as I sit thinking of a -wonderful adventure that has just befallen me. A woman, in course; -that’s always the case with <i>me</i>, you know: but oh, Tit! if you -<i>could</i> but see her! Of the first family in France, the -Florval-Melvals, beautiful as an angel, and no more caring for -money than I do for split peas.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll tell you how it all occurred. Everybody in France, you know, -dines at the ordinary—it’s quite distangy to do so. There was only -three of us to-day, however,—the Baroness, me, and a gent, who -never spoke a word; and we didn’t want him to, neither: do you mark -that?</p> - -<p>‘You know my way with the women; champagne’s the thing;<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> make ‘em -drink, make ‘em talk;—make ‘em talk, make ‘em do anything. So I -orders a bottle, as if for myself; and, “Ma’am,” says I, “will you -take a glass of Sham—just one?” Take it she did—for you know it’s -quite distangy here: everybody dines at the <i>table-d’hôte</i>, and -everybody accepts everybody’s wine. Bob Irons, who travels in -linen, on our circuit, told me that he had made some slap-up -acquaintances among the genteelest people at Paris, nothing but by -offering them Sham.</p> - -<p>‘Well, my Baroness takes one glass, two glasses, three glasses—the -old fellow goes—we have a deal of chat (she took me for a military -man, she said: is it not singular that so many people should?), and -by ten o’clock we had grown so intimate, that I had from her her -whole history, knew where she came from, and where she was going. -Leave me alone with ‘em; I can find out any woman’s history in half -an hour.</p> - -<p>‘And where do you think she <i>is</i> going? to Paris, to be sure: she -has her seat in what they call the coopy (though you’re not near so -cooped in it as in our coaches. I’ve been to the office and seen -one of ‘em). She has her place in the coopy, and the coopy holds -<i>three</i>; so what does Sam Pogson do?—he goes and takes the other -two. Ain’t I up to a thing or two? Oh no, not the least; but I -shall have her to myself the whole of the way.</p> - -<p>‘We shall be in the French metropolis the day after this reaches -you: please look out for a handsome lodging for me, and never mind -the expense. And I say, if you could, in her hearing, when you come -down to the coach, call me Captain Pogson, I wish you would—it -sounds well travelling, you know; and when she asked me if I was an -officer, I couldn’t say no. Adieu, then, my dear fellow, till -Monday, and vive le joy, as they say. The Baroness says I speak -French charmingly, she talks English as well as you or I.—Your -affectionate friend, <span class="smcap">S. Pogson</span>.’</p></div> - -<p>This letter reached us duly, in our garrets, and we engaged such an -apartment for Mr. Pogson as beseemed a gentleman of his rank in the -world and the army. At the appointed hour, too, we repaired to the -diligence office, and there beheld the arrival of the machine which -contained him and his lovely Baroness.</p> - -<p>Those who have much frequented the society of gentlemen of his -profession (and what more delightful?) must be aware that, when all the -rest of mankind look hideous, dirty, peevish, wretched, after a forty -hours’ coach-journey, a bagman appears as gay and as spruce as when he -started; having within himself a thousand little conveniences for the -voyage, which common travellers neglect. Pogson had a little portable -toilet, of which he had not failed to take<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a> advantage, and with his -long, curling, flaxen hair, flowing under a sealskin cap, with a gold -tassel, with a blue-and-gold satin handkerchief, a crimson velvet -waistcoat, a light green cut-away coat, a pair of barred -brick-dust-coloured pantaloons, and a neat mackintosh, presented, -altogether, as elegant and <i>distingué</i> an appearance as any one could -desire. He had put on a clean collar at breakfast, and a pair of white -kids as he entered the barrier, and looked, as he rushed into my arms, -more like a man stepping out of a bandbox than one descending from a -vehicle that has just performed one of the laziest, dullest, flattest, -stalest, dirtiest journeys in Europe.</p> - -<p>To my surprise, there were <i>two</i> ladies in the coach with my friend, and -not <i>one</i>, as I had expected. One of these, a stout female, carrying -sundry baskets, bags, umbrellas, and woman’s wraps, was evidently a -maid-servant; the other, in black, was Pogson’s fair one, evidently. I -could see a gleam of curl-papers over a sallow face,—of a dusky -nightcap flapping over the curl-papers,—but these were hidden by a lace -veil and a huge velvet bonnet, of which the crowning birds-of-paradise -were evidently in a moulting state. She was encased in many shawls and -wrappers; she put, hesitatingly, a pretty little foot out of the -carriage—Pogson was by her side in an instant, and, gallantly putting -one of his white kids round her waist, aided this interesting creature -to descend. I saw, by her walk, that she was five-and-forty, and that my -little Pogson was a lost man.</p> - -<p>After some brief parley between them—in which it was charming to hear -how my friend Samuel <i>would</i> speak what he called French to a lady who -could not understand one syllable of his jargon—the mutual -hackney-coaches drew up; Madame la Baronne waved to the Captain a -graceful French curtsey. ‘<i>Ad</i>you!’ said Samuel, and waved his lily -hand. ‘<i>Adyou-addimang.</i>’</p> - -<p>A brisk little gentleman, who had made the journey in the same coach -with Pogson, but had more modestly taken a seat in the imperial, here -passed us, and greeted me with a ‘How d’ye do?’ He had shouldered his -own little valise, and was trudging off, scattering a cloud of -commissionaires, who would have fain spared him the trouble.</p> - -<p>‘Do you know that chap?’ says Pogson; ‘surly fellow, ain’t he?’</p> - -<p>‘The kindest man in existence,’ answered I; ‘all the world knows Major -British.’</p> - -<p>‘He’s a Major, is he?—why, that’s the fellow that dined with us at -Killyax’s; it’s lucky I did not call myself Captain before him, he -mightn’t have liked it, you know:’ and then Sam fell into a -reverie;—what was the subject of his thoughts soon appeared.<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a></p> - -<p>‘Did you ever <i>see</i> such a foot and ankle?’ said Sam, after sitting for -some time, regardless of the novelty of the scene; his hands in his -pockets, plunged in the deepest thought.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Isn’t</i> she a slap-up woman, eh, now?’ pursued he; and began -enumerating her attractions, as a horse-jockey would the points of a -favourite animal.</p> - -<p>‘You seem to have gone a pretty length already,’ said I, ‘by promising -to visit her to morrow.’</p> - -<p>‘A good length?—I believe you. Leave <i>me</i> alone for that.’</p> - -<p>‘But I thought you were only to be two in the <i>coupé</i>, you wicked -rogue.’</p> - -<p>‘Two in the <i>coupy</i>? Oh! ah! yes, you know—why, that is, I didn’t know -she had her maid with her (what an ass I was to think of a noblewoman -travelling without one!), and couldn’t, in course, refuse, when she -asked me to let the maid in.’</p> - -<p>‘Of course not.’</p> - -<p>‘Couldn’t, you know, as a man of <i>h</i>onour; but I made up for all that,’ -said Pogson, winking slily, and putting his hand to his little bunch of -a nose, in a very knowing way.</p> - -<p>‘You did, and how?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, you dog, I sat next to her; sat in the middle the whole way, and -my back’s half broke, I can tell you:’ and thus having depicted his -happiness, we soon reached the inn where this back-broken young man was -to lodge during his stay in Paris.</p> - -<p>The next day, at five, we met; Mr. Pogson had seen his Baroness, and -described her lodgings, in his own expressive way, as ‘slap-up.’ She had -received him quite like an old friend; treated him to <i>eau sucrée</i>, of -which beverage he expressed himself a great admirer: and actually asked -him to dine the next day. But there was a cloud over the ingenuous -youth’s brow, and I inquired still further.</p> - -<p>‘Why,’ said he, with a sigh, ‘I thought she was a widow; and, hang it! -who should come in but her husband the Baron; a big fellow, sir, with a -blue coat, a red ribbing, and <i>such</i> a pair of mustachios!’</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘he didn’t turn you out, I suppose?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh no! on the contrary, as kind as possible; his lordship said that he -respected the English army; asked me what corps I was in,—said he had -fought in Spain against us,—and made me welcome.’</p> - -<p>‘What could you want more?’</p> - -<p>Mr. Pogson at this only whistled; and if some very profound observer of -human nature had been there to read into this little bagman’s heart, it -would, perhaps, have been manifest, that the<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a> appearance of a whiskered -soldier of a husband had counteracted some plans that the young -scoundrel was concocting.</p> - -<p>I live up a hundred and thirty-seven steps in the remote quarter of the -Luxembourg, and it is not to be expected that such a fashionable fellow -as Sam Pogson, with his pockets full of money, and a new city to see, -should be always wandering to my dull quarters; so that, although he did -not make his appearance for some time, he must not be accused of any -lukewarmness of friendship on that score.</p> - -<p>He was out, too, when I called at his hotel; but once I had the good -fortune to see him, with his hat curiously on one side, looking as -pleased as Punch, and being driven, in an open cab, in the Champs -Élysées. ‘That’s <i>another</i> tiptop chap,’ said he, when we met, at -length. ‘What do you think of an Earl’s son, my boy? Honourable Tom -Ringwood, son of the Earl of Cinqbars: what do you think of that, eh?’</p> - -<p>I thought he was getting into very good society. Sam was a dashing -fellow, and was always above his own line of life; he had met Mr. -Ringwood at the Baron’s, and they’d been to the play together; and the -honourable gent, as Sam called him, had joked with him about being -well-to-do <i>in a certain quarter</i>; and he had had a game of billiards -with the Baron, at the <i>Estaminy</i>, ‘a very distangy place, where you -smoke,’ said Sam; ‘quite select, and frequented by the tiptop nobility;’ -and they were as thick as peas in a shell; and they were to dine that -day at Ringwood’s, and sup, the next night, with the Baroness.</p> - -<p>‘I think the chaps down the road will stare,’ said Sam, ‘when they hear -how I’ve been coming it.’ And stare, no doubt, they would; for it is -certain that very few commercial gentlemen have had Mr. Pogson’s -advantages.</p> - -<p>The next morning we had made an arrangement to go out shopping together, -and to purchase some articles of female gear, that Sam intended to -bestow on his relations when he returned. Seven needle-books, for his -sisters; a gilt buckle, for his mamma; a handsome French cashmere shawl -and bonnet, for his aunt (the old lady keeps an inn in the Borough, and -has plenty of money, and no heirs); and a toothpick case, for his -father. Sam is a good fellow to all his relations, and as for his aunt, -he adores her. Well, we were to go and make these purchases, and I -arrived punctually at my time; but Sam was stretched on a sofa, very -pale and dismal.</p> - -<p>I saw how it had been.—‘A little too much of Mr. Ringwood’s claret, I -suppose?’</p> - -<p>He only gave a sickly stare.<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a></p> - -<p>‘Where does the Honourable Tom live?’ says I.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Honourable!</i>’ says Sam, with a hollow horrid laugh; ‘I tell you, Dick, -he’s no more Honourable than you are.’</p> - -<p>‘What, an impostor?’</p> - -<p>‘No, no; not that. He is a real Honourable, only—’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, ho! I smell a rat—a little jealous, eh?’</p> - -<p>‘Jealousy be hanged! I tell you he’s a thief; and the Baron’s a thief; -and, hang me, if I think his wife is any better. Eight-and-thirty pounds -he won of me before supper; and made me drunk, and sent me home:—is -<i>that</i> honourable? How can <i>I</i> afford to lose forty pounds? It’s took me -two years to save it up:—if my old aunt gets wind of it, she’ll cut me -off with a shilling: hang me!’—and here Sam, in an agony, tore his fair -hair.</p> - -<p>While bewailing his lot in this lamentable strain, his bell was rung, -which signal being answered by a surly ‘Come in,’ a tall, very -fashionable gentleman, with a fur coat, and a fierce tuft to his chin, -entered the room. ‘Pogson, my buck, how goes it?’ said he familiarly, -and gave a stare at me: I was making for my hat.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t go,’ said Sam, rather eagerly; and I sat down again.</p> - -<p>The Honourable Mr. Ringwood hummed and ha’d: and, at last, said he -wished to speak to Mr. Pogson on business, in private, if possible.</p> - -<p>‘There’s no secrets betwixt me and my friend,’ cried Sam.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ringwood paused a little:—’ An awkward business that of last -night,’ at length exclaimed he.</p> - -<p>‘I believe it <i>was</i> an awkward business,’ said Sam drily.</p> - -<p>‘I really am very sorry for your losses.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank you: and so am I, <i>I</i> can tell you,’ said Sam.</p> - -<p>‘You must mind, my good fellow, and not drink; for, when you drink, you -<i>will</i> play high: by Gad, you led <i>us</i> in, and not we you.’</p> - -<p>‘I dare say,’ answered Sam, with something of peevishness; ‘losses is -losses: there’s no use talking about ‘em when they’re over and paid.’</p> - -<p>‘And paid?’ here wonderingly spoke Mr. Ringwood; ‘why, my dear fel—— -what the deuce—has Florval been with you?’</p> - -<p>‘D——Florval!’ growled Tom, ‘I’ve never set eyes on his face since last -night; and never wish to see him again.’</p> - -<p>‘Come, come, enough of this talk; how do you intend to settle the bills -which you gave him last night?’</p> - -<p>‘Bills! what do you mean?’</p> - -<p>‘I mean, sir, these bills,’ said the Honourable Tom, producing two out -of his pocket-book, and looking as stern as a lion. ‘“I<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> promise to pay, -on demand, to the Baron de Florval, the sum of four hundred pounds. -October 20, 1838.” “Ten days after date I promise to pay the Baron de et -cætera, et cætera, one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. Samuel Pogson.” -You didn’t say what regiment you were in.’</p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">What!</span>’ shouted poor Sam, as from a dream, starting up, and looking -preternaturally pale and hideous.</p> - -<p>‘D—— it, sir, you don’t affect ignorance: you don’t pretend not to -remember that you signed these bills, for money lost in my rooms: money -<i>lent</i> to you, by Madame de Melval, at your own request, and lost to her -husband? You don’t suppose, sir, that I shall be such an infernal idiot -as to believe you, or such a coward as to put up with a mean subterfuge -of this sort? Will you, or will you not, pay the money, sir?’</p> - -<p>‘I will not,’ said Sam stoutly; ‘it’s a d——d swin——’</p> - -<p>Here Mr. Ringwood sprang up, clenching his riding-whip, and looking so -fierce, that Sam and I bounded back to the other end of the room. ‘Utter -that word again, and, by Heaven, I’ll murder you!’ shouted Mr. Ringwood, -and looked as if he would, too: ‘once more, will you, or will you not, -pay this money?’</p> - -<p>‘I can’t,’ said Sam faintly.</p> - -<p>‘I’ll call again, Captain Pogson,’ said Mr. Ringwood, ‘I’ll call again -in one hour; and, unless you come to some arrangement, you must meet my -friend, the Baron de Melval, or I’ll post you for a swindler and a -coward.’ With this he went out; the door thundered to after him, and -when the clink of his steps departing had subsided, I was enabled to -look round at Pog. The poor little man had his elbows on the marble -table, his head between his hands, and looked as one has seen gentlemen -look over a steam-vessel off Ramsgate, the wind blowing remarkably -fresh: at last he fairly burst out crying.</p> - -<p>‘If Mrs. Pogson heard of this,’ said I, ‘what would become of the Three -Tuns?’ (for I wished to give him a lesson). ‘If your ma, who took you -every Sunday to meeting, should know that her boy was paying attention -to married women;—if Drench, Glauber, and Co., your employers, were to -know that their confidential agent was a gambler, and unfit to be -trusted with their money, how long do you think your connection would -last with them, and who would afterwards employ you?’</p> - -<p>To this poor Pog had not a word of answer; but sat on his sofa -whimpering so bitterly, that the sternest of moralists would have -relented towards him, and would have been touched by the little wretch’s -tears. Everything, too, must be pleaded in excuse for this unfortunate -bagman: who, if he wished to pass for a<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> Captain, had only done so -because he had an intense respect and longing for rank: if he had made -love to the Baroness, had only done so because he was given to -understand by Lord Byron’s <i>Don Juan</i> that making love was a very -correct, natty thing: and if he had gambled, had only been induced to do -so by the bright eyes and example of the Baron and the Baroness. O ye -Barons and Baronesses of England! if ye knew what a number of small -commoners are daily occupied in studying your lives, and imitating your -aristocratic ways, how careful would ye be of your morals, manners, and -conversation!</p> - -<p>My soul was filled, then, with a gentle yearning pity for Pogson, and -revolved many plans for his rescue: none of these seeming to be -practicable, at last we hit on the very wisest of all, and determined to -apply for counsel to no less a person than Major British.</p> - -<p>A blessing it is to be acquainted with my worthy friend, little Major -British; and Heaven, sure, it was that put the Major into my head, when -I heard of this awkward scrape of poor Pog’s. The Major is on half-pay, -and occupies a modest apartment, <i>au quatrième</i>, in the very hotel which -Pogson had patronised at my suggestion; indeed, I had chosen it from -Major British’s own peculiar recommendation.</p> - -<p>There is no better guide to follow than such a character as the honest -Major, of whom there are many likenesses now scattered over the -continent of Europe: men who love to live well, and are forced to live -cheaply, and who find the English, abroad, a thousand times easier, -merrier, and more hospitable than the same persons at home. I, for my -part, never landed on Calais pier without feeling that a load of sorrows -was left on the other side of the water; and have always fancied that -black care stepped on board the steamer, along with the custom-house -officers, at Gravesend, and accompanied one to yonder black louring -towers of London—so busy, so dismal, and so vast.</p> - -<p>British would have cut any foreigner’s throat who ventured to say so -much, but entertained, no doubt, private sentiments of this nature; for -he passed eight months of the year, regularly, abroad, with headquarters -at Paris (the garrets before alluded to), and only went to England for -the month’s shooting, on the grounds of his old Colonel, now an old -Lord, of whose acquaintance the Major was passably inclined to boast.</p> - -<p>He loved and respected, like a good staunch Tory as he is, every one of -the English nobility; gave himself certain little airs of a man of -fashion, that were by no means disagreeable; and was, indeed, kindly -regarded by such English aristocracy as he<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> met in his little annual -tours among the German courts, in Italy, or in Paris, where he never -missed an ambassador’s night, and retailed to us, who didn’t go, but -were delighted to know all that had taken place, accurate accounts of -the dishes, the dresses, and the scandal which had there fallen under -his observation.</p> - -<p>He is, however, one of the most useful persons in society that can -possibly be; for besides being incorrigibly duelsome on his own account, -he is, for others, the most acute and peaceable counsellor in the world, -and has carried more friends through scrapes and prevented more deaths -than any member of the Humane Society. British never bought a single -step in the army, as is well known. In ‘14 he killed a celebrated French -fire-eater, who had slain a young friend of his, and living, as he does, -a great deal with young men of pleasure, and good old sober family -people, he is loved by them both, and has as welcome a place made for -him at a roaring bachelor’s supper at the Café Anglais as at a staid -dowager’s dinner-table in the Faubourg St. Honoré. Such pleasant old -boys are very profitable aquaintances, let me tell you; and lucky is the -young man who has one or two such friends in his list.</p> - -<p>Hurrying on Pogson in his dress, I conducted him, panting, up to the -Major’s <i>quatrième</i>, where we were cheerfully bidden to come in. The -little gentleman was in his travelling jacket, and occupied in painting, -elegantly, one of those natty pairs of boots in which he daily -promenaded the Boulevards. A couple of pairs of tough buff gloves had -been undergoing some pipe-claying operation under his hands; no man -stepped out so spick and span, with a hat so nicely brushed, with a -stiff cravat tied so neatly under a fat little red face, with a blue -frock-coat so scrupulously fitted to a punchy little person, as Major -British, about whom we have written these two pages. He stared rather -hardly at my companion, but gave me a kind shake of the hand, and we -proceeded at once to business. ‘Major British,’ said I, ‘we want your -advice in regard to an unpleasant affair which has just occurred to my -friend Pogson.’</p> - -<p>‘Pogson, take a chair.’</p> - -<p>‘You must know, sir, that Mr. Pogson, coming from Calais the other day, -encountered, in the diligence, a very handsome woman.’</p> - -<p>British winked at Pogson, who, wretched as he was, could not help -feeling pleased.</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Pogson was not more pleased with this lovely creature than was she -with him; for, it appears, she gave him her card, invited him to her -house, where he has been constantly, and has been received with much -kindness.’</p> - -<p>‘I see,’ says British. -<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> -‘Her husband the Baron ——’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Now</i> it’s coming,’ said the Major, with a grin: ‘her husband is -jealous, I suppose, and there is a talk of the Bois de Boulogne: my dear -sir, you can’t refuse—can’t refuse.’</p> - -<p>‘It’s not that,’ said Pogson, wagging his head passionately.</p> - -<p>‘Her husband the Baron seemed quite as much taken with Pogson as his -lady was, and has introduced him to some very <i>distingués</i> friends of -his own set. Last night one of the Baron’s friends gave a party in -honour of my friend Pogson, who lost forty-eight pounds at cards -<i>before</i> he was made drunk, and Heaven knows how much after.’</p> - -<p>‘Not a shilling, by sacred Heaven!—not a shilling!’ yelled out Pogson. -‘After the supper I ad such an eadach, I couldn’t do anything but fall -asleep on the sofa.’</p> - -<p>‘You “ad such an eadach,” sir,’ said British sternly, who piques himself -on his grammar and pronunciation, and scorns a cockney.</p> - -<p>‘Such a <i>h</i>-eadache, sir,’ replied Pogson, with much meekness.</p> - -<p>‘The unfortunate man is brought home at two o’clock, as tipsy as -possible, dragged upstairs, senseless, to bed, and, on waking, receives -a visit from his entertainer of the night before—a Lord’s son, Major, a -tiptop fellow,—who brings a couple of bills that my friend Pogson is -said to have signed.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, my dear fellow, the thing’s quite simple,—he must pay them.’</p> - -<p>‘I can’t pay them.’</p> - -<p>‘He can’t pay them,’ said we both in a breath: ‘Pogson is a commercial -traveller, with thirty shillings a week, and how the deuce is he to pay -five hundred pounds?’</p> - -<p>‘A bagman, sir! and what right has a bagman to gamble? Gentlemen gamble, -sir; tradesmen, sir, have no business with the amusements of the gentry. -What business had you with Barons and Lords’ sons, sir?—serve you -right, sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Sir,’ says Pogson, with some dignity, ‘merit, and not birth, is the -criterion of a man; I despise an hereditary aristocracy, and admire only -Nature’s gentlemen. For my part, I think that a British merch—’</p> - -<p>‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ bounced out the Major, ‘and don’t lecture me; -don’t come to me, sir, with your slang about Nature’s -gentlemen—Nature’s tomfools, sir! Did Nature open a cash account for -you at a banker’s, sir! Did Nature give you an education, sir? What do -you mean by competing with people to whom Nature has given all these -things? Stick to your bags, Mr. Pogson, and your bagmen, and leave -Barons and their like to their own ways.<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, but, Major,’ here cried that faithful friend, who has always stood -by Pogson; ‘they won’t leave him alone.’</p> - -<p>‘The Honourable gent says I must fight if I don’t pay,’ whimpered Sam.</p> - -<p>‘What! fight <i>you</i>? Do you mean that the Honourable gent, as you call -him, will go out with a bagman?’</p> - -<p>‘He doesn’t know I’m a—I’m a commercial man,’ blushingly said Sam: ‘he -fancies I’m a military gent.’</p> - -<p>The Major’s gravity was quite upset at this absurd notion; and he -laughed outrageously. ‘Why, the fact is, sir,’ said I, ‘that my friend -Pogson, knowing the value of the title of Captain, and being -complimented by the Baroness on his warlike appearance, said, boldly, he -was in the army. He only assumed the rank in order to dazzle her weak -imagination, never fancying that there was a husband, and a circle of -friends, with whom he was afterwards to make an acquaintance; and then, -you know, it was too late to withdraw.’</p> - -<p>‘A pretty pickle you have put yourself in, Mr. Pogson, by making love to -other men’s wives, and calling yourself names,’ said the Major, who was -restored to good-humour. ‘And, pray, who is the <i>h</i>onourable gent?’</p> - -<p>‘The Earl of Cinqbars’ son,’ says Pogson, ‘the Honourable Tom Ringwood.’</p> - -<p>‘I thought it was some such character: and the Baron is the Baron de -Florval-Melval?’</p> - -<p>‘The very same.’</p> - -<p>‘And his wife a black-haired woman, with a pretty foot and ankle; calls -herself Athenais; and is always talking about her <i>trente-deux ans</i>? -Why, sir, that woman was an actress on the Boulevard when we were here -in ‘15. She’s no more his wife than I am. Melval’s name is Chicot. The -woman is always travelling between London and Paris: I saw she was -hooking you at Calais; she has hooked ten men, in the course of the last -two years, in this very way. She lent you money, didn’t she?’ -‘Yes.’—‘And she leans on your shoulder, and whispers, “Play half for -me,” and somebody wins it, and the poor thing is as sorry as you are, -and her husband storms and rages, and insists on double stakes; and she -leans over your shoulder again, and tells every card in your hand to -your adversary; and that’s the way it’s done, Mr. Pogson.’</p> - -<p>‘I’ve been <i>ad</i>, I see I ave,’ said Pogson very humbly.</p> - -<p>‘Well, sir,’ said the Major, ‘in consideration, not of you, sir—for, -give me leave to tell you, Mr. Pogson, that you are a pitiful little -scoundrel—in consideration for my Lord Cinqbars, sir, with<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> whom, I am -proud to say, I am intimate’ (the Major dearly loved a lord, and was, by -his own showing, acquainted with half the peerage), ‘I will aid you in -this affair. Your cursed vanity, sir, and want of principle, has set -you, in the first place, intriguing with other men’s wives; and if you -had been shot for your pains, a bullet would have only served you right, -sir. You must go about as an impostor, sir, in society; and you pay -richly for your swindling, sir, by being swindled yourself: but, as I -think your punishment has been already pretty severe, I shall do my -best, out of regard for my friend, Lord Cinqbars, to prevent the matter -going any further; and I recommend you to leave Paris without delay. Now -let me wish you a good morning.’ Wherewith British made a majestic bow, -and began giving the last touch to his varnished boots.</p> - -<p>We departed: poor Sam perfectly silent and chapfallen; and I meditating -on the wisdom of the half-pay philosopher, and wondering what means he -would employ to rescue Pogson from his fate.</p> - -<p>What these means were I know not; but Mr. Ringwood did <i>not</i> make his -appearance at six; and, at eight, a letter arrived for ‘Mr. Pogson, -commercial traveller,’ etc. etc. It was blank inside, but contained his -two bills. Mr. Ringwood left town, almost immediately, for Vienna; nor -did the Major explain the circumstances which caused his departure; but -he muttered something about ‘knew some of his old tricks,’ threatened -police, and made him disgorge directly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ringwood is, as yet, young at his trade; and I have often thought it -was very green of him to give up the bills to the Major, who, certainly, -would never have pressed the matter before the police, out of respect -for his friend Lord Cinqbars.</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FETES_OF_JULY" id="THE_FETES_OF_JULY"></a>THE FÊTES OF JULY<br /><br /> -<small>IN A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE ‘BUNGAY BEACON’</small></h2> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, <i>July</i> 30th, 1839.<br /> -</p> - -<p>We have arrived here just in time for the fêtes of July. You have read, -no doubt, of that glorious revolution which took place here nine years -ago, and which is now commemorated annually, in a pretty facetious -manner, by gun-firing, student-processions, -pole-climbing-for-silver-spoons, gold-watches, and legs-of-mutton, -monarchical orations, and what not, and sanctioned, moreover, by<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> -Chamber of Deputies, with a grant of a couple of hundred thousand francs -to defray the expenses of all the crackers, gun-firings, and -legs-of-mutton aforesaid. There is a new fountain in the Place Louis -Quinze, otherwise called the Place Louis Seize, or else the Place de la -Révolution, or else the Place de la Concorde (who can say why?)—which, -I am told, is to run bad wine during certain hours to-morrow, and there -<i>would</i> have been a review of the National Guards and the Line—only, -since the Fieschi business, reviews are no joke, and so this latter part -of the festivity has been discontinued.</p> - -<p>Do you not laugh—O Pharos of Bungay—at the continuance of a humbug -such as this? at the humbugging anniversary of a humbug? The King of the -Barricades is, next to the Emperor Nicholas, the most absolute Sovereign -in Europe; yet there is not in the whole of this fair kingdom of France -a single man who cares sixpence about him, or his dynasty, except, -mayhap, a few hangers-on at the Château, who eat his dinners, and put -their hands in his purse. The feeling of loyalty is as dead as old -Charles the Tenth; the Chambers have been laughed at, the country has -been laughed at, all the successive ministries have been laughed at (and -you know who is the wag that has amused himself with them all); and, -behold, here come three days at the end of July, and cannons think it -necessary to fire off, squibs and crackers to blaze and fizz, fountains -to run wine, kings to make speeches, and subjects to crawl up greasy -<i>mâts-de-cocagne</i> in token of gratitude and <i>réjouissance publique</i>!—My -dear sir, in their aptitude to swallow, to utter, to enact humbugs, -these French people, from Majesty downwards, beat all the other nations -of this earth. In looking at these men, their manners, dresses, -opinions, politics, actions, history, it is impossible to preserve a -grave countenance; instead of having Carlyle to write a <i>History of the -French Revolution</i>, I often think it should be handed over to Dickens or -Theodore Hook, and oh! where is the Rabelais to be the faithful -historian of the last phase of the Revolution—the last glorious nine -years of which we are now commemorating the last glorious three days?</p> - -<p>I had made a vow not to say a syllable on the subject, although I have -seen, with my neighbours, all the gingerbread stalls down the Champs -Élysées, and some of the ‘catafalques’ erected to the memory of the -heroes of July, where the students and others, not connected personally -with the victims, and not having in the least profited by their deaths, -come and weep; but the grief shown on the first day is quite as absurd -and fictitious as the joy exhibited on the last. The subject is one -which admits of much wholesome reflection and food for mirth; and, -besides, is so richly treated by<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> the French themselves, that it would -be a sin and a shame to pass it over. Allow me to have the honour of -translating, for your edification, an account of the first day’s -proceedings—it is mighty amusing, to my thinking.</p> - -<p class="c">CELEBRATION OF THE DAYS OF JULY</p> - -<p>‘To-day (Saturday), funeral ceremonies, in honour of the victims of -July, were held in the various edifices consecrated to public worship.</p> - -<p>‘These edifices, with the exception of some churches (especially that of -the Petits-Pères), were uniformly hung with black on the outside; the -hangings bore only this inscription: 27, 28, 29 July 1830—surrounded by -a wreath of oak-leaves.</p> - -<p>‘In the interior of the Catholic churches, it had only been thought -proper to dress <i>little catafalques</i>, as for burials of the third and -fourth class. Very few clergy attended; but a considerable number of the -National Guard.</p> - -<p>‘The Synagogue of the Israelites was entirely hung with black; and a -great concourse of people attended. The service was performed with the -greatest pomp.</p> - -<p>‘In the Protestant temples there was likewise a very full attendance: -<i>apologetical discourses</i> on the Revolution of July were pronounced by -the pastors.</p> - -<p>‘The absence of M. de Quélen (Archbishop of Paris), and of many members -of the superior clergy, was remarked at Nôtre Dame.</p> - -<p>‘The civil authorities attended service in the several districts.</p> - -<p>‘The poles, ornamented with tricoloured flags, which formerly were -placed on Nôtre Dame, were, it was remarked, suppressed. The flags on -the Pont Neuf were, during the ceremony, only half-mast high, and -covered with crape.’</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>Et cætera, et cætera, et cætera.</p></div> - -<p>‘The tombs of the Louvre were covered with black hangings, and adorned -with tricoloured flags. In front and in the middle was erected an -expiatory monument of a pyramidical shape, and surmounted by a funeral -vase.</p> - -<p>‘<i>These tombs were guarded by the</i> <span class="smcap">Municipal Guard, the Troops of the -Line, the Sergens de Ville</span> (<i>town patrol</i>), <span class="smcap">and a Brigade of Agents of -Police in plain clothes</span>, under the orders of peace-officer Vassal.</p> - -<p>‘Between eleven and twelve o’clock, some young men, to the number of 400 -or 500, assembled on the Place de la Bourse, one<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> of them bearing a -tricoloured banner with an inscription, “To <span class="smcap">the Manes of July</span>:” ranging -themselves in order, they marched five abreast to the Marché des -Innocens. On their arrival, the Municipal Guards of the Halle aux Draps, -where the post had been doubled, issued out without arms, and the -town-sergeants placed themselves before the market to prevent the entry -of the procession. The young men passed in perfect order, and without -saying a word—only lifting their hats as they defiled before the tombs. -When they arrived at the Louvre they found the gates shut and the Garden -evacuated. The troops were under arms, and formed in battalion.</p> - -<p>‘After the passage of the procession, the Garden was again open to the -public.’</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>And the evening and the morning were the first day.</p> - -<p>There’s nothing serious in mortality: is there, from the beginning of -this account to the end thereof, aught but sheer, open, monstrous, -undisguised humbug? I said, before, that you should have a history of -these people by Dickens or Theodore Hook, but there is little need of -professed wags;—do not the men write their own tale with an admirable -Sancho-like gravity and <i>naïveté</i>, which one could not desire improved? -How good is that touch of sly indignation about the <i>little -catafalques</i>! how rich the contrast presented by the economy of the -Catholics to the splendid disregard of expense exhibited by the devout -Jews! and how touching the ‘<i>apologetical discourses</i> on the -Revolution,’ delivered by the Protestant pastors! Fancy the profound -affliction of the Gardes Municipaux, the Sergens de Ville, the -police-agents in plain clothes, and the troops with fixed bayonets, -sobbing round the ‘expiatory monuments of a pyramidical shape, -surmounted by funeral vases,’ and compelled, by sad duty, to fire into -the public who might wish to indulge in the same woe! O ‘Manes of July!’ -(the phrase is pretty and grammatical), why did you with sharp bullets -break those Louvre windows? Why did you bayonet redcoated Swiss behind -that fair white facade, and, braving cannon, musket, sabre, prospective -guillotine, burst yonder bronze gates, rush through that peaceful -picture-gallery, and hurl royalty, loyalty, and a thousand years of -Kings, head-over-heels out of yonder Tuileries windows?</p> - -<p>It is, you will allow, a little difficult to say:—there is, however, -<i>one</i> benefit that the country has gained (as for liberty of press or -person, diminished taxation, a juster representation, who ever thinks of -them?)—<i>one</i> benefit they have gained, or nearly—<i>abolition de la -peine-de-mort</i>, namely <i>pour délit politique</i>—no more wicked -guillotining for revolutions. A Frenchman must<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> have his revolution—it -is his nature to knock down omnibuses in the street, and across them to -fire at troops of the line—it is a sin to balk it. Did not the King -send off Revolutionary Prince Napoleon in a coach-and-four? Did not the -jury, before the face of God and Justice, proclaim Revolutionary Colonel -Vaudrey not guilty?—One may hope, soon, that if a man shows decent -courage and energy in half a dozen <i>émeutes</i>, he will get promotion and -a premium.</p> - -<p>I do not (although, perhaps, partial to the subject) want to talk more -nonsense than the occasion warrants, and will pray you to cast your eyes -over the following anecdote, that is now going the round of the papers, -and respects the commutation of the punishment of that wretched, -foolhardy Barbès, who, on his trial, seemed to invite the penalty which -has just been remitted to him. You recollect the braggart’s speech: -‘When the Indian falls into the power of the enemy, he knows the fate -that awaits him, and submits his head to the knife:—<i>I</i> am the Indian!’</p> - -<p>‘Well——’</p> - -<p>‘M. Victor Hugo was at the Opera on the night the sentence of the Court -of Peers, condemning Barbès to death, was published. The great poet -composed the following verses:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘“Par votre ange envolé, ainsi qu’une colombe,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Par le royal enfant, doux et frêle roseau,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Grâce, encore une fois! Grâce, au nom de la tombe!<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Grâce, au nom du berçeau!”<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘M. Victor Hugo wrote the lines out instantly on a sheet of paper, which -he folded, and simply despatched them to the King of the French by the -penny-post.</p> - -<p>‘That truly is a noble voice which can at all hours thus speak to the -throne. Poetry, in old days, was called the language of the gods—it is -better named now—it is the language of the kings.</p> - -<p>‘But the clemency of the King had anticipated the letter of the poet. -The pen of his Majesty had signed the commutation of Barbès, while that -of the poet was still writing.</p> - -<p>‘Louis Philippe replied to the author of <i>Ruy Blas</i> most graciously, -that he had already subscribed to a wish so noble, and that the verses -had only confirmed his previous disposition to mercy.’</p> - -<p>Now in countries where fools most abound, did one ever read<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> of more -monstrous palpable folly? In any country; save this, would a poet who -chose to write four crack-brained verses comparing an angel to a dove, -and a little boy to a reed, and calling upon the chief magistrate, in -the name of the angel, or dove (the Princess Mary), in her tomb, and the -little infant in his cradle, to spare a criminal, have received a -‘gracious answer’ to his nonsense? Would he have ever despatched the -nonsense? and would any journalist have been silly enough to talk of -‘the noble voice that could thus speak to the throne,’ and the noble -throne that could return such a noble answer to the noble voice? You get -nothing done here gravely and decently. Tawdry stage-tricks are played, -and braggadocio claptraps uttered, on every occasion, however sacred or -solemn; in the face of death, as by Barbès with his hideous Indian -metaphor; in the teeth of reason, as by M. Victor Hugo with his -twopenny-post poetry; and of justice, as by the King’s absurd reply to -this absurd demand! Suppose the Count of Paris to be twenty times a -reed, and the Princess Mary a host of angels, is that any reason why the -law should not have its course? Justice is the God of our lower world, -our great omnipresent guardian: as such it moves, or should move on, -majestic, awful, irresistible, having no passions—like a God: but, in -the very midst of the path across which it is to pass, lo! M. Victor -Hugo trips forward, smirking, and says, O divine Justice! I will trouble -you to listen to the following trifling effusion of mine:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<i>Par votre ange envolé, ainsi qu’une</i>,’ etc.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">Awful Justice stops, and, bowing gravely, listens to M. Hugo’s verses, -and, with true French politeness, says, ‘Mon cher Monsieur, these verses -are charming, <i>ravissants, délicieux</i>, and, coming from such a -<i>célébrité littéraire</i> as yourself, shall meet with every possible -attention—in fact, had I required anything to confirm my own previous -opinions, this charming poem would have done so. Bon jour, mon cher -Monsieur Hugo, au revoir!’—and they part:—Justice taking off his hat -and bowing, and the Author of <i>Ruy Blas</i> quite convinced that he has -been treating with him <i>d’égal à égal</i>. I can hardly bring my mind to -fancy that anything is serious in France—it seems to be all rant, -tinsel, and stage-play. Sham liberty, sham monarchy, sham glory, sham -justice,—<i>où, diable, donc la vérité va-t-elle se nicher</i>?</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The last rocket of the fête of July has just mounted, exploded, made a -portentous bang, and emitted a gorgeous show of blue-lights, and then -(like many reputations) disappeared totally: the hundredth gun on the -Invalid Terrace has uttered its last roar—<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>and a great comfort it is -for eyes and ears that the festival is over. We shall be able to go -about our every-day business again, and not be hustled by the gendarmes -or the crowd.</p> - -<p>The sight which I have just come away from is as brilliant, happy, and -beautiful as can be conceived; and if you want to see French people to -the greatest advantage, you should go to a festival like this, where -their manners and innocent gaiety show a very pleasing contrast to the -coarse and vulgar hilarity which the same class would exhibit in our own -country—at Epsom racecourse, for instance, or Greenwich Fair. The -greatest noise that I heard was that of a company of jolly villagers -from a place in the neighbourhood of Paris, who, as soon as the -fireworks were over, formed themselves into a line, three or four -abreast, and so marched singing home. As for the fireworks, squibs and -crackers are very hard to describe, and very little was to be seen of -them: to me, the prettiest sight was the vast, orderly, happy crowd, the -number of children, and the extraordinary care and kindness of the -parents towards these little creatures. It does one good to see honest, -heavy <i>épiciers</i>, fathers of families, playing with them in the -Tuileries, or, as to-night, bearing them stoutly on their shoulders, -through many long hours, in order that the little ones, too, may have -their share of the fun. John Bull, I fear, is more selfish: he does not -take Mrs. Bull to the public-house; but leaves her, for the most part, -to take care of the children at home.</p> - -<p>The fête, then, is over; the pompous black pyramid at the Louvre is only -a skeleton now; all the flags have been miraculously whisked away during -the night, and the fine chandeliers which glittered down the Champs -Élysées for full half a mile have been consigned to their dens and -darkness. Will they ever be reproduced for other celebrations of the -glorious 29th of July?—I think not; the Government which vowed that -there should be no more persecutions of the press, was, on that very -29th, seizing a legitimist paper, for some real or fancied offence -against it: it had seized, and was seizing daily, numbers of persons -merely suspected of being disaffected (and you may fancy how liberty is -understood, when some of these prisoners, the other day, on coming to -trial, were found guilty and sentenced to <i>one</i> day’s imprisonment, -after <i>thirty-six days’ detention on suspicion</i>). I think the Government -which follows such a system cannot be very anxious about any further -revolutionary fêtes, and that the Chamber may reasonably refuse to vote -more money for them. Why should men be so mighty proud of having, on a -certain day, cut a certain numbre of their fellow-countrymen’s throats? -The Guards and the Line employed, this time nine years, did no more than -those who<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> cannonaded the starving Lyonnese, or bayoneted the luckless -inhabitants of the Rue Transnounain; they did but fulfil the soldier’s -honourable duty,—his superiors bid him kill and he killeth; perhaps, -had he gone to his work with a little more heart, the result would have -been different, and then—would the conquering party have been justified -in annually rejoicing over the conquered? Would we have thought Charles -X. justified in causing fireworks to be blazed, and concerts to be sung, -and speeches to be spouted, in commemoration of his victory over his -slaughtered countrymen? I wish, for my part, they would allow the people -to go about their business as on the other 362 days of the year, and -leave the Champs Élysées free for the omnibuses to run, and the -Tuileries in quiet, so that the nursemaids might come as usual, and the -newspapers be read for a halfpenny apiece.</p> - -<p>Shall I trouble you with an account of the speculations of these latter, -and the state of the parties which they represent? The complication is -not a little curious, and may form, perhaps, a subject of graver -disquisition. The July fêtes occupy, as you may imagine, a considerable -part of their columns just now, and it is amusing to follow them, one by -one; to read Tweedledum’s praise, and Tweedledee’s indignation—to read, -in the <i>Débats</i>, how the King was received with shouts and loyal -vivats—in the <i>National</i>, how not a tongue was wagged in his praise, -but, on the instant of his departure, how the people called for the -‘Marseillaise’ and applauded <i>that</i>. But best say no more about the -fête. The legitimists were always indignant at it. The high Philippist -party sneers at and despises it; the Republicans hate it; it seems a -joke against <i>them</i>. Why continue it! If there be anything sacred in the -name and idea of royalty, why renew this fête? It only shows how a -rightful monarch was hurled from his throne, and a dexterous usurper -stole his precious diadem. If there be anything noble in the memory of a -day, when citizens, unused to war, rose against practised veterans, and, -armed with the strength of their cause, overthrew them, why speak of it -now? or renew the bitter recollections of the bootless struggle and -victory? O Lafayette! O hero of two worlds! O accomplished Cromwell -Grandison! you have to answer for more than any mortal man who has -played a part in history: two republics and one monarchy does the world -owe to you; and especially grateful should your country be to you. Did -you not, in ‘90, make clear the path for honest Robespierre, and, in -‘30, prepare the way for——</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>[The editor of the <i>Bungay Beacon</i> would insert no more of this letter, -which is, therefore, for ever lost to the public.]/</p> - -<p><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="ON_THE_FRENCH_SCHOOL_OF_PAINTING" id="ON_THE_FRENCH_SCHOOL_OF_PAINTING"></a>ON THE FRENCH SCHOOL OF PAINTING<br /><br /> -<small>WITH APPROPRIATE ANECDOTES, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND PHILOSOPHICAL DISQUISITIONS</small></h2> - -<p class="cb"><small>IN A LETTER TO MR. MACGILP OF LONDON</small></p> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> three collections of pictures at the Louvre, the Luxembourg, and the -École des Beaux Arts, contain a number of specimens of French art, since -its commencement almost, and give the stranger a pretty fair opportunity -to study and appreciate the school. The French list of painters contains -some very good names—no very great ones, except Poussin (unless the -admirers of Claude choose to rank him among great painters),—and I -think the school was never in so flourishing a condition as it is at the -present day. They say there are three thousand artists in this town -alone: of these a handsome minority paint not merely tolerably, but well -understand their business; draw the figure accurately; sketch with -cleverness; and paint portraits, churches, or restaurateurs’ shops, in a -decent manner.</p> - -<p>To account for a superiority over England—which, I think, as regards -art, is incontestable—it must be remembered that the painter’s trade, -in France, is a very good one; better appreciated, better understood, -and, generally, far better paid than with us. There are a dozen -excellent schools in which a lad may enter here, and, under the eye of a -practised master, learn the apprenticeship of his art at an expense of -about ten pounds a year. In England there is no school except the -Academy, unless the student can afford to pay a very large sum, and -place himself under the tuition of some particular artist. Here, a young -man, for his ten pounds, has all sorts of accessory instruction, models, -etc.; and has, further, and for nothing, numberless incitements to study -his profession which are not to be found in England,—the streets are -filled with picture-shops, the people themselves are pictures walking -about; the churches, theatres, eating-houses, concert-rooms are covered -with pictures; Nature herself is inclined more kindly to him, for the -sky is a thousand times more bright and beautiful, and the sun shines -for the greater part of the year. Add to this incitements more selfish, -but quite as powerful: a French artist is paid very handsomely; for five -hundred a year is much where all are poor; and has a rank in society -rather above his merits than below them, being caressed by hosts and -hostesses in places where titles are<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> laughed at, and a baron is thought -of no more account than a banker’s clerk.</p> - -<p>The life of the young artist here is the easiest, merriest, dirtiest -existence possible. He comes to Paris, probably at sixteen, from his -province; his parents settle forty pounds a year on him, and pay his -master; he establishes himself in the Pays Latin, or in the new quarter -of Nôtre Dame de Lorette (which is quite peopled with painters); he -arrives at his atelier at a tolerably early hour, and labours among a -score of companions as merry and poor as himself. Each gentleman has his -favourite tobacco-pipe; and the pictures are painted in the midst of a -cloud of smoke, and a din of puns and choice French slang, and a roar of -choruses, of which no one can form an idea that has not been present at -such an assembly.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 89px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p36_lg.jpg"> -<img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p36_sml.jpg" width="89" height="142" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>You see here every variety of <i>coiffure</i> that has ever been known. Some -young men of genius have ringlets hanging over their shoulders—you may -smell the tobacco with which they are scented across the street;—some -have straight locks, black, oily, and redundant; some have <i>toupées</i> in -the famous Louis-Philippe fashion; some are cropped close; some have -adopted the present mode—which he who would follow must, in order to do -so, part his hair in the middle, grease it with grease, and gum it with -gum, and iron it flat down over his ears; when arrived at the ears, you -take the tongs and make a couple of ranges of curls close round the -whole head—such curls as you may see under a gilt three-cornered hat, -and in her Britannic Majesty’s coachman’s state wig.</p> - -<p>This is the last fashion. As for the beards, there is no end to them; -all my friends the artists have beards who can raise them; and Nature, -though she has rather stinted the bodies and limbs of the French nation, -has been very liberal to them of hair, as you may see by the following -specimen. Fancy these heads and beards under all sorts of caps—Chinese -caps, Mandarin caps, Greek skull-caps, English jockey-caps, Russian or -Kuzzilbash caps, Middle Age caps (such as are called, in heraldry, caps -of maintenance), Spanish nets, and striped <a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>worsted nightcaps. Fancy all -the jackets you have ever seen, and you have before you, as well as pen -can describe, the costumes of these indescribable Frenchmen.</p> - -<p>In this company and costume the French student of art passes his days -and acquires knowledge; how he passes his evenings, at what theatres, at -what <i>guinguettes</i>, in company with what seducing little milliner, there -is no need to say; but I knew one who pawned his coat to go to a -carnival ball, and walked abroad very cheerfully in his blouse for six -weeks, until he could redeem the absent garment.</p> - -<p>These young men (together with the students of sciences) comport -themselves towards the sober citizen pretty much as the German <i>bursch</i> -towards the <i>philister</i>, or as the military man, during the Empire, did -to the <i>pékin</i>:—from the height of their poverty they look down upon -him with the greatest imaginable scorn—a scorn, I think, by which the -citizen seems dazzled, for his respect for the arts is intense. The case -is very different in England, where a grocer’s daughter would think she -made a <i>mésalliance</i> by marrying a painter, and where a literary man (in -spite of all we can say against it) ranks below that class of gentry -composed of the apothecary, the attorney, the wine-merchant, whose -positions, in country towns at least, are so equivocal. As for instance, -my friend, the Rev. James Asterisk, who has an undeniable pedigree, a -paternal estate, and a living to boot, once dined in Warwickshire, in -company with several squires and parsons of that enlightened county. -Asterisk, as usual, made himself extraordinarily agreeable at dinner, -and delighted all present with his learning and wit. ‘Who is that -monstrous pleasant fellow?’ said one of the squires. ’ Don’t you know?’ -replied another. ‘It’s Asterisk, the author of So-and-so, and a famous -contributor to such-and-such a magazine.’ ‘Good heavens!’ said the -squire, quite horrified; ‘a literary man! I thought he had been a -gentleman!’</p> - -<p>Another instance: M. Guizot, when he was Minister here, had the grand -hotel of the Ministry, and gave entertainments to all the great <i>de par -le monde</i>, as Brantôme says, and entertained them in a proper -ministerial magnificence. The splendid and beautiful Duchess of Dash was -at one of his ministerial parties; and went, a fortnight afterwards, as -in duty bound, to pay her respects to M. Guizot. But it happened, in -this fortnight, that M. Guizot was Minister no longer; but gave up his -portfolio, and his grand hotel, to retire into private life, and to -occupy his humble apartments in the house which he possesses, and of -which he lets the greater portion. A friend of mine was present at one -of the ex-Minister’s <i>soirées</i>, where the Duchess of Dash made her -appearance. He<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a> says the Duchess, at her entrance, seemed quite -astounded, and examined the premises with a most curious wonder. Two or -three shabby little rooms, with ordinary furniture, and a Minister <i>en -retraite</i>, who lives by letting lodgings! In our country was ever such a -thing heard of? No, thank Heaven! and a Briton ought to be proud of the -difference.</p> - -<p>But to our muttons. This country is surely the paradise of painters and -penny-a-liners; and when one reads of M. Horace Vernet at Rome, -exceeding ambassadors at Rome by his magnificence, and leading such a -life as Rubens or Titian did of old; when one sees M. Thiers’s grand -villa in the Rue St. George (a dozen years ago he was not even a -penny-a-liner, no such luck); when one contemplates, in imagination, M. -Gudin, the marine painter, too lame to walk through the picture gallery -of the Louvre, accommodated, therefore, with a wheel-chair, a privilege -of princes only, and accompanied—nay, for what I know, actually -trundled—down the gallery by majesty itself—who does not long to make -one of the great nation, exchange his native tongue for the melodious -jabber of France; or, at least, adopt it for his native country, like -Marshal Saxe, Napoleon, and Anacharsis Clootz? Noble people! they made -Tom Paine a deputy; and as for Tom Macaulay, they would make a <i>dynasty</i> -of him.</p> - -<p>Well, this being the case, no wonder there are so many painters in -France; and here, at least, we are back to them. At the École Royale des -Beaux-Arts, you see two or three hundred specimens of their -performances; all the prize-men, since 1750, I think, being bound to -leave their prize sketch or picture. Can anything good come out of the -Royal Academy? is a question which has been considerably mooted in -England (in the neighbourhood of Suffolk Street especially). The -hundreds of French samples are, I think, not very satisfactory. The -subjects are almost all what are called classical: Orestes pursued by -every variety of Furies; numbers of little wolf-sucking Romuluses; -Hectors and Andromaches in a complication of parting embraces, and so -forth; for it was the absurd maxim of our forefathers, that because -these subjects had been the fashion twenty centuries ago, they must -remain so <i>in sæcula sæculorum</i>; because to these lofty heights giants -had scaled, behold the race of pigmies must get upon stilts and jump at -them likewise! and on the canvas, and in the theatre, the French frogs -(excuse the pleasantry) were instructed to swell out and roar as much as -possible like bulk.</p> - -<p>What was the consequence, my dear friend? In trying to make themselves -into bulls, the frogs make themselves into jackasses, as might be -expected. For a hundred and ten years the<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a> classical humbug oppressed -the nation; and you may see, in this gallery of the Beaux Arts, seventy -years’ specimens of the dulness which it engendered.</p> - -<p>Now, as Nature made every man with a nose and eyes of his own, she gave -him a character of his own too; and yet we, O foolish race! must try our -very best to ape some one or two of our neighbours, whose ideas fit us -no more than their breeches! It is the study of Nature, surely, that -profits us, and not of these imitations of her. A man, as a man, from a -dustman up to Æschylus, is God’s work, and good to read, as all works of -Nature are: but the silly animal is never content; is ever trying to fit -itself into another shape; wants to deny its own identity, and has not -the courage to utter its own thoughts. Because Lord Byron was wicked, -and quarrelled with the world, and found himself growing fit, and -quarrelled with his victuals, and thus, naturally, grew ill-humoured, -did not half Europe grow ill-humoured too? Did not every poet feel his -young affections withered, and despair and darkness cast upon his soul? -Because certain mighty men of old could make heroical statues and plays, -must we not be told that there is no other beauty but classical -beauty?—must not every little whipster of a French poet chalk you out -plays, ‘Henriades,’ and such-like, and vow that here was the real thing, -the undeniable Kalon?</p> - -<p>The undeniable fiddlestick! For a hundred years, my dear sir, the world -was humbugged by the so-called classical artists, as they now are by -what is called the Christian art (of which anon); and it is curious to -look at the pictorial traditions as here handed down. The consequence of -them is, that scarce one of the classical pictures exhibited is worth -much more than two-and-sixpence. Borrowed from statuary, in the first -place, the colour of the paintings seems, as much as possible, to -participate in it: they are mostly of a misty, stony-green, dismal hue, -as if they had been painted in a world where no colour was. In every -picture there are, of course, white mantles, white urns, white columns, -white statues—those <i>obligés</i> accomplishments of the sublime. There are -the endless straight noses, long eyes, round chins, short upper lips, -just as they are ruled down for you in the drawing-books, as if the -latter were the revelations of beauty, issued by supreme authority, from -which there was no appeal. Why is the classical reign to endure? Why is -yonder simpering Venus de’ Medici to be our standard of beauty, or the -Greek tragedies to bound our notions of the sublime? There was no reason -why Agamemnon should set the fashions, and remain <span title="Greek: anax andrôn">ἁναξ ἁνδρὡν</span> -to eternity: and there is a classical quotation, which you may have -occasionally<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> heard, beginning <i>Vixere fortes</i>, etc., which, as it avers -that there were a great number of stout fellows before Agamemnon, may -not unreasonably induce us to conclude that similar heroes were to -succeed him. Shakespeare made a better man when his imagination moulded -the mighty figure of Macbeth. And if you will measure Satan by -Prometheus, the blind old Puritan’s work by that of the fiery Grecian -poet, does not Milton’s angel surpass Æschylus’s—surpass him by ‘many a -rood’?</p> - -<p>In this same school of the Beaux Arts, where are to be found such a -number of pale imitations of the antique, Monsieur Thiers (and he ought -to be thanked for it) has caused to be placed a full-sized copy of ‘The -Last Judgment’ of Michael Angelo, and a number of casts from statues by -the same splendid hand. There is the sublime, if you please—a new -sublime—an original sublime—quite as sublime as the Greek sublime. See -yonder, in the midst of his angels, the Judge of the world descending in -glory; and near him, beautiful and gentle, and yet indescribably august -and pure, the Virgin by his side. There is the ‘Moses,’ the grandest -figure that ever was carved in stone. It has about it something -frightfully majestic, if one may so speak. In examining this, and the -astonishing picture of ‘The Judgment,’ or even a single figure of it, -the spectator’s sense amounts almost to pain. I would not like to be -left in a room alone with the ‘Moses.’ How did the artist live amongst -them, and create them? How did he suffer the painful labour of -invention? One fancies that he would have been scorched up, like Semele, -by sights too tremendous for his vision to bear. One cannot imagine him, -with our small physical endowments and weaknesses, a man like ourselves.</p> - -<p>As for the École Royale des Beaux Arts, then, and all the good its -students have done, as students, it is stark naught. When the men did -anything, it was after they had left the academy, and began thinking for -themselves. There is only one picture among the many hundreds that has, -to my idea, much merit (a charming composition of Homer singing, signed -Jourdy); and the only good that the academy has done by its pupils was -to send them to Rome, where they might learn better things. At home, the -intolerable, stupid classicalities, taught by men who, belonging to the -least erudite country in Europe, were themselves, from their profession, -the least learned among their countrymen, only weighed the pupils down, -and cramped their hands, their eyes, and their imaginations; drove them -away from natural beauty, which, thank God, is fresh and attainable by -us all, to-day, and yesterday, and to-morrow; and sent them rambling -after artificial grace without the proper means of judging or attaining -it.<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a></p> - -<p>A word for the building of the Palais des Beaux Arts. It is beautiful, -and as well finished and convenient as beautiful. With its light and -elegant fabric, its pretty fountain, its archway of the Renaissance, and -fragments of sculpture, you can hardly see, on a fine day, a place more -<i>riant</i> and pleasing.</p> - -<p>Passing from thence up the picturesque Rue de Seine, let us walk to the -Luxembourg, where <i>bonnes</i>, students, grisettes, and old gentlemen with -pigtails, love to wander in the melancholy, quaint old gardens; where -the peers have a new and comfortable court of justice, to judge all the -<i>émeutes</i> which are to take place; and where, as everybody knows, is the -picture-gallery of modern French artists whom Government thinks worthy -of patronage.</p> - -<p>A very great proportion of these, as we see by the catalogue, are by the -students whose works we have just been to visit at the Beaux Arts, and -who, having performed their pilgrimage to Rome, have taken rank among -the professors of the art. I don’t know a more pleasing exhibition; for -there are not a dozen really bad pictures in the collection, some very -good, and the rest showing great skill and smartness of execution.</p> - -<p>In the same way, however, that it has been supposed that no man could be -a great poet unless he wrote a very big poem, the tradition is kept up -among the painters, and we have here a vast number of large canvases, -with figures of the proper heroical length and nakedness. The -anticlassicists did not arise in France until about 1827; and, in -consequence, up to that period, we have here the old classical faith in -full vigour. There is Brutus, having chopped his son’s head off, with -all the agony of a father; and then, calling for number two, there is -Æneas carrying off old Anchises; there are Paris and Venus, as naked as -two Hottentots, and many more such choice subjects from Lemprière.</p> - -<p>But the chief specimens of the sublime are in the way of murders, with -which the catalogue swarms. Here are a few extracts from it:—</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="margin:1% auto 1% 5%;"> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2"> 7. Beaume, Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur. ‘The Grand Dauphiness Dying.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">18. Blondel, Chevalier de la, etc. ‘Zenobia found Dead.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">36. Debay, Chevalier. ‘The Death of Lucretia.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">38. Dejuinne. ‘The Death of Hector.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">34. Court, Chevalier de la, etc. ‘The Death of Cæsar.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">39, 40, 41. Delacroix, Chevalier. ‘Dante and Virgil in the Infernal Lake,’ ‘The Massacre of Scio,’ and ‘Medea going to murder her Children.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">43. Delaroche, Chevalier. ‘Joas taken from among the Dead.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">44. ‘The Death of Queen Elizabeth.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">45. ‘Edward V. and his Brother’ (preparing for death).</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">50. ‘Hecuba going to be Sacrificed.’ Drolling, Chevalier.</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">51. Dubois. ‘Young Clovis found Dead.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">56. Henry, Chevalier. ‘The Massacre of St. Bartholomew.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">75. Guérin, Chevalier. ‘Cain, after the Death of Abel.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">83. Jacquand. ‘Death of Adelaide de Comminges.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">88. ‘The Death of Eudamidas.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">93. ‘The Death of Hymetto.’</p></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><p class="hang2">103. ‘The Death of Philip of Austria.’</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="nind">And so on.</p> - -<p>You see what woeful subjects they take, and how profusely they are -decorated with knighthood. They are like the Black Brunswickers, these -painters, and ought to be called <i>Chevaliers de la Mort</i>. I don’t know -why the merriest people in the world should please themselves with such -grim representations and varieties of murder, or why murder itself -should be considered so eminently sublime and poetical. It is good at -the end of a tragedy; but, then, it is good because it is the end, and -because, by the events foregone, the mind is prepared for it. But these -men will have nothing but fifth acts; and seem to skip, as unworthy, all -the circumstances leading to them. This, however, is part of the -scheme—the bloated, unnatural, stilted, spouting, sham sublime, that -our teachers have believed and tried to pass off as real, and which your -humble servant and other anti-humbuggists should heartily, according to -the strength that is in them, endeavour to pull down. What, for -instance, could Monsieur Lafond care about the death of Eudamidas? What -was Hecuba to Chevalier Drolling, or Chevalier Drolling to Hecuba? I -would lay a wager that neither of them ever conjugated <span title="Greek: typtô">τὑπτω</span>, -and that their school learning carried them not as far as the letter, -but only to the game of taw. How were they to be inspired by such -subjects? From having seen Talma and Mademoiselle Georges flaunting in -sham Greek costumes, and having read up the articles Eudamidas, Hecuba, -in the <i>Mythological Dictionary</i>. What a classicism, inspired by rouge, -gas-lamps, and a few lines in Lemprière, and copied, half from ancient -statues, and half from a naked guardsman at one shilling and sixpence -the hour!</p> - -<p>Delacroix is a man of a very different genius, and his ‘Medea’ is a -genuine creation of a noble fancy. For most of the others, Mrs. -Brownrigg, and her two female ‘prentices, would have done as well as the -desperate Colchian, with her <span title="Greek: tekna philtata">τἑκνα φἱλτατα</span>. M. Delacroix has -produced a number of rude, barbarous pictures; but<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> there is the stamp -of genius on all of them,—the great poetical <i>intention</i>, which is -worth all your execution. Delaroche is another man of high merit; with -not such a great <i>heart</i>, perhaps, as the other, but a fine and careful -draughtsman, and an excellent arranger of his subject. ‘The Death of -Elizabeth’ is a raw, young performance, seemingly—not, at least, to my -taste. The ‘Enfans d’Edouard’ is renowned over Europe, and has appeared -in a hundred different ways in print. It is properly pathetic and -gloomy, and merits fully its high reputation. This painter rejoices in -such subjects—in what Lord Portsmouth used to call ‘black jobs.’ He has -killed Charles I. and Lady Jane Grey, and the Duke of Guise, and I don’t -know whom besides. He is, at present, occupied with a vast work at the -Beaux Arts, where the writer of this had the honour of seeing him—a -little, keen-looking man, some five feet in height. He wore, on this -important occasion, a bandanna round his head, and was in the act of -smoking a cigar.</p> - -<p>Horace Vernet, whose beautiful daughter Delaroche married, is the king -of French battle-painters—an amazingly rapid and dexterous draughtsman, -who has Napoleon and all the campaigns by heart, and has painted the -Grenadier Français under all sorts of attitudes. His pictures on such -subjects are spirited, natural, and excellent; and he is so clever a -man, that all he does is good, to a certain degree. His ‘Judith’ is -somewhat violent, perhaps. His ‘Rebecca’ most pleasing, and not the less -so for a little pretty affectation of attitude and needless singularity -of costume. ‘Raphael and Michael Angelo’ is as clever a picture as can -be—clever is just the word—the groups and drawing excellent, the -colouring pleasantly bright and gaudy; and the French students study it -incessantly; there are a dozen who copy it for one who copies Delacroix. -His little scraps of woodcuts, in the now publishing <i>Life of Napoleon</i>, -are perfect gems in their way, and the noble price paid for them not a -penny more than he merits.</p> - -<p>The picture, by Court, of ‘The Death of Cæsar,’ is remarkable for effect -and excellent workmanship; and the head of Brutus (who looks like Armand -Carrel) is full of energy. There are some beautiful heads of women, and -some very good colour in the picture. Jacquand’s ‘Death of Adelaide de -Comminge’ is neither more nor less than beautiful. Adelaide had, it -appears, a lover, who betook himself to a convent of Trappists. She -followed him thither, disguised as a man, took the vows, and was not -discovered by him till on her death-bed. The painter has told this story -in a most pleasing and affecting manner: the picture is full of -<i>onction</i> and melancholy grace. The objects, too, are capitally -<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>represented, and the tone and colour very good. Decaisne’s ‘Guardian -Angel’ is not so good in colour, but is equally beautiful in expression -and grace. A little child and a nurse are asleep: an angel watches the -infant. You see women look very wistfully at this sweet picture; and -what triumph would a painter have more?</p> - -<p>We must not quit the Luxembourg without noticing the dashing sea-pieces -of Gudin, and one or two landscapes by Giroux (the plain of -Grasivaudan), and the ‘Prometheus’ of Aligny. This is an imitation, -perhaps; as is a noble picture of ‘Jesus Christ and the Children,’ by -Flandrin: but the artists are imitating better models, at any rate; and -one begins to perceive that the odious classical dynasty is no more. -Poussin’s magnificent ‘Polyphemus’ (I only know a print of that -marvellous composition) has, perhaps, suggested the first-named picture; -and the latter has been inspired by a good enthusiastic study of the -Roman schools.</p> - -<p>Of this revolution, Monsieur Ingres has been one of the chief -instruments. He was, before Horace Vernet, president of the French -Academy at Rome, and is famous as a chief of a school. When he broke up -his atelier here, to set out for his presidency, many of his pupils -attended him faithfully some way on his journey; and some, with scarcely -a penny in their pouches, walked through France, and across the Alps, in -a pious pilgrimage to Rome, being determined not to forsake their old -master. Such an action was worthy of them, and of the high rank which -their profession holds in France, where the honours to be acquired by -art are only inferior to those which are gained in war. One reads of -such peregrinations in old days, when the scholars of some great Italian -painter followed him from Venice to Rome, or from Florence to Ferrara. -In regard of Ingres’s individual merit, as a painter, the writer of this -is not a fair judge, having seen but three pictures by him; one being a -<i>plafond</i> in the Louvre, which his disciples much admire.</p> - -<p>Ingres stands between the Imperio-Davido-classical school of French art, -and the namby-pamby mystical German school, which is for carrying us -back to Cranach and Dürer, and which is making progress here.</p> - -<p>For everything here finds imitation: the French have the genius of -imitation and caricature. This absurd humbug, called the Christian or -Catholic art, is sure to tickle our neighbours, and will be a favourite -with them, when better known. My dear MacGilp, I do believe this to be a -greater humbug than the humbug of David and Girodet, inasmuch as the -latter was founded on Nature at least; whereas the former is made up of -silly affectations and<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> improvements upon Nature. Here, for instance, is -Chevalier Ziegler’s picture of ‘St. Luke painting the Virgin.’ St. Luke -has a monk’s dress on, embroidered, however, smartly round the sleeves. -The Virgin sits in an immense yellow-ochre halo, with her son in her -arms. She looks preternaturally solemn; as does St. Luke, who is eyeing -his paint-brush with an intense ominous mystical look. They call this -Catholic art. There is nothing, my dear friend, more easy in life. -First, take your colours, and rub them down clean,—bright carmine, -bright yellow, bright sienna, bright ultramarine, bright green. Make the -costumes of your figures as much as possible like the costumes of the -early part of the fifteenth century. Paint them in with the above -colours; and if on a gold ground, the more ‘Catholic’ your art is. Dress -your apostles like priests before the altar; and remember to have a good -commodity of crosiers, censers, and other such gimcracks, as you may see -in the Catholic chapels, in Sutton Street and elsewhere. Deal in -Virgins, and dress them like a burgomaster’s wife by Cranach or Van -Eyck. Give them all long twisted tails to their gowns, and proper -angular draperies. Place all their heads on one side, with the eyes -shut, and the proper solemn simper. At the back of the head, draw, and -gild with gold-leaf, a halo, or glory, of the exact shape of a -cart-wheel: and you have the thing done. It is Catholic art <i>tout -craché</i>, as Louis Philippe says. We have it still in England, handed -down to us for four centuries, in the pictures on the cards, as the -redoubtable king and queen of clubs. Look at them: you will see that the -costumes and attitudes are precisely similar to those which figure in -the catholicities of the school of Overbeck and Cornelius.</p> - -<p>Before you take your cane at the door, look for one instant at the -statue-room. Yonder is Jouffley’s ‘Jeune Fille confiant son premier -secret à Vénus.’ Charming, charming! It is from the exhibition of this -year only; and, I think, the best sculpture in the gallery—pretty, -fanciful, <i>naïve</i>; admirable in workmanship and imitation of Nature. I -have seldom seen flesh better represented in marble. Examine, also, -Jaley’s ‘Pudeur,’ Jacquot’s ‘Nymph,’ and Rude’s ‘Boy with the Tortoise.’ -These are not very exalted subjects, or what are called exalted, and do -not go beyond simple, smiling beauty and nature. But what then? Are we -gods, Miltons, Michael Angelos, that can leave earth when we please, and -soar to heights immeasurable? No, my dear MacGilp; but the fools of -academicians would fain make us so. Are you not, and half the painters -in London, panting for an opportunity to show your genius in a great -‘historical picture’? O blind race! Have you wings? Not a feather: and -yet you must be ever puffing,<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> sweating up to the tops of rugged hills; -and, arrived there, clapping and shaking your ragged elbows, and making -as if you would fly! Come down, silly Dædalus; come down to the lowly -places in which Nature ordered you to walk. The sweet flowers are -springing there; the fat muttons are waiting there; the pleasant sun -shines there; be content and humble, and take your share of the good -cheer.</p> - -<p>While we have been indulging in this discussion, the omnibus has gaily -conducted us across the water; and <i>le garde qui veille à la porte du -Louvre ne défend pas</i> our entry.</p> - -<p>What a paradise this gallery is for French students, or foreigners who -sojourn in the capital! It is hardly necessary to say that the brethren -of the brush are not usually supplied by Fortune with any extraordinary -wealth, or means of enjoying the luxuries with which Paris, more than -any other city, abounds. But here they have a luxury which surpasses all -others, and spend their days in a palace which all the money of all the -Rothschilds could not buy. They sleep, perhaps, in a garret, and dine in -a cellar; but no grandee in Europe has such a drawing-room. Kings’ -houses have, at best, but damask hangings and gilt cornices. What are -these to a wall covered with canvas by Paul Veronese, or a hundred yards -of Rubens? Artists from England, who have a national gallery that -resembles a moderate-sized gin-shop, who may not copy pictures, except -under particular restrictions, and on rare and particular days, may -revel here to their hearts’ content. Here is a room half a mile long, -with as many windows as Alladin’s palace, open from sunrise till -evening, and free to all manners and all varieties of study: the only -puzzle to the student is to select the one he shall begin upon, and keep -his eyes away from the rest.</p> - -<p>Fontaine’s grand staircase, with its arches, and painted ceilings, and -shining Doric columns, leads directly to the gallery: but it is thought -too fine for working days, and is only opened for the public entrance on -Sabbath. A little back-stair (leading from a court, in which stand -numerous bas-reliefs, and a solemn sphinx, of polished granite) is the -common entry for students and others, who, during the week, enter the -gallery.</p> - -<p>Hither have lately been transported a number of the works of French -artists which formerly covered the walls of the Luxembourg (death only -entitles the French painter to a place in the Louvre); and let us -confine ourselves to the Frenchmen only, for the space of this letter.</p> - -<p>I have seen, in a fine private collection at St. Germain, one or two -admirable single figures of David, full of life, truth, and gaiety.<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> The -colour is not good, but all the rest excellent; and one of these so much -lauded pictures is the portrait of a washerwoman. ‘Pope Pius,’ at the -Louvre, is as bad in colour, and as remarkable for its vigour and look -of life. The man had a genius for painting portraits and common life, -but must attempt the heroic;—failed signally, and, what is worse, -carried a whole nation blundering after him. Had you told a Frenchman -so, twenty years ago, he would have thrown the <i>démenti</i> in your teeth; -or, at least, laughed at you in scornful incredulity. They say of us -that we don’t know when we are beaten; they go a step farther, and swear -their defeats are victories. David was a part of the glory of the -Empire; and one might as well have said, there, that ‘Romulus’ was a bad -picture, as that Toulouse was a lost battle. Old-fashioned people, who -believe in the Emperor, believe in the Théâtre Français, and believe -that Ducis improved upon Shakespeare, have the above opinion. Still, it -is curious to remark, in this place, how art and literature become party -matters, and political sects have their favourite painters and authors.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, Jacques Louis David is dead. He died about a year after -his bodily demise in 1825. The romanticism killed him. Walter Scott, -from his castle of Abbotsford, sent out a troop of gallant young Scotch -adventurers, merry outlaws, valiant knights, and savage Highlanders, -who, with trunk hosen and buff jerkins, fierce two-handed swords, and -harness on their back, did challenge, combat, and overcome the heroes -and demigods of Greece and Rome. <i>Notre Dame à la rescousse!</i> Sir Brian -de Bois Guilbert has borne Hector of Troy clean out of his saddle. -Andromache may weep; but her spouse is beyond the reach of physic. See! -Robin Hood twangs his bow, and the heathen gods fly, howling. <i>Montjoie -Saint Denis!</i> down goes Ajax under the mace of Dunois; and yonder are -Leonidas and Romulus begging their lives of Rob Roy Macgregor. -Classicism is dead. Sir John Froissart has taken Dr. Lemprière by the -nose, and reigns sovereign.</p> - -<p>Of the great pictures of David, the defunct, we need not, then, say -much. Romulus is a mighty fine young fellow, no doubt; and if he has -come out to battle stark naked (except a very handsome helmet), it is -because the costume became him, and shows off his figure to advantage. -But was there ever anything so absurd as this passion for the nude, -which was followed by all the painters of the Davidian epoch? And how -are we to suppose yonder straddle to be the true characteristic of the -heroic and the sublime? Romulus stretches his legs as far as ever nature -will allow; the Horatii, in receiving their swords, think proper<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a> to -stretch their legs too, and to thrust forward their arms, thus—</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p48_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p48_sml.jpg" width="101" height="29" alt="Romulus. The Horatii." title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Romulus. The Horatii.</span> -</p> - -<p class="nind">Romulus’s is the exact action of a telegraph; and the Horatii are all in -the position of the lunge. Is this the sublime? Mr. Angelo, of Bond -Street, might admire the attitude; his namesake, Michael, I don’t think -would.</p> - -<p>The little picture of ‘Paris and Helen,’ one of the master’s earliest, I -believe, is likewise one of his best: the details are exquisitely -painted. Helen looks needlessly sheepish, and Paris has a most odious -ogle; but the limbs of the male figure are beautifully designed, and -have not the green tone which you see in the later pictures of the -master. What is the meaning of this green? Was it the fashion, or the -varnish? Girodet’s pictures are green; Gros’s emperors and grenadiers -have universally the jaundice. Gerard’s ‘Psyche’ has a most decided -green sickness; and I am at a loss, I confess, to account for the -enthusiasm which this performance inspired on its first appearance -before the public.</p> - -<p>In the same room with it is Girodet’s ghastly ‘Deluge,’ and Géricault’s -dismal ‘Medusa.’ Géricault died, they say, for want of fame. He was a -man who possessed a considerable fortune of his own; but pined because -no one in his day would purchase his pictures, and so acknowledge his -talent. At present, a scrawl from his pencil brings an enormous price. -All his works have a grand <i>cachet</i>: he never did anything mean. When he -painted the ‘Raft of the Medusa,’ it is said he lived for a long time -among the corpses which he painted, and that his studio was a second -Morgue. If you have not seen the picture, you are familiar, probably, -with Reynolds’s admirable engraving of it. A huge black sea; a raft -beating upon it; a horrid company of men dead, half dead, writhing and -frantic with hideous hunger or hideous hope; and, far away, black, -against a stormy sunset, a sail. The story is powerfully told, and has a -legitimate tragic interest, so to speak,—deeper, because more natural, -than Girodet’s green ‘Deluge,’ for instance; or his livid ‘Orestes,’ or -red-hot ‘Clytemnestra.’</p> - -<p>Seen from a distance, the latter’s ‘Deluge’ has a certain awe-inspiring -air with it. A slimy green man stands on a green rock, and clutches hold -of a tree. On the green man’s shoulders is his<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a> old father, in a green -old age; to him hangs his wife, with a babe on her breast, and, dangling -at her hair, another child. In the water floats a corpse (a beautiful -head); and a green sea and atmosphere envelops all this dismal group. -The old father is represented with a bag of money in his hand; and the -tree, which the man catches, is cracking, and just on the point of -giving way. These two points were considered very fine by the critics; -they are two such ghastly epigrams as continually disfigure French -tragedy. For this reason I have never been able to read Racine with -pleasure,—the dialogue is so crammed with these lugubrious good -things—melancholy antitheses—sparkling undertakers’ wit; but this is -heresy, and had better be spoken discreetly.</p> - -<p>The gallery contains a vast number of Poussin’s pictures; they put me in -mind of the colour of objects in dreams,—a strange, hazy, lurid hue. -How noble are some of his landscapes! What a depth of solemn shadow is -in yonder wood, near which, by the side of a black water, halts -Diogenes! The air is thunder-laden and breathes heavily. You hear -ominous whispers in the vast forest gloom.</p> - -<p>Near it is a landscape, by Carol Dujardin, I believe, conceived in quite -a different mood, but exquisitely poetical too. A horseman is riding up -a hill, and giving money to a blowsy beggar-wench. <i>O matutini rores -auræque salubres</i>! in what a wonderful way has the artist managed to -create you out of a few bladders of paint and pots of varnish! You can -see the matutinal dews twinkling in the grass, and feel the fresh -salubrious airs (‘the breath of Nature blowing free,’ as the Corn-law -man sings) blowing free over the heath; silvery vapours are rising up -from the blue lowlands. You can tell the hour of the morning and the -time of the year: you can do anything but describe it in words. As with -regard to the Poussin above mentioned, one can never pass it without -bearing away a certain pleasing dreamy feeling of awe and musing; the -other landscape inspires the spectator infallibly with the most -delightful briskness and cheerfulness of spirit. Herein, lies the vast -privilege of the landscape painter: he does not address you with one -fixed particular subject of expression, but with a thousand never -contemplated by himself, and which only arise out of occasion. You may -always be looking at a natural landscape as at a fine pictorial -imitation of one; it seems eternally producing new thoughts in your -bosom, as it does fresh beauties from its own. I cannot fancy more -delightful, cheerful, silent companions for a man than half a dozen -landscapes hung round his study. Portraits, on the contrary, and large -pieces of figures have a painful, fixed, staring look, which must jar -upon the mind<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> in many of its moods. Fancy living in a room with David’s -sansculotte Leonidas staring perpetually in your face!</p> - -<p>There is a little Watteau here, and a rare piece of fantastical -brightness and gaiety it is. What a delightful affectation about yonder -ladies flirting their fans, and trailing about in their long brocades! -What splendid dandies are those, ever smirking, turning out their toes, -with broad blue ribands to tie up their crooks and their pigtails, and -wonderful gorgeous crimson satin breeches! Yonder, in the midst of a -golden atmosphere, rises a bevy of little Cupids, bubbling up in -clusters as out of a champagne-bottle, and melting away in air. There -is, to be sure, a hidden analogy between liquors and pictures: the eye -is deliciously tickled by these frisky Watteaus, and yields itself up to -a light, smiling, gentlemanlike intoxication. Thus, were we inclined to -pursue further this mighty subject, yonder landscape of Claude,—calm, -fresh, delicate, yet full of flavour,—should be likened to a bottle of -Chateau Margaux. And what is the Poussin before spoken of but Romanée -Gelée?—heavy, sluggish,—the luscious odour almost sickens you; a -sultry sort of drink; your limbs sink under it; you feel as if you had -been drinking hot blood.</p> - -<p>An ordinary man would be whirled away in a fever, or would hobble off -this mortal stage, in a premature gout-fit, if he too early or too often -indulged in such tremendous drink. I think in my heart I am fonder of -pretty third-rate pictures than of your great thundering first-rates. -Confess how many times you have read Béranger, and how many Milton? If -you go to the Star and Garter, don’t you grow sick of that vast luscious -landscape, and long for the sight of a couple of cows, or a donkey, and -a few yards of common? Donkeys, my dear MacGilp, since we have come to -this subject,—say not so; Richmond Hill for them. Milton they never -grow tired of; and are as familiar with Raphael as Bottom with exquisite -Titania. Let us thank Heaven, my dear sir, for according to us the power -to taste and appreciate the pleasures of mediocrity. I have never heard -that we were great geniuses. Earthy are we, and of the earth; glimpses -of the sublime are but rare to us; leave we them to great geniuses, and -to the donkeys; and if it nothing profit us, <i>aërias tentâsse domos</i> -along with them, let us thankfully remain below, being merry and humble.</p> - -<p>I have now only to mention the charming ‘Cruche Cassée’ of Greuze, which -all the young ladies delight to copy; and of which the colour (a thought -too blue, perhaps) is marvellously graceful and delicate. There are -three more pictures by the artist, containing exquisite female heads and -colour; but they have charms<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a> for French critics which are difficult to -be discovered by English eyes; and the pictures seem weak to me. A very -fine picture by Bon Bollongue, ‘Saint Benedict resuscitating a Child,’ -deserves particular attention, and is superb in vigour and richness of -colour. You must look, too, at the large, noble, melancholy landscapes -of Philippe de Champagne; and the two magnificent Italian pictures of -Léopold Robert: they are, perhaps, the very finest pictures that the -French school has produced,—as deep as Poussin, of a better colour, and -of a wonderful minuteness and veracity in the representation of objects.</p> - -<p>Every one of Lesueur’s church-pictures are worth examining and admiring; -they are full of ‘unction’ and pious mystical grace. ‘Saint Scholastica’ -is divine; and the ‘Taking down from the Cross’ as noble a composition -as ever was seen; I care not by whom the other may be. There is more -beauty, and less affectation, about this picture than you will find in -the performances of many Italian masters, with high-sounding names (out -with it, and say <span class="smcap">Raphael</span> at once). I hate those simpering Madonnas. I -declare that the ‘Jardinière’ is a puking, smirking miss, with nothing -heavenly about her. I vow that the ‘Saint Elizabeth’ is a bad -picture,—a bad composition, badly drawn, badly coloured, in a bad -imitation of Titian,—a piece of vile affectation. I say, that when -Raphael painted this picture, two years before his death, the spirit of -painting had gone from out of him; he was no longer inspired; <i>it was -time that he should die</i>!!</p> - -<p>There,—the murder is out! My paper is filled to the brim, and there is -no time to speak of Lesueur’s ‘Crucifixion,’ which is odiously coloured, -to be sure; but earnest, tender, simple, holy. But such things are most -difficult to translate into words;—one lays down the pen, and thinks -and thinks. The figures appear, and take their places one by one: -ranging themselves according to order, in light or in gloom, the colours -are reflected duly in the little camera obscura of the brain, and the -whole picture lies there complete; but can you describe it? No, not if -pens were fitch-brushes, and words were bladders of paint. With which, -for the present, adieu.—Your faithful</p> - -<p class="r"> -M. A. T.<br /> -</p> - -<p><i>To</i> <span class="smcap">Mr. Robert MacGilp</span>, <i>Newman Street, London</i>.</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_PAINTERS_BARGAIN" id="THE_PAINTERS_BARGAIN"></a>THE PAINTER’S BARGAIN</h2> - -<p class="nind">S<small>IMON</small> G<small>AMBOUGE</small> was the son of Solomon Gambouge; and, as all the world -knows, both father and son were astonishingly clever<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> fellows at their -profession. Solomon painted landscapes, which nobody bought; and Simon -took a higher line, and painted portraits to admiration, only nobody -came to sit to him.</p> - -<p>As he was not gaining five pounds a year by his profession, and had -arrived at the age of twenty, at least, Simon determined to better -himself by taking a wife,—a plan which a number of other wise men -adopt, in similar years and circumstances. So Simon prevailed upon a -butcher’s daughter (to whom he owed considerably for cutlets) to quit -the meat-shop and follow him. Griskinissa—such was the fair creature’s -name—‘was as lovely a bit of mutton,’ her father said, ‘as ever a man -would wish to stick a knife into.’ She had sat to the painter for all -sorts of characters; and the curious who possess any of Gambouge’s -pictures will see her as Venus, Minerva, Madonna, and in numberless -other characters: Portrait of a Lady—Griskinissa; Sleeping -Nymph—Griskinissa, without a rag of clothes, lying in a forest; -Maternal Solicitude—Griskinissa again, with young Master Gambouge, who -was by this time the offspring of their affections.</p> - -<p>The lady brought the painter a handsome little fortune of a couple of -hundred pounds; and as long as this sum lasted no woman could be more -lovely or loving. But want began speedily to attack their little -household; bakers’ bills were unpaid; rent was due, and the reckless -landlord gave no quarter; and, to crown the whole, her father, unnatural -butcher! suddenly stopped the supplies of mutton-chops; and swore that -his daughter, and the dauber her husband, should have no more of his -wares. At first they embraced tenderly, and, kissing and crying over -their little infant, vowed to Heaven that they would do without: but in -the course of the evening Griskinissa grew peckish, and poor Simon -pawned his best coat.</p> - -<p>When this habit of pawning is discovered, it appears to the poor a kind -of Eldorado. Gambouge and his wife were so delighted, that they, in the -course of a month, made away with her gold chain, her great warming-pan, -his best crimson plush inexpressibles, two wigs, a washhand basin and -ewer, fire-irons, window-curtains, crockery, and arm-chairs. Griskinissa -said, smiling, that she had found a second father in <i>her uncle</i>,—a -base pun, which showed that her mind was corrupted, and that she was no -longer the tender simple Griskinissa of other days.</p> - -<p>I am sorry to say that she had taken to drinking: she swallowed the -warming-pan in the course of three days, and fuddled herself one whole -evening with the crimson plush breeches.</p> - -<p>Drinking is the devil—the father, that is to say, of all vices.<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a> -Griskinissa’s face and her mind grew ugly together; her good-humour -changed to bilious bitter discontent; her pretty, fond epithets to foul -abuse and swearing; her tender blue eyes grew watery and blear, and the -peach colour on her cheeks fled from its old habitation, and crowded up -into her nose, where, with a number of pimples, it stuck fast. Add to -this a dirty draggle-tailed chintz; long matted hair, wandering into her -eyes and over her lean shoulders, which were once so snowy, and you have -the picture of drunkenness and Mrs. Simon Gambouge.</p> - -<p>Poor Simon, who had been a gay lively fellow enough in the days of his -better fortune, was completely cast down by his present ill luck, and -cowed by the ferocity of his wife. From morning till night the -neighbours could hear this woman’s tongue, and understand her doings; -bellows went skimming across the room, chairs were flumped down on the -floor, and poor Gambouge’s oil and varnish pots went clattering through -the windows, or down the stairs. The baby roared all day; and Simon sat -pale and idle in a corner, taking a small sup at the brandy-bottle, when -Mrs. Gambouge was out of the way.</p> - -<p>One day, as he sat disconsolately at his easel, furbishing up a picture -of his wife, in the character of Peace, which he had commenced a year -before, he was more than ordinarily desperate, and cursed and swore in -the most pathetic manner. ‘Oh, miserable fate of genius!’ cried he, ‘was -I, a man of such commanding talents, born for this—to be bullied by a -fiend of a wife; to have my masterpieces neglected by the world, or sold -only for a few pieces? Cursed be the love which has misled me; cursed be -the art which is unworthy of me! Let me dig or steal, let me sell myself -as a soldier, or sell myself to the Devil, I should not be more wretched -than I am now!’</p> - -<p>‘Quite the contrary,’ cried a small cheery voice.</p> - -<p>‘What!’ exclaimed Gambouge, trembling and surprised. ‘Who’s -there?—where are you?—who are you?’</p> - -<p>‘You were just speaking of me,’ said the voice.</p> - -<p>Gambouge held, in his left hand, his palette; in his right a bladder of -crimson lake, which he was about to squeeze out upon the mahogany. -‘Where are you?’ cried he again.</p> - -<p>‘S-q-u-e-e-z-e!’ exclaimed the little voice.</p> - -<p>Gambouge picked out the nail from the bladder, and gave a squeeze, when, -as sure as I am living, a little imp spirted out from the hole upon the -palette, and began laughing in the most singular and oily manner.</p> - -<p>When first born he was little bigger than a tadpole; then he grew to be -as big as a mouse; then he arrived at the size of a cat;<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> and then he -jumped off the palette, and, turning head over heels, asked the poor -painter what he wanted with him.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The strange little animal twisted head over heels, and fixed himself at -last upon the top of Gambouge’s easel,—smearing out, with his heels, -all the white and vermilion which had just been laid on to the allegoric -portrait of Mrs. Gambouge.</p> - -<p>‘What!’ exclaimed Simon, ‘is it the——’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p54_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p54_sml.jpg" width="131" height="206" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>‘Exactly so; talk of me, you know, and I am always at hand: besides, I -am not half so black as I am painted, as you will see when you know me a -little better.’</p> - -<p>‘Upon my word,’ said the painter, ‘it is a very singular surprise which -you have given me. To tell truth, I did not even believe in your -existence.’</p> - -<p>The little imp put on a theatrical air, and, with one of Mr. Macready’s -best looks, said:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Gambogio,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Than are dreamed of in your philosophy.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a></p> - -<p>Gambouge, being a Frenchman, did not understand the quotation, but felt -somehow strangely and singularly interested in the conversation of his -new friend.</p> - -<p>Diabolus continued: ‘You are a man of merit, and want money: you will -starve on your merit; you can only get money from me. Come, my friend, -how much is it? I ask the easiest interest in the world: old Mordecai, -the usurer, has made you pay twice as heavily before now: nothing but -the signature of a bond, which is a mere ceremony, and the transfer of -an article which, in itself, is a supposition,—a valueless, windy, -uncertain property of yours, called, by some poet of your own, I think, -an <i>animula vagula blandula</i>—bah! there is no use beating about the -bush—I mean <i>a soul</i>. Come, let me have it: you know you will sell it -some other way, and not get such good pay for your bargain!’—and, -having made this speech, the Devil pulled out from his fob a sheet as -big as a double <i>Times</i>, only there was a different <i>stamp</i> in the -corner.</p> - -<p>It is useless and tedious to describe law documents: lawyers only love -to read them; and they have as good in Chitty as any that are to be -found in the Devil’s own; so nobly have the apprentices emulated the -skill of the master. Suffice it to say, that poor Gambouge read over the -paper and signed it. He was to have all he wished for seven years, and -at the end of that time was to become the property of the——: <span class="eng">Provided</span> -that, during the course of the seven years, every single wish which he -might form should be gratified by the other of the contracting parties; -otherwise the deed became null and non-avenue, and Gambouge should be -left ‘to go to the —— his own way.’</p> - -<p>‘You will never see me again,’ said Diabolus, in shaking hands with poor -Simon, on whose fingers he left such a mark as is to be seen at this -day—‘never, at least, unless you want me; for everything you ask will -be performed in the most quiet and every-day manner: believe me, it is -best and most gentlemanlike, and avoids anything like scandal. But if -you set me about anything which is extraordinary, and out of the course -of nature, as it were, come I must, you know; and of this you are the -best judge.’ So saying, Diabolus disappeared; but whether up the -chimney, through the keyhole, or by any other aperture or contrivance, -nobody knows. Simon Gambouge was left in a fever of delight, as, Heaven -forgive me! I believe many a worthy man would be, if he were allowed an -opportunity to make a similar bargain.</p> - -<p>‘Heigho!’ said Simon. ‘I wonder whether this be a reality or a dream. I -am sober, I know; for who will give me credit for the means to be drunk? -and as for sleeping, I’m too hungry for that. I wish I could see a capon -and a bottle of white wine.<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>’</p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Monsieur Simon!</span>’ cried a voice on the landing-place.</p> - -<p>‘C’est ici,’ quoth Gambouge, hastening to open the door. He did so; and -lo! there was a restaurateur’s boy at the door, supporting a tray, a -tin-covered dish, and plates on the same; and, by its side, a tall -amber-coloured flask of sauterne.</p> - -<p>‘I am the new boy, sir,’ exclaimed this youth, on entering; ‘but I -believe this is the right door, and you asked for these things.’</p> - -<p>Simon grinned, and said, ‘Certainly, I did <i>ask</i> for these things.’ But -such was the effect which his interview with the demon had had on his -innocent mind, that he took them, although he knew that they were for -old Simon, the Jew dandy, who was mad after an opera girl, and lived on -the floor beneath.</p> - -<p>‘Go, my boy,’ he said; ‘it is good: call in a couple of hours, and -remove the plates and glasses.’</p> - -<p>The little waiter trotted downstairs, and Simon sat greedily down to -discuss the capon and the white wine. He bolted the legs, he devoured -the wings, he cut every morsel of flesh from the breast;—seasoning his -repast with pleasant draughts of wine, and caring nothing for the -inevitable bill, which was to follow all.</p> - -<p>‘Ye gods!’ said he, as he scraped away at the backbone, ‘what a dinner! -what wine!—and how gaily served up too!’ There were silver forks and -spoons, and the remnants of the fowl were upon a silver dish. ‘Why, the -money for this dish and these spoons,’ cried Simon, ‘would keep me and -Mrs. G. for a month! I wish’—and here Simon whistled, and turned round -to see that nobody was peeping—‘I wish the plate were mine.’</p> - -<p>Oh, the horrid progress of the Devil! ‘Here they are,’ thought Simon to -himself; ‘why should not I <i>take them</i>?’ And take them he did. -‘Detection,’ said he, ‘is not so bad as starvation; and I would as soon -live at the galleys as live with Madame Gambouge.’</p> - -<p>So Gambouge shovelled dish and spoons into the flap of his surtout, and -ran downstairs as if the Devil were behind him—as, indeed, he was.</p> - -<p>He immediately made for the house of his old friend the pawnbroker—that -establishment which is called in France the Mont de Piété. ‘I am obliged -to come to you again, my old friend,’ said Simon, ‘with some family -plate, of which I beseech you to take care.’</p> - -<p>The pawnbroker smiled as he examined the goods. ‘I can give you nothing -upon them,’ said he.</p> - -<p>‘What!’ cried Simon; ‘not even the worth of the silver?’</p> - -<p>‘No; I could buy them at that price at the “Café Morisot,” Rue de la -Verrerie, where, I suppose, you got them a little cheaper.’ And, so -saying, he showed to the guilt-stricken Gambouge how<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a> the name of that -coffee-house was inscribed upon every one of the articles which he had -wished to pawn.</p> - -<p>The effects of conscience are dreadful indeed. Oh! how fearful is -retribution, how deep is despair, how bitter is remorse for crime—<i>when -crime is found out!</i>—otherwise, conscience takes matters much more -easily. Gambouge cursed his fate, and swore henceforth to be virtuous.</p> - -<p>‘But, hark ye, my friend,’ continued the honest broker, ‘there is no -reason why, because I cannot lend upon these things, I should not buy -them: they will do to melt, if for no other purpose. Will you have half -the money?—speak, or I peach.’</p> - -<p>Simon’s resolves about virtue were dissipated instantaneously. ‘Give me -half,’ he said, ‘and let me go.—What scoundrels are these pawnbrokers!’ -ejaculated he, as he passed out of the accursed shop, ‘seeking every -wicked pretext to rob the poor man of his hard-won gain.’</p> - -<p>When he had marched forwards for a street or two, Gambouge counted the -money which he had received, and found that he was in possession of no -less than a hundred francs. It was night, as he reckoned out his -equivocal gains, and he counted them at the light of a lamp. He looked -up at the lamp, in doubt as to the course he should next pursue: upon it -was inscribed the simple number, 152. ‘A gambling-house,’ thought -Gambouge. ‘I wish I had half the money that is now on the table -upstairs.’</p> - -<p>He mounted, as many a rogue has done before him, and found half a -hundred persons busy at a table of <i>rouge et noir</i>. Gambouge’s five -napoleons looked insignificant by the side of the heaps which were -around him; but the effects of the wine, of the theft, and of the -detection by the pawnbroker, were upon him, and he threw down his -capital stoutly upon the 0 0.</p> - -<p>It is a dangerous spot that 0 0, or double zero; but to Simon it was -more lucky than to the rest of the world. The ball went spinning -round—in ‘its predestined circle rolled,’ as Shelley has it, after -Goethe—and plumped down at last in the double zero. One hundred and -thirty-five gold napoleons (louis they were then) were counted out to -the delighted painter. ‘Oh, Diabolus!’ cried he, ‘now it is that I begin -to believe in thee! Don’t talk about merit,’ he cried; ‘talk about -fortune. Tell me not about heroes for the future—tell me of <i>zeroes</i>.’ -And down went twenty napoleons more upon the 0.</p> - -<p>The Devil was certainly in the ball: round it twirled, and dropped into -zero as naturally as a duck pops its head into a pond. Our friend -received five hundred pounds for his stake; and the croupiers and -lookers-on began to stare at him.<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a></p> - -<p>There were twelve thousand pounds on the table. Suffice it to say, that -Simon won half, and retired from the Palais Royal with a thick bundle of -bank-notes crammed into his dirty three-cornered hat. He had been but -half an hour in the place, and he had won the revenues of a prince for -half a year!</p> - -<p>Gambouge, as soon as he felt that he was a capitalist, and that he had a -stake in the country, discovered that he was an altered man. He repented -of his foul deed, and his base purloining of the restaurateur’s plate. -‘O honesty!’ he cried, ‘how unworthy is an action like this of a man who -has a property like mine!’ So he went back to the pawnbroker with the -gloomiest face imaginable. ‘My friend,’ said he, ‘I have sinned against -all that I hold most sacred: I have forgotten my family and my religion. -Here is thy money. In the name of Heaven, restore me the plate which I -have wrongfully sold thee!’</p> - -<p>But the pawnbroker grinned, and said, ‘Nay, Mr. Gambouge, I will sell -that plate for a thousand francs to you, or I never will sell it at -all.’</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ cried Gambouge, ‘thou art an inexorable ruffian, Trois-boules; -but I will give thee all I am worth.’ And here he produced a billet of -five hundred francs. ‘Look,’ said he, ‘this money is all I own; it is -the payment of two years’ lodging. To raise it, I have toiled for many -months; and, failing, I have been a criminal. O Heaven! I <i>stole</i> that -plate that I might pay my debt, and keep my dear wife from wandering -houseless. But I cannot bear this load of ignominy—I cannot suffer the -thought of this crime. I will go to the person to whom I did wrong. I -will starve, I will confess; but I will, I <i>will</i> do right!’</p> - -<p>The broker was alarmed. ‘Give me thy note,’ he cried; ‘here is the -plate.’</p> - -<p>‘Give me an acquittal first,’ cried Simon, almost broken-hearted; ‘sign -me a paper, and the money is yours.’ So Trois-boules wrote according to -Gambouge’s dictation: ‘Received, for thirteen ounces of plate, twenty -pounds.’</p> - -<p>‘Monster of iniquity!’ cried the painter, ‘fiend of wickedness! thou art -caught in thine own snares. Hast thou not sold me five pounds’ worth of -plate for twenty? Have I it not in my pocket? Art thou not a convicted -dealer in stolen goods? Yield, scoundrel, yield thy money, or I will -bring thee to justice!’</p> - -<p>The frightened pawnbroker bullied and battled for a while; but he gave -up his money at last, and the dispute ended. Thus it will be seen that -Diabolus had rather a hard bargain in the wily Gambouge. He had taken a -victim prisoner, but he had assuredly<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> caught a tartar. Simon now -returned home, and, to do him justice, paid the bill for his dinner, and -restored the plate.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>And now I may add (and the reader should ponder upon this, as a profound -picture of human life) that Gambouge, since he had grown rich, grew -likewise abundantly moral. He was a most exemplary father. He fed the -poor, and was loved by them. He scorned a base action. And I have no -doubt that Mr. Thurtell, or the late lamented Mr. Greenacre, in similar -circumstances, would have acted like the worthy Simon Gambouge.</p> - -<p>There was but one blot upon his character—he hated Mrs. Gam. worse than -ever. As he grew more benevolent, she grew more virulent: when he went -to plays, she went to Bible societies, and <i>vice versâ</i>: in fact, she -led him such a life as Xantippe led Socrates, or as a dog leads a cat in -the same kitchen. With all his fortune—for, as may be supposed, Simon -prospered in all worldly things—he was the most miserable dog in the -whole city of Paris. Only on the point of drinking did he and Mrs. Simon -agree: and for many years, and during a considerable number of hours in -each day, he thus dissipated, partially, his domestic chagrin. O -philosophy! we may talk of thee: but, except at the bottom of the -wine-cup, where thou liest like truth in a well, where shall we find -thee?</p> - -<p>He lived so long, and in his worldly matters prospered so much, there -was so little sign of devilment in the accomplishment of his wishes, and -the increase of his prosperity, that Simon, at the end of six years, -began to doubt whether he had made any such bargain at all as that which -we have described at the commencement of this history. He had grown, as -we said, very pious and moral. He went regularly to mass, and had a -confessor into the bargain. He resolved, therefore, to consult that -reverend gentleman, and to lay before him the whole matter.</p> - -<p>‘I am inclined to think, holy sir,’ said Gambouge, after he had -concluded his history, and shown how, in some miraculous way, all his -desires were accomplished, ‘that, after all, this demon was no other -than the creation of my own brain, heated by the effects of that bottle -of wine, the cause of my crime and my prosperity.’</p> - -<p>The confessor agreed with him, and they walked out of church comfortably -together, and entered afterwards a <i>café</i>, where they sat down to -refresh themselves after the fatigues of their devotion.</p> - -<p>A respectable old gentleman, with a number of orders at his button-hole, -presently entered the room, and sauntered up to the marble table, before -which reposed Simon and his clerical friend.<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ he -said, as he took a place opposite them, and began reading the papers of -the day.</p> - -<p>‘Bah!’ said he, at last,—‘sont-ils grands ces journaux Anglais? Look, -sir,’ he said, handing over an immense sheet of the <i>Times</i> to Mr. -Gambouge, ‘was ever anything so monstrous?’</p> - -<p>Gambouge smiled politely, and examined the proffered page. ‘It is -enormous,’ he said; ‘but I do not read English.’</p> - -<p>‘Nay,’ said the man with the orders, ‘look closer at it, Signor -Gambouge; it is astonishing how easy the language is.’</p> - -<p>Wondering, Simon took the sheet of paper. He turned pale as he looked at -it, and began to curse the ices and the waiter. ‘Come, M. l’Abbé he -said; ‘the heat and glare of this place are intolerable.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The stranger rose with them. ‘Au plaisir de vous revoir, mon cher -monsieur,’ said he; ‘I do not mind speaking before the Abbé here, who -will be my very good friend one of these days; but I thought it -necessary to refresh your memory, concerning our little business -transaction six years since; and could not exactly talk of it <i>at -church</i>, as you may fancy.’</p> - -<p>Simon Gambouge had seen, in the double-sheeted <i>Times</i>, the paper signed -by himself, which the little Devil had pulled out of his fob.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>There was no doubt on the subject; and Simon, who had but a year to -live, grew more pious, and more careful than ever. He had consultations -with all the doctors of the Sorbonne and all the lawyers of the Palais. -But his magnificence grew as wearisome to him as his poverty had been -before; and not one of the doctors whom he consulted could give him a -pennyworth of consolation.</p> - -<p>Then he grew outrageous in his demands upon the Devil, and put him to -all sorts of absurd and ridiculous tasks; but they were all punctually -performed, until Simon could invent no new ones, and the Devil sat all -day with his hands in his pockets doing nothing.</p> - -<p>One day Simon’s confessor came bounding into the room with the greatest -glee. ‘My friend,’ said he, ‘I have it! Eureka!—I have found it. Send -the Pope a hundred thousand crowns, build a new Jesuit College at Rome, -give a hundred gold candlesticks to St. Peter’s; and tell his Holiness -you will double all, if he will give you absolution!’</p> - -<p>Gambouge caught at the notion, and hurried off a courier to Rome, -<i>ventre à terre</i>. His Holiness agreed to the request of the<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a> petition, -and sent him an absolution, written out with his own fist, and all in -due form.</p> - -<p>‘Now,’ said he, ‘foul fiend, I defy you! arise, Diabolus! your contract -is not worth a jot: the Pope has absolved me, and I am safe on the road -to salvation.’ In a fervour of gratitude he clasped the hand of his -confessor, and embraced him: tears of joy ran down the cheeks of these -good men.</p> - -<p>They heard an inordinate roar of laughter, and there was Diabolus -sitting opposite to them, holding his sides, and lashing his tail about -as if he would have gone mad with glee.</p> - -<p>‘Why,’ said he, ‘what nonsense is this! do you suppose I care about -<i>that</i>?’ and he tossed the Pope’s missive into a corner. ‘M. l’Abbé -knows,’ he said, bowing and grinning, ‘that though the Pope’s paper may -pass current <i>here</i>, it is not worth twopence in our country. What do I -care about the Pope’s absolution? You might just as well be absolved by -your under-butler.’</p> - -<p>‘Egad,’ said the Abbé, ‘the rogue is right—I quite forgot the fact, -which he points out clearly enough.’</p> - -<p>‘No, no, Gambouge,’ continued Diabolus, with horrid familiarity, ‘go thy -ways, old fellow, that <i>cock won’t fight</i>.’ And he retired up the -chimney, chuckling at his wit and his triumph. Gambouge heard his tail -scuttling all the way up, as if he had been a sweeper by profession.</p> - -<p>Simon was left in that condition of grief in which, according to the -newspapers, cities and nations are found when a murder is committed, or -a lord ill of the gout—a situation, we say, more easy to imagine than -to describe.</p> - -<p>To add to his woes, Mrs. Gambouge, who was now first made acquainted -with his compact, and its probable consequences, raised such a storm -about his ears, as made him wish almost that his seven years were -expired. She screamed, she scolded, she swore, she wept, she went into -such fits of hysterics, that poor Gambouge, who had completely knocked -under to her, was worn out of his life. He was allowed no rest, night or -day: he moped about his fine house, solitary and wretched, and cursed -his stars that he ever had married the butcher’s daughter.</p> - -<p>It wanted six months of the time.</p> - -<p>A sudden and desperate resolution seemed all at once to have taken -possession of Simon Gambouge. He called his family and his friends -together—he gave one of the greatest feasts that ever was known in the -city of Paris—he gaily presided at one end of his table, while Mrs. -Gam., splendidly arrayed, gave herself airs at the other extremity.</p> - -<p>After dinner, using the customary formula, he called upon<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> Diabolus to -appear. The old ladies screamed, and hoped he would not appear naked; -the young ones tittered, and longed to see the monster; everybody was -pale with expectation and affright.</p> - -<p>A very quiet gentlemanly man, neatly dressed in black, made his -appearance, to the surprise of all present, and bowed all round to the -company. ‘I will not show my <i>credentials</i>,’ he said, blushing, and -pointing to his hoofs, which were cleverly hidden by his pumps and -shoe-buckles, ‘unless the ladies absolutely wish it; but I am the person -you want, Mr. Gambouge; pray tell me what is your will.’</p> - -<p>‘You know,’ said that gentleman, in a stately and determined voice, -‘that you are bound to me, according to our agreement, for six months to -come?’</p> - -<p>‘I am,’ replied the new-comer.</p> - -<p>‘You are to do all that I ask, whatsoever it may be, or you forfeit the -bond which I gave you?’</p> - -<p>‘It is true.’</p> - -<p>‘You declare this before the present company?’</p> - -<p>‘Upon my honour, as a gentleman,’ said Diabolus, bowing, and laying his -hand upon his waistcoat.</p> - -<p>A whisper of applause ran round the room: all were charmed with the -bland manners of the fascinating stranger.</p> - -<p>‘My love,’ continued Gambouge, mildly addressing his lady, ‘will you be -so polite as to step this way? You know I must go soon, and I am -anxious, before this noble company, to make a provision for one who, in -sickness as in health, in poverty as in riches, has been my truest and -fondest companion.’</p> - -<p>Gambouge mopped his eyes with his handkerchief—all the company did -likewise. Diabolus sobbed audibly, and Mrs. Gambouge sidled up to her -husband’s side, and took him tenderly by the hand. ‘Simon!’ said she, -‘is it true? and do you really love your Griskinissa?’</p> - -<p>Simon continued solemnly: ‘Come hither, Diabolus; you are bound to obey -me in all things for the six months during which our contract has to -run; take, then, Griskinissa Gambouge, live alone with her for half a -year, never leave her from morning till night, obey all her caprices, -follow all her whims, and listen to all the abuse which falls from her -infernal tongue. Do this, and I ask no more of you; I will deliver -myself up at the appointed time.’</p> - -<p>Not Lord G——, when flogged by Lord B—— in the House,—not Mr. -Cartlitch, of Astley’s Amphitheatre, in his most pathetic passages, -could look more crestfallen, and howl more hideously, than Diabolus did -now. ‘Take another year, Gambouge,’ screamed<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> he; ‘two more—ten -more—a century; roast me on Lawrence’s gridiron, boil me in holy water, -but don’t ask that: don’t, don’t bid me live with Mrs. Gambouge!’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p63_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p63_sml.jpg" width="214" height="326" alt="A PUZZLE FOR THE DEVIL" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A PUZZLE FOR THE DEVIL</span> -</p> - -<p>Simon smiled sternly. ‘I have said it,’ he cried; ‘do this, or our -contract is at an end.’</p> - -<p>The Devil, at this, grinned so horribly that every drop of beer in the -house turned sour; he gnashed his teeth so frightfully that every person -in the company well-nigh fainted with the colic. He slapped down the -great parchment upon the floor, trampled upon it madly, and lashed it -with his hoofs and his tail: at last, spreading out a mighty pair of -wings as wide as from here to Regent Street, he slapped Gambouge with -his tail over one eye, and vanished, abruptly, through the keyhole.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Gambouge screamed with pain and started up. ‘You drunken, lazy -scoundrel!’ cried a shrill and well-known voice, ‘you have been asleep -these two hours:’ and here he received another terrific box on the ear.</p> - -<p>It was too true, he had fallen asleep at his work; and the beautiful -vision had been dispelled by the thumps of the tipsy Griskinissa. -Nothing remained to corroborate his story except the bladder of lake, -and this was spirted all over his waistcoat and breeches.</p> - -<p>‘I wish,’ said the poor fellow, rubbing his tingling cheeks, ‘that -dreams were true;’ and he went to work again at his portrait.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>My last accounts of Gambouge are, that he has left the arts, and is -footman in a small family. Mrs. Gam. takes in washing; and it is said -that her continual dealings with soap-suds and hot water have been the -only things in life which have kept her from spontaneous combustion.</p> - -<h2><a name="CARTOUCHE" id="CARTOUCHE"></a>CARTOUCHE</h2> - -<p class="nind">I <small>HAVE</small> been much interested with an account of the exploits of Monsieur -Louis Dominic Cartouche, and as Newgate and the highways are so much the -fashion with us in England, we may be allowed to look abroad for -histories of a similar tendency. It is pleasant to find that virtue is -cosmopolite, and may exist among wooden-shoed Papists as well as honest -Church-of-England men.</p> - -<p>Louis Dominic was born in a quarter of Paris called the<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> Courtille, says -the historian whose work lies before me;—born in the Courtille, and in -the year 1693. Another biographer asserts that he was born two years -later, and in the Marais;—of respectable parents, of course. Think of -the talent that our two countries produced about this time: Marlborough, -Villars, Mandrin, Turpin, Boileau, Dryden, Swift, Addison, Molière, -Racine, Jack Sheppard, and Louis Cartouche,—all famous within the same -twenty years, and fighting, writing, robbing, <i>à l’envi</i>!</p> - -<p>Well, Marlborough was no chicken when he began to show his genius; Swift -was but a dull, idle college lad; but if we read the histories of some -other great men mentioned in the above list—I mean the thieves, -especially—we shall find that they all commenced very early: they -showed a passion for their art, as little Raphael did, or little Mozart; -and the history of Cartouche’s knaveries begins almost with his -breeches.</p> - -<p>Dominic’s parents sent him to school at the college of Clermont (now -Louis le Grand); and although it has never been discovered that the -Jesuits, who directed that seminary, advanced him much in classical or -theological knowledge, Cartouche, in revenge, showed, by repeated -instances, his own natural bent and genius, which no difficulties were -strong enough to overcome. His first great action on record, although -not successful in the end, and tinctured with the innocence of youth, is -yet highly creditable to him. He made a general swoop of a hundred and -twenty nightcaps belonging to his companions, and disposed of them to -his satisfaction; but as it was discovered that of all the youths in the -college of Clermont, he only was the possessor of a cap to sleep in, -suspicion (which, alas! was confirmed) immediately fell upon him: and by -this little piece of youthful <i>naïveté</i>, a scheme, prettily conceived -and smartly performed, was rendered naught.</p> - -<p>Cartouche had a wonderful love for good eating, and put all the -apple-women and cooks, who came to supply the students, under -contribution. Not always, however, desirous of robbing these, he used to -deal with them, occasionally, on honest principles of barter; that is, -whenever he could get hold of his schoolfellows’ knives, books, rulers, -or playthings, which he used fairly to exchange for tarts and -gingerbread.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if the presiding genius of evil was determined to patronise -this young man; for before he had been long at college, and soon after -he had, with the greatest difficulty, escaped from the nightcap scrape, -an opportunity occurred by which he was enabled to gratify both his -propensities at once, and not only to steal, but to steal sweetmeats. It -happened that the principal of the college received some pots of -Narbonne honey, which came<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> under the eyes of Cartouche, and in which -that young gentleman, as soon as ever he saw them, determined to put his -fingers. The president of the college put aside his honey-pots in an -apartment within his own; to which, except by the one door which led -into the room which his reverence usually occupied, there was no outlet. -There was no chimney in the room; and the windows looked into the court, -where there was a porter at night, and where crowds passed by day. What -was Cartouche to do?—have the honey he must.</p> - -<p>Over this chamber, which contained what his soul longed after, and over -the president’s rooms, there ran a set of unoccupied garrets, into which -the dexterous Cartouche penetrated. These were divided from the rooms -below, according to the fashion of those days, by a set of large beams, -which reached across the whole building, and across which rude planks -were laid, which formed the ceiling of the lower story and the floor of -the upper. Some of these planks did young Cartouche remove; and having -descended by means of a rope, tied a couple of others to the neck of the -honey-pots, climbed back again, and drew up his prey in safety. He then -cunningly fixed the planks again in their old places, and retired to -gorge himself upon his booty. And, now, see the punishment of avarice! -Everybody knows that the brethren of the order of Jesus are bound by a -vow to have no more than a certain small sum of money in their -possession. The principal of the college of Clermont had amassed a -larger sum, in defiance of this rule: and where do you think the old -gentleman had hidden it? In the honey-pots! As Cartouche dug his spoon -into one of them, he brought out, besides a quantity of golden honey, a -couple of golden louis, which, with ninety-eight more of their fellows, -were comfortably hidden in the pots. Little Dominic, who, before, had -cut rather a poor figure among his fellow-students, now appeared in as -fine clothes as any of them could boast of; and when asked by his -parents, on going home, how he came by them, said that a young nobleman -of his schoolfellows had taken a violent fancy to him, and made him a -present of a couple of his suits. Cartouche the elder, good man, went to -thank the young nobleman; but none such could be found, and young -Cartouche disdained to give any explanation of his manner of gaining the -money.</p> - -<p>Here, again, we have to regret and remark the inadvertence of youth. -Cartouche lost a hundred louis—for what? For a pot of honey not worth a -couple of shillings. Had he fished out the pieces, and replaced the pots -and the honey, he might have been safe, and a respectable citizen all -his life after. The principal would not have dared to confess the loss -of his money, and did<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> not, openly; but he vowed vengeance against the -stealer of his sweetmeat, and a rigid search was made. Cartouche, as -usual, was fixed upon; and in the tick of his bed, lo! there were found -a couple of empty honey-pots! From this scrape there is no knowing how -he would have escaped, had not the president himself been a little -anxious to hush the matter up; and accordingly, young Cartouche was made -to disgorge the residue of his ill-gotten gold pieces, old Cartouche -made up the deficiency, and his son was allowed to remain -unpunished—until the next time.</p> - -<p>This, you may fancy, was not very long in coming; and though history has -not made us acquainted with the exact crime which Louis Dominic next -committed, it must have been a serious one; for Cartouche, who had borne -philosophically all the whippings and punishments which were -administered to him at college, did not dare to face that one which his -indignant father had in pickle for him. As he was coming home from -school, on the first day after his crime when he received permission to -go abroad, one of his brothers, who was on the look-out for him, met him -at a short distance from home, and told him what was in preparation; -which so frightened this young thief, that he declined returning home -altogether, and set out upon the wide world to shift for himself as he -could.</p> - -<p>Undoubted as his genius was, he had not arrived at the full exercise of -it, and his gains were by no means equal to his appetite. In whatever -professions he tried,—whether he joined the gypsies, which he did; -whether he picked pockets on the Pont Neuf, which occupation history -attributes to him,—poor Cartouche was always hungry. Hungry and ragged, -he wandered from one place and profession to another, and regretted the -honey-pots at Clermont, and the comfortable soup and <i>bouilli</i> at home.</p> - -<p>Cartouche had an uncle, a kind man, who was a merchant, and had dealings -at Rouen. One day, walking on the quays of that city, this gentleman saw -a very miserable, dirty, starving lad, who had just made a pounce upon -some bones and turnip-peelings, that had been flung out on the quay, and -was eating them as greedily as if they had been turkeys and truffles. -The worthy man examined the lad a little closer. Oh, heavens! it was -their runaway prodigal—it was little Louis Dominic! The merchant was -touched by his case; and forgetting the nightcaps, the honey-pots, and -the rags and dirt of little Louis, took him to his arms, and kissed and -hugged him with the tenderest affection. Louis kissed and hugged too, -and blubbered a great deal; he was very repentant, as a man often is -when he is hungry; and he went home with his uncle, and his peace was -made; and his mother got him new clothes, and<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> filled his belly, and for -a while Louis was as good a son as might be.</p> - -<p>But why attempt to balk the progress of genius? Louis’s was not to be -kept down. He was sixteen years of age by this time—a smart, lively -young fellow, and, what is more, desperately enamoured of a lovely -washerwoman. To be successful in your love, as Louis knew, you must have -something more than mere flames and sentiment;—a washer, or any other -woman, cannot live upon sighs only; but must have new gowns and caps, -and a necklace every now and then, and a few handkerchiefs and silk -stockings, and a treat into the country or to the play. Now, how are all -these things to be had without money? Cartouche saw at once that it was -impossible; and as his father would give him none, he was obliged to -look for it elsewhere. He took to his old courses, and lifted a purse -here, and a watch there; and found, moreover, an accommodating -gentleman, who took the wares off his hands.</p> - -<p>This gentleman introduced him into a very select and agreeable society, -in which Cartouche’s merit began speedily to be recognised, and in which -he learnt how pleasant it is in life to have friends to assist one, and -how much may be done by a proper division of labour. M. Cartouche, in -fact, formed part of a regular company or gang of gentlemen, who were -associated together for the purpose of making war on the public and the -law.</p> - -<p>Cartouche had a lovely young sister, who was to be married to a rich -young gentleman from the provinces. As is the fashion in France, the -parents had arranged the match among themselves, and the young people -had never met until just before the time appointed for the marriage, -when the bridegroom came up to Paris with his title-deeds, and -settlements, and money. Now, there can hardly be found in history a -finer instance of devotion than Cartouche now exhibited. He went to his -captain, explained the matter to him, and actually, for the good of his -country, as it were (the thieves might be called his country), -sacrificed his sister’s husband’s property. Informations were taken, the -house of the bridegroom was reconnoitred, and, one night, Cartouche, in -company with some chosen friends, made his first visit to the house of -his brother-in-law. All the people were gone to bed; and, doubtless, for -fear of disturbing the porter, Cartouche and his companions spared him -the trouble of opening the door, by ascending quietly at the window. -They arrived at the room where the bridegroom kept his great chest, and -set industriously to work, filing and picking the locks which defended -the treasure.</p> - -<p>The bridegroom slept in the next room; but however tenderly Cartouche -and his workmen handled their tools, from fear of dis<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>turbing his -slumbers, their benevolent design was disappointed, for awaken him they -did; and quietly slipping out of bed, he came to a place where he had a -complete view of all that was going on. He did not cry out, or frighten -himself sillily; but, on the contrary, contented himself with watching -the countenances of the robbers, so that he might recognise them on -another occasion; and, though an avaricious man, he did not feel the -slightest anxiety about his money-chest; for the fact is, he had removed -all the cash and papers the day before.</p> - -<p>As soon, however, as they had broken all the locks, and found the -nothing which lay at the bottom of the chest, he shouted with such a -loud voice, ‘Here, Thomas!—John!—officer!—keep the gate, fire at the -rascals!’ that they, incontinently taking fright, skipped nimbly out of -window, and left the house free.</p> - -<p>Cartouche, after this, did not care to meet his brother-in-law, but -eschewed all those occasions on which the latter was to be present at -his father’s house. The evening before the marriage came; and then his -father insisted upon his appearance among the other relatives of the -bride’s and bridegroom’s families, who were all to assemble and make -merry. Cartouche was obliged to yield; and brought with him one or two -of his companions, who had been, by the way, present in the affair of -the empty money-boxes; and though he never fancied that there was any -danger in meeting his brother-in-law, for he had no idea that he had -been seen on the night of the attack, with a natural modesty, which did -him really credit, he kept out of the young bridegroom’s sight as much -as he could, and showed no desire to be presented to him. At supper, -however, as he was sneaking modestly down to a side-table, his father -shouted after him, ‘Ho, Dominic, come hither, and sit opposite your -brother-in-law:’ which Dominic did, his friends following. The -bridegroom pledged him very gracefully in a bumper; and was in the act -of making him a pretty speech, on the honour of an alliance with such a -family, and on the pleasures of brother-in-lawship in general, when, -looking in his face—ye gods! he saw the very man who had been filing at -his money-chest a few nights ago! By his side, too, sat a couple more of -the gang. The poor fellow turned deadly pale and sick, and, setting his -glass down, ran quickly out of the room, for he thought he was in -company of a whole gang of robbers. And when he got home, he wrote a -letter to the elder Cartouche, humbly declining any connection with his -family.</p> - -<p>Cartouche the elder, of course, angrily asked the reason of such an -abrupt dissolution of the engagement; and then, much to his horror, -heard of his eldest son’s doings. ‘You would not have me<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> marry into -such a family?’ said the ex-bridegroom. And old Cartouche, an honest old -citizen, confessed, with a heavy heart, that he would not. What was he -to do with the lad? He did not like to ask for a <i>lettre de cachet</i>, and -shut him up in the Bastile. He determined to give him a year’s -discipline at the monastery of St. Lazare.</p> - -<p>But how to catch the young gentleman? Old Cartouche knew that, were he -to tell his son of the scheme, the latter would never obey, and, -therefore, he determined to be very cunning. He told Dominic that he was -about to make a heavy bargain with the fathers, and should require a -witness; so they stepped into a carriage together, and drove -unsuspectingly to the Rue St. Denis. But, when they arrived near the -convent, Cartouche saw several ominous figures gathering round the -coach, and felt that his doom was sealed. However, he made as if he knew -nothing of the conspiracy; and the carriage drew up, and his father -descended, and, bidding him wait for a minute in the coach, promised to -return to him. Cartouche looked out; on the other side of the way half a -dozen men were posted, evidently with the intention of arresting him.</p> - -<p>Cartouche now performed a great and celebrated stroke of genius, which, -if he had not been professionally employed in the morning, he never -could have executed. He had in his pocket a piece of linen, which he had -laid hold of at the door of some shop, and from which he quickly tore -three suitable stripes. One he tied round his head, after the fashion of -a nightcap; a second round his waist, like an apron; and with the third -he covered his hat, a round one with a large brim. His coat and his -periwig he left behind him in the carriage; and when he stepped out from -it (which he did without asking the coachman to let down the steps), he -bore exactly the appearance of a cook’s boy carrying a dish; and with -this he slipped through the exempts quite unsuspected, and bade adieu to -the Lazarists and his honest father, who came out speedily to seek him, -and was not a little annoyed to find only his coat and wig.</p> - -<p>With that coat and wig, Cartouche left home, father, friends, -conscience, remorse, society, behind him. He discovered (like a great -number of other philosophers and poets, when they have committed -rascally actions) that the world was all going wrong, and he quarrelled -with it outright. One of the first stories told of the illustrious -Cartouche, when he became professionally and openly a robber, redounds -highly to his credit, and shows that he knew how to take advantage of -the occasion, and how much he had improved in the course of a very few -years’ experience. His courage and<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> ingenuity were vastly admired by his -friends; so much so, that, one day, the captain of the band thought fit -to compliment him, and vowed that when he (the captain) died, Cartouche -should infallibly be called to the command-in-chief. This conversation, -so flattering to Cartouche, was carried on between the two gentlemen, as -they were walking, one night, on the quays by the side of the Seine. -Cartouche, when the captain made the last remark, blushingly protested -against it, and pleaded his extreme youth as a reason why his comrades -could never put entire trust in him. ‘Psha, man!’ said the captain, ‘thy -youth is in thy favour; thou wilt live only the longer to lead thy -troops to victory. As for strength, bravery, and cunning, wert thou as -old as Methuselah, thou couldst not be better provided than thou art -now, at eighteen.’ What was the reply of Monsieur Cartouche? He -answered, not by words, but by actions. Drawing his knife from his -girdle, he instantly dug it into the captain’s left side, as near his -heart as possible: and then, seizing that imprudent commander, -precipitated him violently into the waters of the Seine, to keep company -with the gudgeons and river-gods. When he returned to the band, and -recounted how the captain had basely attempted to assassinate him, and -how he, on the contrary, had, by exertion of superior skill, overcome -the captain, not one of the society believed a word of his history; but -they elected him captain forthwith. I think his Excellency Don Rafael -Maroto, the pacificator of Spain, is an amiable character, for whom -history has not been written in vain.</p> - -<p>Being arrived at this exalted position, there is no end of the feats -which Cartouche performed; and his band reached to such a pitch of -glory, that if there had been a hundred thousand, instead of a hundred -of them, who knows but that a new and popular dynasty might not have -been founded, and ‘Louis Dominic, premier Empereur des Frances,’ might -have performed innumerable glorious actions, and fixed himself in the -hearts of his people, just as other monarchs have done, a hundred years -after Cartouche’s death.</p> - -<p>A story similar to the above, and equally moral, is that of Cartouche, -who, in company with two other gentlemen, robbed the <i>coche</i>, or -packet-boat, from Melun, where they took a good quantity of -booty,—making the passengers lie down on the decks, and rifling them at -leisure. ‘This money will be but very little among three,’ whispered -Cartouche to his neighbour, as the three conquerors were making merry -over their gains; ‘if you were but to pull the trigger of your pistol in -the neighbourhood of your comrade’s ear, perhaps it might go off, and -then there would be but two of us to share.’ Strangely enough, as -Cartouche said, the<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> pistol <i>did</i> go off, and No. 3 perished. ‘Give him -another ball,’ said Cartouche: and another was fired into him. But no -sooner had Cartouche’s comrade discharged both his pistols, than -Cartouche himself, seized with a furious indignation, drew his: ‘Learn, -monster,’ cried he, ‘not to be so greedy of gold, and perish, the victim -of thy disloyalty and avarice!’ So Cartouche slew the second robber; and -there is no man in Europe who can say that the latter did not merit well -his punishment.</p> - -<p>I could fill volumes, and not mere sheets of paper, with tales of the -triumphs of Cartouche and his band: how he robbed the Countess of O——, -going to Dijon, in her coach, and how the Countess fell in love with -him, and was faithful to him ever after; how, when the lieutenant of -police offered a reward of a hundred pistoles to any man who would bring -Cartouche before him, a noble Marquess, in a coach-and-six, drove up to -the hôtel of the police; and the noble Marquess, desiring to see -Monsieur de la Reynie, on matters of the highest moment, alone, the -latter introduced him into his private cabinet; and how, when there, the -Marquess drew from his pocket a long curiously shaped dagger: ‘Look at -this, Monsieur de la Reynie,’ said he; ‘this dagger is poisoned!’</p> - -<p>‘Is it possible?’ said M. de la Reynie.</p> - -<p>‘A prick of it would do for any man,’ said the Marquess.</p> - -<p>‘You don’t say so!’ said M. de la Reynie.</p> - -<p>‘I do, though; and, what is more,’ says the Marquess, in a terrible -voice, ‘if you do not instantly lay yourself flat on the ground, with -your face towards it, and your hands crossed over your back, or if you -make the slightest noise or cry, I will stick this poisoned dagger -between your ribs, as sure as my name is Cartouche!’</p> - -<p>At the sound of this dreadful name, M. de la Reynie sunk incontinently -down on his stomach, and submitted to be carefully gagged and corded; -after which Monsieur Cartouche laid his hands upon all the money which -was kept in the lieutenant’s cabinet. Alas! and alas! many a stout -bailiff, and many an honest fellow of a spy, went, for that day, without -his pay and his victuals.</p> - -<p>There is a story that Cartouche once took the diligence to Lille, and -found in it a certain Abbé Potter, who was full of indignation against -this monster of a Cartouche, and said that when he went back to Paris, -which he proposed to do in about a fortnight, he should give the -lieutenant of police some information, which would infallibly lead to -the scoundrel’s capture. But poor Potter was disappointed in his -designs; for, before he could fulfil them, he was made the victim of -Cartouche’s cruelty.<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a></p> - -<p>A letter came to the lieutenant of police, to state that Cartouche had -travelled to Lille, in company with the Abbé de Potter, of that town; -that, on the reverend gentleman’s return towards Paris, Cartouche had -waylaid him, murdered him, taken his papers, and would come to Paris -himself, bearing the name and clothes of the unfortunate Abbé, by the -Lille coach, on such a day. The Lille coach arrived, was surrounded by -police agents; the monster Cartouche was there, sure enough, in the -Abbé’s guise. He was seized, bound, flung into prison, brought out to be -examined, and, on examination, found to be no other than the Abbé Potter -himself! It is pleasant to read thus of the relaxations of great men, -and find them condescending to joke like the meanest of us.</p> - -<p>Another diligence adventure is recounted of the famous Cartouche. It -happened that he met, in the coach, a young and lovely lady, clad in -widow’s weeds, and bound to Paris, with a couple of servants. The poor -thing was the widow of a rich old gentleman of Marseilles, and was going -to the capital to arrange with her lawyers, and to settle her husband’s -will. The Count de Grinche (for so her fellow-passenger was called) was -quite as candid as the pretty widow had been, and stated that he was a -captain in the regiment of Nivernois; that he was going to Paris to buy -a colonelcy, which his relatives, the Duke de Bouillon, the Prince de -Montmorenci, the Commandeur de la Trémoille, with all their interest at -Court, could not fail to procure for him. To be short, in the course of -the four days’ journey, the Count Louis Dominic de Grinche played his -cards so well, that the poor little widow half forgot her late husband; -and her eyes glistened with tears as the Count kissed her hand at -parting—at parting, he hoped, only for a few hours.</p> - -<p>Day and night the insinuating Count followed her; and when, at the end -of a fortnight, and in the midst of a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, he plunged, one -morning, suddenly on his knees, and said, ‘Leonora, do you love me?’ the -poor thing heaved the gentlest, tenderest, sweetest sigh in the world; -and, sinking her blushing head on his shoulder, whispered, ‘Oh, Dominic, -je t’aime! Ah!’ said she, ‘how noble is it of my Dominic to take me with -the little I have, and he so rich a nobleman!’ The fact is, the old -Baron’s titles and estates had passed away to his nephews; his dowager -was only left with three hundred thousand livres, in <i>rentes sur -l’état</i>,—a handsome sum, but nothing to compare to the rent-roll of -Count Dominic, Count de la Grinche, Seigneur de la Haute Pigre, Baron de -la Bigorne; he had estates and wealth which might authorise him to -aspire to the hand of a duchess, at least.<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a></p> - -<p>The unfortunate widow never for a moment suspected the cruel trick that -was about to be played on her; and, at the request of her affianced -husband, sold out her money, and realised it in gold, to be made over to -him on the day when the contract was to be signed. The day arrived; and, -according to the custom in France, the relations of both parties -attended. The widow’s relatives, though respectable, were not of the -first nobility, being chiefly persons of the <i>finance</i> or the <i>robe</i>; -there was the President of the Court of Arras, and his lady; a -farmer-general; a judge of a court of Paris; and other such grave and -respectable people. As for Monsieur le Comte de la Grinche, he was not -bound for names; and, having the whole peerage to choose from, brought a -host of Montmorencies, Créquis, De la Tours, and Guises at his back. His -<i>homme d’affaires</i> brought his papers in a sack, and displayed the plans -of his estates, and the titles of his glorious ancestry. The widow’s -lawyers had her money in sacks; and between the gold on the one side and -the parchments on the other, lay the contract which was to make the -widow’s three hundred thousand francs the property of the Count de -Grinche. The Count de la Grinche was just about to sign, when the -Marshal de Villars, stepping up to him, said, ‘Captain, do you know who -the President of the Court of Arras, yonder, is? It is old Manasseh, the -fence, of Brussels. I pawned a gold watch to him, which I stole from -Cadogan, when I was with Malbrook’s army in Flanders.’</p> - -<p>Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon came forward, very much alarmed. ‘Run me -through the body!’ said his Grace, ‘but the Comptroller-General’s lady, -there, is no other than that old hag of a Margoton who keeps the——’ -Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon’s voice fell.</p> - -<p>Cartouche smiled graciously, and walked up to the table. He took up one -of the widow’s fifteen thousand gold pieces;—it was as pretty a bit of -copper as you could wish to see. ‘My dear,’ said he politely, ‘there is -some mistake here, and this business had better stop.’</p> - -<p>‘Count!’ gasped the poor widow.</p> - -<p>‘Count be hanged!’ answered the bridegroom sternly; ‘my name is -<span class="smcap">Cartouche</span>!<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p75_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p75_sml.jpg" width="220" height="331" alt="CARTOUCHE" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">CARTOUCHE</span> -</p><p>/</p> - -<p><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="ON_SOME_FRENCH_FASHIONABLE_NOVELS" id="ON_SOME_FRENCH_FASHIONABLE_NOVELS"></a>ON SOME FRENCH FASHIONABLE NOVELS<br /><br /> -<small>WITH A PLEA FOR ROMANCES IN GENERAL</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HERE</small> is an old story of a Spanish court painter, who, being pressed for -money, and having received a piece of damask, which he was to wear in a -state procession, pawned the damask, and appeared, at the show, dressed -out in some very fine sheets of paper, which he had painted so as -exactly to resemble silk. Nay, his coat looked so much richer than the -doublets of all the rest, that the Emperor Charles, in whose honour the -procession was given, remarked the painter, and so his deceit was found -out.</p> - -<p>I have often thought that, in respect of sham and real histories, a -similar fact may be noticed; the sham story appearing a great deal more -agreeable, lifelike, and natural than the true one: and all who, from -laziness as well as principle, are inclined to follow the easy and -comfortable study of novels, may console themselves with the notion that -they are studying matters quite as important as history, and that their -favourite duodecimos are as instructive as the biggest quartos in the -world.</p> - -<p>If, then, ladies, the bigwigs begin to sneer at the course of our -studies, calling our darling romances foolish, trivial, noxious to the -mind, enervators of intellect, fathers of idleness, and what not, let us -at once take a high ground, and say,—Go you to your own employments, -and to such dull studies as you fancy; go and bob for triangles, from -the Pons Asinorum; go enjoy your dull black-draughts of metaphysics; go -fumble over history-books, and dissert upon Herodotus and Livy; <i>our</i> -histories are, perhaps, as true as yours; our drink is the brisk -sparkling champagne drink, from the presses of Colburn, Bentley, and -Co.; our walks are over such sunshiny pleasure-grounds as Scott and -Shakespeare have laid out for us; and if our dwellings are castles in -the air, we find them excessively splendid and commodious;—be not you -envious because you have no wings to fly thither. Let the bigwigs -despise us; such contempt of their neighbours is the custom of all -barbarous tribes; witness, the learned Chinese: Tippoo Sultaun declared -that there were not in all Europe ten thousand men: the Sclavonic -hordes, it is said, so entitled themselves from a word in their jargon -which signifies ‘to speak;’ the ruffians imagining that they had a -monopoly of this agreeable faculty, and that all other nations were -dumb.</p> - -<p>Not so: others may be <i>deaf</i>; but the novelist has a loud,<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a> eloquent, -instructive language, though his enemies may despise or deny it ever so -much. What is more, one could, perhaps, meet the stoutest historian on -his own ground, and argue with him; showing that sham histories were -much truer than real histories; which are, in fact, mere contemptible -catalogues of names and places, that can have no moral effect upon the -reader.</p> - -<p>As thus:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Julius Cæsar beat Pompey, at Pharsalia.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Duke of Marlborough beat Marshal Tallard, at Blenheim.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Constable of Bourbon beat Francis the First, at Pavia.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>And what have we here?—so many names, simply. Suppose Pharsalia had -been, at that mysterious period when names were given, called Pavia; and -that Julius Cæsar’s family name had been John Churchill;—the fact would -have stood, in history, thus:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Pompey ran away from the Duke of Marlborough at Pavia.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>And why not?—we should have been just as wise. Or it might be stated, -that:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘The tenth legion charged the French infantry at Blenheim; and -Cæsar, writing home to his mamma, said, “Madame, tout est perdu -fors l’honneur.”’</p></div> - -<p>What a contemptible science this is, then, about which quartos are -written, and sixty-volumed <i>Biographies Universelles</i>, and Lardner’s -<i>Cabinet Cyclopædias</i>, and the like! the facts are nothing in it, the -names everything; and a gentleman might as well improve his mind by -learning Walker’s <i>Gazetteer</i>, or getting by heart a fifty-years-old -edition of the <i>Court Guide</i>.</p> - -<p>Having thus disposed of the historians, let us come to the point in -question—the novelists.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>On the title-page of these volumes the reader has, doubtless, remarked, -that among the pieces introduced, some are announced as ‘copies’ and -‘compositions.’ Many of the histories have, accordingly, been neatly -stolen from the collections of French authors (and mutilated, according -to the old saying, so that their owners should not know them); and, for -composition, we intend to favour the public with some studies of French -modern works, that have not as yet, we believe, attracted the notice of -the English public.</p> - -<p>Of such works there appear many hundreds yearly, as may be seen by the -French catalogues; but the writer has not so much to do with works -political, philosophical, historical, metaphysical, scientifical, -theological, as with those for which he has been putting<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a> forward a -plea—novels, namely; on which he has expended a great deal of time and -study. And, passing from novels in general to French novels, let us -confess, with much humiliation, that we borrow from these stories a -great deal more knowledge of French society than from our own personal -observation we ever can hope to gain: for, let a gentleman who has dwelt -two, four, or ten years in Paris (and has not gone thither for the -purpose of making a book, when three weeks are sufficient)—let an -English gentleman say, at the end of any given period, how much he knows -of French society, how many French houses he has entered, and how many -French friends he has made? He has enjoyed, at the end of the year, say:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At the English Ambassador’s, so many soirées.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At houses to which he has brought letters, so many tea-parties.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At cafés, so many dinners.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At French private houses, say three dinners, and very lucky too.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>He has, we say, seen an immense number of wax-candles, cups of tea, -glasses of orgeat, and French people, in best clothes, enjoying the -same; but intimacy there is none; we see but the outsides of the people. -Year by year we live in France, and grow grey, and see no more. We play -écarté with Monsieur de Trèfle every night; but what know we of the -heart of the man—of the inward ways, thoughts, and customs of Trèfle? -If we have good legs, and love the amusement, we dance with Countess -Flicflac, Tuesdays and Thursdays, ever since the Peace: and how far are -we advanced in acquaintance with her since we first twirled her round a -room? We know her velvet gown, and her diamonds (about three-fourths of -them are sham, by the way); we know her smiles, and her simpers, and her -rouge—but no more: she may turn into a kitchen-wench at twelve on -Thursday night, for aught we know; her <i>voiture</i>, a pumpkin; and her -<i>gens</i>, so many rats: but the real, rougeless, <i>intime</i> Flicflac, we -know not. This privilege is granted to no Englishman: we may understand -the French language as well as Monsieur de Levizac, but never can -penetrate into Flicflac’s confidence: our ways are not her ways; our -manners of thinking not hers; when we say a good thing, in the course of -the night, we are wondrous lucky and pleased; Flicflac will trill you -off fifty in ten minutes, and wonder at the <i>bêtise</i> of the Briton, who -has never a word to say. We are married, and have fourteen children, and -would just as soon make love to the Pope of Rome as to any one but our -own wife. If you do not make love to Flicflac, from the day after her -marriage to the day she reaches sixty, she thinks you a fool. We won’t -play at écarté with Trèfle on Sunday<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a> nights; and are seen walking, -about one o’clock (accompanied by fourteen red-haired children, with -fourteen gleaming prayer-books), away from the church. ‘Grand Dieu!’ -cries Trèfle, ‘is that man mad? He won’t play at cards on a Sunday; he -goes to church on a Sunday; he has fourteen children!’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p79_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p79_sml.jpg" width="320" height="212" alt="HOW TO ASTONISH THE FRENCH -AN ENGLISH FAMILY IN THE TUILERIES" title="HOW TO ASTONISH THE FRENCH -AN ENGLISH FAMILY IN THE TUILERIES" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">HOW TO ASTONISH THE FRENCH<br /> -AN ENGLISH FAMILY IN THE TUILERIES</span> -</p> - -<p>Was ever Frenchman known to do likewise? Pass we on to our argument, -which is, that with our English notions and moral and physical -constitution, it is quite impossible that we should become intimate with -our brisk neighbours; and when such authors as Lady Morgan and Mrs. -Trollope, having frequented a certain number of tea-parties in the -French capital, begin to prattle about French manners and men—with all -respect for the talents of those ladies, we do believe their information -not to be worth a sixpence: they speak to us, not of men, but of -tea-parties. Tea-parties are the same all the world over; with the -exception that, with the French, there are more lights and prettier -dresses; and with us a mighty deal more tea in the pot.</p> - -<p>There is, however, a cheap and delightful way of travelling, that a man -may perform in his easy-chair, without expense of passports or -post-boys. On the wings of a novel, from the next circulating library, -he sends his imagination a-gadding, and gains acquaintance with people -and manners whom he could not hope otherwise to know. Twopence a volume -bears us whithersoever we will—back to Ivanhoe and Cœur de Lion, or -to Waverley and the Young Pretender, along with Walter Scott; up to the -heights of fashion with the charming enchanters of the silver-fork -school; or, better still, to the snug inn-parlour, or the jovial -tap-room, with Mr. Pickwick and his faithful Sancho Weller. I am sure -that a man who, a hundred years hence, should sit down to write the -history of our time, would do wrong to put that great contemporary -history of <i>Pickwick</i> aside as a frivolous work. It contains true -character under false names; and, like <i>Roderick Random</i>, an inferior -work, and <i>Tom Jones</i> (one that is immeasurably superior), gives us a -better idea of the state and ways of the people than one could gather -from any more pompous or authentic histories.</p> - -<p>We have, therefore, introduced into these volumes one or two short -reviews of French fiction-writers, of particular classes, whose Paris -sketches may give the reader some notion of manners in that capital. If -not original, at least the drawings are accurate; for, as a Frenchman -might have lived a thousand years in England, and never could have -written <i>Pickwick</i>, an Englishman cannot hope to give a good description -of the inward thoughts and ways of his neighbours.<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a></p> - -<p>To a person inclined to study these, in that light and amusing fashion -in which the novelist treats them, let us recommend the works of a new -writer, Monsieur de Bernard, who has painted actual manners, without -those monstrous and terrible exaggerations in which late French writers -have indulged; and who, if he occasionally wounds the English sense of -propriety (as what French man or woman alive will not?), does so more by -slighting than by outraging it, as, with their laboured descriptions of -all sorts of imaginable wickedness, some of his brethren of the press -have done. M. de Bernard’s characters are men and women of genteel -society—rascals enough, but living in no state of convulsive crimes; -and we follow him in his lively malicious account of their manners, -without risk of lighting upon any such horrors as Balzac or Dumas have -provided for us.</p> - -<p>Let us give an instance:—it is from the amusing novel called <i>Les Ailes -d’Icare</i>, and contains what is to us quite a new picture of a French -fashionable rogue. The fashions will change in a few years, and the -rogue, of course, with them. Let us catch this delightful fellow ere he -flies. It is impossible to sketch the character in a more sparkling, -gentlemanlike way than M. de Bernard’s; but such light things are very -difficult of translation, and the sparkle sadly evaporates during the -process of <i>decanting</i>.</p> - -<p class="cb"><small>A FRENCH FASHIONABLE LETTER</small></p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Victor</span>—It is six in the morning: I have just come from the -English Ambassador’s ball, and as my plans for the day do not admit of -my sleeping, I write you a line; for, at this moment, saturated as I am -with the enchantments of a fairy night, all other pleasures would be too -wearisome to keep me awake, except that of conversing with you. Indeed, -were I not to write to you now, when should I find the possibility of -doing so? Time flies here with such a frightful rapidity, my pleasures -and my affairs whirl onwards together in such a torrentuous galopade, -that I am compelled to seize occasion by the forelock; for each moment -has its imperious employ. Do not, then, accuse me of negligence: if my -correspondence has not always that regularity which I would fain give -it, attribute the fault solely to the whirlwind in which I live, and -which carries me hither and thither at its will.</p> - -<p>‘However, you are not the only person with whom I am behindhand: I -assure you, on the contrary, that you are one of a very numerous and -fashionable company, to whom, towards the discharge of my debts, I -propose to consecrate four hours to-day.<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> I give you the preference to -all the world, even to the lovely Duchess of San Severino, a delicious -Italian, whom, for my special happiness, I met last summer at the Waters -of Aix. I have also a most important negotiation to conclude with one of -our Princes of Finance: but <i>n’importe</i>, I commence with thee: -friendship before love or money—friendship before everything. My -despatches concluded, I am engaged to ride with the Marquis de -Grigneure, the Comte de Castijars, and Lord Cobham, in order that we may -recover, for a breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale, that Grigneure has -lost, the appetite which we all of us so cruelly abused last night at -the Ambassador’s gala. On my honour, my dear fellow, everybody was of a -<i>caprice prestigieux</i> and a <i>comfortable mirobolant</i>. Fancy, for a -banquet-hall, a Royal orangery hung with white damask; the boxes of the -shrubs transformed into so many sideboards; lights gleaming through the -foliage; and, for guests, the loveliest women and most brilliant -cavaliers of Paris. Orleans and Nemours were there, dancing and eating -like simple mortals. In a word, Albion did the thing very handsomely, -and I accord it my esteem.</p> - -<p>Here I pause, to ring for my valet-de-chambre, and call for tea; for my -head is heavy, and I’ve no time for a headache. In serving me, this -rascal of a Frédéric has broken a cup, true Japan, upon my honour—the -rogue does nothing else. Yesterday, for instance, did he not thump me -prodigiously, by letting fall a goblet, after Cellini, of which the -carving alone cost me three hundred francs? I must positively put the -wretch out of doors, to ensure the safety of my furniture; and, in -consequence of this, Eneas, an audacious young negro, in whom wisdom -hath not waited for years—Eneas, my groom, I say, will probably be -elevated to the post of valet-de-chambre. But where was I? I think I was -speaking to you of an oyster breakfast, to which, on our return from the -Park (du Bois), a company of pleasant rakes are invited. After quitting -Borel’s, we propose to adjourn to the Barrière du Combat, where Lord -Cobham proposes to try some bull-dogs, which he has brought over from -England—one of these, O’Connell (Lord Cobham is a Tory), has a face in -which I place much confidence: I have a bet of ten louis with Castijars -on the strength of it. After the fight, we shall make our accustomed -appearance at the Café de Paris (the only place, by the way, where a man -who respects himself may be seen),—and then away with frocks and spurs, -and on with our dress-coats for the rest of the evening. In the first -place, I shall go doze for a couple of hours at the Opera, where my -presence is indispensable; for Coralie, a charming creature, passes this -evening from the rank of the <i>rats</i> to that of the <i>tigers</i>, in a<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a> -<i>pas-de-trois</i>, and our box patronises her. After the Opera, I must show -my face at two or three <i>salons</i> in the Faubourg St. Honoré; and having -thus performed my duties to the world of fashion, I return to the -exercise of my rights as a member of the Carnival. At two o’clock all -the world meets at the Théâtre Ventadour; lions and tigers—the whole of -our menagerie, will be present. Enoc! off we go! roaring and bounding -Bacchanal and Saturnal; ‘tis agreed that we shall be everything that is -low. To conclude, we sup with Castijars, the most “furiously -dishevelled” orgy that ever was known.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The rest of the letter is on matters of finance, equally curious and -instructive. But pause we for the present, to consider the fashionable -part: and, caricature as it is, we have an accurate picture of the -actual French dandy. Bets, breakfasts, riding, dinners at the Café de -Paris, and delirious Carnival balls: the animal goes through all such -frantic pleasures at the season that precedes Lent. He has a wondrous -respect for English ‘gentlemen-sportsmen;’ he imitates their -clubs—their love of horse-flesh: he calls his palefrenier a groom, -wears blue bird’s-eye neckcloths, sports his pink out hunting, rides -steeplechases, and has his Jockey Club. The ‘tigers and lions’ alluded -to in the report have been borrowed from our own country, and a great -compliment is it to Monsieur de Bernard, the writer of the above amusing -sketch, that he has such a knowledge of English names and things, as to -give a Tory lord the decent title of Lord Cobham, and to call his dog -O’Connell. Paul de Kock calls an English nobleman, in one of his last -novels, <i>Lord Boulingrog</i>, and appears vastly delighted at the -verisimilitude of the title.</p> - -<p>For the ‘rugissements et bondissements, bacchanale et saturnale, galop -infernal, ronde du sabbat, tout le tremblement,’ these words give a most -clear untranslatable idea of the Carnival ball. A sight more hideous can -hardly strike a man’s eye. I was present at one where the four thousand -guests whirled screaming, reeling, roaring, out of the ballroom in the -Rue St. Honoré, and tore down to the column in the Place Vendôme, round -which they went shrieking their own music, twenty miles an hour, and so -tore madly back again. Let a man go alone to such a place of amusement, -and the sight for him is perfectly terrible: the horrid frantic gaiety -of the place puts him in mind more of the merriment of demons than of -men: bang, bang, drums, trumpets, chairs, pistol-shots, pour out of the -orchestra, which seems as mad as the dancers; whizz, a whirlwind of -paint and patches, all the costumes under the sun, all the ranks in the -empire, all the he and she scoundrels<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> of the capital, writhed and -twisted together, rush by you. If a man falls, woe be to him: two -thousand screaming menads go trampling over his carcass; they have -neither power nor will to stop.</p> - -<p>A set of Malays, drunk with bang, and running the muck, a company of -howling dervishes, may possibly, at our own day, go through similar -frantic vagaries; but I doubt if any civilised European people but the -French would permit and enjoy such scenes. But our neighbours see little -shame in them; and it is very true that men of all classes, high and -low, here congregate and give themselves up to the disgusting worship of -the genius of the place. From the dandy of the Boulevard and the Café -Anglais, let us turn to the dandy of ‘Flicoteau’s’ and the Pays -Latin—the Paris student, whose exploits among the grisettes are -celebrated, and whose fierce republicanism keeps gendarmes for ever on -the alert. The following is M. de Bernard’s description of him:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘I became acquainted with Dambergeac when we were students at the -École de Droit; we lived in the same hotel on the Place du -Panthéon. No doubt, madam, you have occasionally met little -children dedicated to the Virgin, and, to this end, clothed in -white raiment from head to foot: my friend Dambergeac had received -a different consecration. His father, a great patriot of the -Revolution, had determined that his son should bear into the world -a sign of indelible republicanism; so, to the great displeasure of -his godmother and the parish curate, Dambergeac was christened by -the pagan name of Harmodius. It was a kind of moral tricolour -cockade, which the child was to bear through the vicissitudes of -all the revolutions to come. Under such influences, my friend’s -character began to develop itself, and, fired by the example of his -father, and by the warm atmosphere of his native place, Marseilles, -he grew up to have an independent spirit, and a grand liberality of -politics, which were at their height when first I made his -acquaintance.</p> - -<p>‘He was then a young man of eighteen, with a tall slim figure, a -broad chest, and a flaming black eye, out of all which personal -charms he knew how to draw the most advantage; and though his -costume was such as Staub might probably have criticised, he had, -nevertheless, a style peculiar to himself—to himself and the -students, among whom he was the leader of the fashion. A tight -black coat, buttoned up to the chin, across the chest, set off that -part of his person; a low-crowned hat, with a voluminous rim, cast -<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>solemn shadows over a countenance bronzed by a southern sun: he -wore, at one time, enormous flowing black locks, which he -sacrificed pitilessly, however, and adopted a Brutus, as being more -revolutionary: finally, he carried an enormous club, that was his -code and digest: in like manner, De Retz used to carry a stiletto -in his pocket, by way of a breviary.</p> - -<p>‘Although of different ways of thinking in politics, certain -sympathies of character and conduct united Dambergeac and myself, -and we speedily became close friends. I don’t think, in the whole -course of his three years’ residence, Dambergeac ever went through -a single course of lectures. For the examinations, he trusted to -luck, and to his own facility, which was prodigious: as for -honours, he never aimed at them, but was content to do exactly as -little as was necessary for him to gain his degree. In like manner -he sedulously avoided those horrible circulating libraries, where -daily are seen to congregate the “reading men” of our schools. But, -in revenge, there was not a milliner’s shop, or a <i>lingèré’s</i>, in -all our Quartier Latin, which he did not industriously frequent, -and of which he was not the oracle. Nay, it was said that his -victories were not confined to the left bank of the Seine; reports -did occasionally come to us of fabulous adventures by him -accomplished in the far regions of the Rue de la Paix and the -Boulevard Poissonnière. Such recitals were, for us less favoured -mortals, like tales of Bacchus conquering in the East; they excited -our ambition, but not our jealousy; for the superiority of -Harmodius was acknowledged by us all, and we never thought of a -rivalry with him. No man ever cantered a hack through the Champs -Élysées with such elegant assurance; no man ever made such a -massacre of dolls at the shooting-gallery; or won you a rubber at -billiards with more easy grace; or thundered out a couplet of -Béranger with such a roaring melodious bass. He was the monarch of -the Prado in winter; in summer of the Chaumière and Mont Parnasse. -Not a frequenter of those fashionable places of entertainment -showed a more amiable <i>laisser-aller</i> in the dance—that peculiar -dance at which gendarmes think proper to blush, and which squeamish -society has banished from her salons. In a word, Harmodius was the -prince of <i>mauvais sujets</i>, a youth with all the accomplishments of -Göttingen and Jena, and all the eminent graces of his own country.</p> - -<p>‘Besides dissipation and gallantry, our friend had one other vast -and absorbing occupation—politics, namely, in which he was as -turbulent and enthusiastic as in pleasure. <i>La Patrie</i> was his -idol, his heaven, his nightmare; by day he spouted, by night he -dreamed, of his country. I have spoken to you of his coiffure à la -Sylla; need I mention his pipe, his meerschaum pipe, of which<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> -General Foy’s head was the bowl; his handkerchief with the Charte -printed thereon; and his celebrated tricolour braces, which kept -the rallying sign of his country ever close to his heart? Besides -these outward and visible signs of sedition, he had inward and -secret plans of revolution: he belonged to clubs, frequented -associations, read the <i>Constitutionnel</i> (Liberals, in those days, -swore by the <i>Constitutionnel</i>), harangued peers and deputies who -had deserved well of their country; and if death happened to fall -on such, and the <i>Constitutionnel</i> declared their merit, Harmodius -was the very first to attend their obsequies, or to set his -shoulder to their coffins.</p> - -<p>‘Such were his tastes and passions: his antipathies were not less -lively. He detested three things: a Jesuit, a gendarme, and a -claqueur at a theatre. At this period, missionaries were rife about -Paris, and endeavoured to re-illume the zeal of the faithful by -public preachings in the churches. “Infâmes jésuites!” would -Harmodius exclaim, who, in the excess of his toleration, tolerated -nothing; and, at the head of a band of philosophers like himself, -would attend with scrupulous exactitude the meetings of the -reverend gentlemen. But, instead of a contrite heart, Harmodius -only brought the abomination of desolation into their sanctuary. A -perpetual fire of fulminating balls would bang from under the feet -of the faithful; odours of impure asafœtida would mingle with -the fumes of the incense; and wicked drinking choruses would rise -up along with the holy canticles, in hideous dissonance, reminding -one of the old orgies under the reign of the Abbot of Unreason.</p> - -<p>‘His hatred of the gendarmes was equally ferocious: and as for the -claqueurs, woe be to them when Harmodius was in the pit! They knew -him, and trembled before him, like the earth before Alexander; and -his famous war-cry, “La Carte au chapeau!” was so much dreaded, -that the “entrepreneurs de succès dramatiques” demanded twice as -much to <i>do</i> the Odéon Theatre (which we students and Harmodius -frequented) as to applaud at any other place of amusement: and, -indeed, their double pay was hardly gained; Harmodius taking care -that they should earn the most of it under the benches.’</p></div> - -<p>This passage, with which we have taken some liberties, will give the -reader a more lively idea of the reckless, jovial, turbulent Paris -student, than any with which a foreigner could furnish him: the grisette -is his heroine; and dear old Béranger, the cynic-epicurean, has -celebrated him and her in the most delightful verses in the world. Of -these we may have occasion to say a word or two anon. Meanwhile let us -follow Monsieur de Bernard in his amusing<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> descriptions of his -countrymen somewhat farther; and, having seen how Dambergeac was a -ferocious republican, being a bachelor, let us see how age, sense, and a -little Government pay—that great agent of conversions in France—nay, -in England—has reduced him to be a pompous, quiet, loyal supporter of -the <i>juste milieu</i>: his former portrait was that of the student, the -present will stand for an admirable lively likeness of</p> - -<p class="cb"><small>THE SOUS-PRÉFET</small></p> - -<p>‘Saying that I would wait for Dambergeac in his own study, I was -introduced into that apartment, and saw around me the usual furniture of -a man in his station. There was, in the middle of the room, a large -bureau, surrounded by orthodox arm-chairs; and there were many shelves -with boxes duly ticketed; there were a number of maps, and, among them, -a great one of the department over which Dambergeac ruled; and, facing -the windows, on a wooden pedestal, stood a plaster cast of the “Roi des -Français.” Recollecting my friend’s former republicanism, I smiled at -this piece of furniture; but before I had time to carry my observations -any farther, a heavy rolling sound of carriage-wheels, that caused the -windows to rattle and seemed to shake the whole edifice of the -sub-prefecture, called my attention to the court without. Its iron gates -were flung open, and in rolled, with a great deal of din, a chariot -escorted by a brace of gendarmes, sword in hand. A tall gentleman, with -a cocked-hat and feathers, wearing a blue-and-silver uniform coat, -descended from the vehicle; and having, with much grave condescension, -saluted his escort, mounted the stair. A moment afterwards the door of -the study was opened, and I embraced my friend.</p> - -<p>‘After the first warmth and salutations, we began to examine each other -with an equal curiosity, for eight years had elapsed since we had last -met.</p> - -<p>‘“You are grown very thin and pale,” said Harmodius, after a moment.</p> - -<p>‘“In revenge I find you fat and rosy: if I am a walking satire on -celibacy,—you, at least, are a living panegyric on marriage.”</p> - -<p>‘In fact, a great change, and such an one as many people would call a -change for the better, had taken place in my friend: he had grown fat, -and announced a decided disposition to become what French people call a -<i>bel homme</i>: that is, a very fat one. His complexion, bronzed before, -was now clear white and red: there were no more political allusions in -his hair, which was, on the contrary, neatly frizzed, and brushed over -the forehead, shell-shape.<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a> This headdress, joined to a thin pair of -whiskers, cut crescent-wise from the ear to the nose, gave my friend a -regular bourgeois physiognomy, wax-doll-like: he looked a great deal too -well; and, added to this, the solemnity of his prefectoral costume gave -his whole appearance a pompous, well-fed look, that by no means pleased.</p> - -<p>‘“I surprise you,” said I, “in the midst of your splendour: do you know -that this costume and yonder attendants have a look excessively awful -and splendid? You entered your palace just now with the air of a pasha.”</p> - -<p>‘“You see me in uniform in honour of Monseigneur the Bishop, who has -just made his diocesan visit, and whom I have just conducted to the -limit of the arrondissement.”</p> - -<p>‘“What!” said I, “you have gendarmes for guards, and dance attendance on -bishops? There are no more janissaries and Jesuits, I suppose?” The -sub-prefect smiled.</p> - -<p>‘“I assure you that my gendarmes are very worthy fellows; and that among -the gentlemen who compose our clergy there are some of the very best -rank and talent: besides, my wife is niece to one of the -vicars-general.”</p> - -<p>‘“What have you done with that great Tasso beard that poor Armandine -used to love so?”</p> - -<p>‘“My wife does not like a beard; and you know that what is permitted to -a student is not very becoming to a magistrate.”</p> - -<p>‘I began to laugh. “Harmodius and a magistrate?—how shall I ever couple -the two words together? But tell me, in your correspondences, your -audiences, your sittings with village mayors and petty councils, how do -you manage to remain awake?”</p> - -<p>‘“In the commencement,” said Harmodius gravely, “it <i>was</i> very -difficult; and, in order to keep my eyes open, I used to stick pins into -my legs: now, however, I am used to it; and I’m sure I don’t take more -than fifty pinches of snuff at a sitting.”</p> - -<p>‘“Ah! <i>à propos</i> of snuff: you are near Spain here, and were always a -famous smoker. Give me a cigar,—it will take away the musty odour of -these piles of papers.”</p> - -<p>‘“Impossible, my dear; I don’t smoke; my wife cannot bear a cigar.”</p> - -<p>‘His wife! thought I: always his wife; and I remember Juliette, who -really grew sick at the smell of a pipe, and Harmodius would smoke, -until, at last, the poor thing grew to smoke herself, like a trooper. To -compensate, however, as much as possible for the loss of my cigar, -Dambergeac drew from his pocket an enormous gold snuff-box, on which -figured the self-same head that I had before remarked in plaster, but -this time surrounded with a ring of pretty princes and princesses, all -nicely painted in miniature. As<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> for the statue of Louis Philippe, that, -in the cabinet of an official, is a thing of course; but the snuff-box -seemed to indicate a degree of sentimental and personal devotion, such -as the old Royalists were only supposed to be guilty of.</p> - -<p>‘“What! you are turned decided <i>juste milieu</i>?” said I.</p> - -<p>‘“I am a sous-préfet,” answered Harmodius.</p> - -<p>‘I had nothing to say, but held my tongue, wondering, not at the change -which had taken place in the habits, manners, and opinions of my friend, -but at my own folly, which led me to fancy that I should find the -student of ‘26 in the functionary of ‘34. At this moment a domestic -appeared.</p> - -<p>‘“Madame is waiting for Monsieur,” said he: “the last bell has gone, and -mass beginning.”</p> - -<p>‘“Mass!” said I, bounding up from my chair. “You at mass, like a decent -serious Christian, without crackers in your pocket, and bored keys to -whistle through?”—The sous-préfet rose, his countenance was calm, and -an indulgent smile played upon his lips, as he said, “My arrondissement -is very devout; and not to interfere with the belief of the population -is the maxim of every wise politician: I have precise orders from -Government on the point, too, and go to eleven-o’clock mass every -Sunday.”’</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>There is a great deal of curious matter for speculation in the accounts -here so wittily given by M. de Bernard: but, perhaps, it is still more -curious to think of what he has <i>not</i> written, and to judge of his -characters, not so much by the words in which he describes them, as by -the unconscious testimony that the words all together convey. In the -first place, our author describes a swindler imitating the manners of a -dandy: and many swindlers and dandies be there, doubtless, in London as -well as in Paris. But there is about the present swindler, and about -Monsieur Dambergeac the student, and Monsieur Dambergeac the -sous-préfet, and his friend, a rich store of calm internal <i>debauch</i>, -which does not, let us hope and pray, exist in England. Hearken to M. de -Gustan, and his smirking whispers about the Duchess of San Severino, who -<i>pour son bonheur particulier</i>, etc. etc. Listen to Monsieur -Dambergeac’s friend’s remonstrances concerning <i>pauvre Juliette</i>, who -grew sick at the smell of a pipe; to his <i>naïve</i> admiration at the fact -that the sous-préfet goes to church: and we may set down, as axioms, -that religion is so uncommon among the Parisians, as to awaken the -surprise of all candid observers; that gallantry is so common as to -create no remark, and to be considered as a matter of course. With us, -at least, the converse of the proposition prevails: it is the man -professing <i>ir</i>religion who would be remarked and reprehended in<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a> -England; and, if the second-named vice exists, at any rate it adopts the -decency of secrecy, and is not made patent and notorious to all the -world. A French gentleman thinks no more of proclaiming that he has a -mistress than that he has a tailor; and one lives the time of Boccaccio -over again, in the thousand and one French novels which depict the state -of society in that country.</p> - -<p>For instance, here are before us a few specimens (do not, madam, be -alarmed, you can skip the sentence if you like) to be found in as many -admirable witty tales, by the before-lauded Monsieur de Bernard. He is -more remarkable than any other French author, to our notion, for writing -like a gentleman: there is ease, grace, and <i>ton</i> in his style, which, -if we judge aright, cannot be discovered in Balzac, or Soulié, or Dumas. -We have then—<i>Gerfaut</i>, a novel: a lovely creature is married to a -brave, haughty Alsacian nobleman, who allows her to spend her winters at -Paris, he remaining on his <i>terres</i>, cultivating, carousing, and hunting -the boar. The lovely creature meets the fascinating Gerfaut at Paris; -instantly the latter makes love to her; a duel takes place; baron -killed; wife throws herself out of window; Gerfaut plunges into -dissipation, and so the tale ends.</p> - -<p>Next, <i>La Femme de Quarante Ans</i>, a capital tale, full of exquisite fun -and sparkling satire: La femme de quarante ans has a husband and <i>three</i> -lovers; all of whom find out their mutual connection one starry night; -for the lady of forty is of a romantic poetical turn, and has given her -three admirers <i>a star apiece</i>, saying to one and the other, ‘Alphonse, -when yon pale orb rises in heaven, think of me;’ ‘Isidore, when that -bright planet sparkles in the sky, remember your Caroline,’ etc.</p> - -<p><i>Un Acte de Vertu</i>, from which we have taken Dambergeac’s history, -contains him, the husband—a wife—and a brace of lovers; and a great -deal of fun takes place in the manner in which one lover supplants the -other. Pretty morals truly!</p> - -<p>If we examine an author who rejoices in the aristocratic name of Le -Comte Horace de Viel-Castel, we find, though with infinitely less wit, -exactly the same intrigues going on. A noble Count lives in the Faubourg -St. Honoré, and has a noble Duchess for a mistress: he introduces her -Grace to the Countess, his wife. The Countess, his wife, in order to -<i>ramener</i> her lord to his conjugal duties, is counselled, by a friend, -<i>to pretend to take a lover</i>: one is found, who, poor fellow! takes the -affair in earnest: climax—duel, death, despair, and what not! In the -<i>Faubourg St. Germain</i>, another novel by the same writer, which -professes to describe the very pink of that society which Napoleon -dreaded more than Russia, Prussia, and Austria, there is an old husband, -of course; a senti<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>mental young German nobleman, that falls in love with -his wife; and the moral of the piece lies in the showing up of the -conduct of the lady, who is reprehended—not for deceiving her husband -(poor devil!)—but for being a flirt, <i>and taking a second lover</i>, to -the utter despair, confusion, and annihilation of the first.</p> - -<p>Why, ye gods, do Frenchmen marry at all? Had Père Enfantin (who, it is -said, has shaved his ambrosial beard, and is now a clerk in a -banking-house) been allowed to carry out his chaste, just, dignified, -social scheme, what a deal of marital discomfort might have been -avoided:—would it not be advisable that a great reformer and lawgiver -of our own, Mr. Robert Owen, should be presented at the Tuileries, and -there propound his scheme for the regeneration of France?</p> - -<p>He might, perhaps, be spared, for our country is not yet sufficiently -advanced to give such a philosopher fair-play. In London, as yet, there -are no blessed <i>Bureaux de Mariage</i>, where an old bachelor may have a -charming young maiden—for his money; or a widow of seventy may buy a -gay young fellow of twenty, for a certain number of bank-billets. If -<i>mariages de convenance</i> take place here (as they will wherever avarice, -and poverty, and desire, and yearning after riches are to be found), at -least, thank God, such unions are not arranged upon a regular organised -<i>system</i>: there is a fiction of attachment with us, and there is a -consolation in the deceit (‘the homage,’ according to the old <i>môt</i> of -Rochefoucauld, ‘which vice pays to virtue’); for the very falsehood -shows that the virtue exists somewhere. We once heard a furious old -French colonel inveighing against the chastity of English <i>demoiselles</i>: -‘Figurez-vous, sir,’ said he (he had been a prisoner in England), ‘that -these women come down to dinner in low dresses, and walk out alone with -the men!’—and, pray Heaven, so may they walk, fancy-free in all sorts -of maiden meditations, and suffer no more molestation than that young -lady of whom Moore sings, and who (there must have been a famous -lord-lieutenant in those days) walked through all Ireland, with rich and -rare gems, beauty, and a gold ring on her stick, without meeting or -thinking of harm.</p> - -<p>Now, whether Monsieur de Viel-Castel has given a true picture of the -Faubourg St. Germain, it is impossible for most foreigners to say; but -some of his descriptions will not fail to astonish the English reader; -and all are filled with that remarkable <i>naïf</i> contempt of the -institution called marriage, which we have seen in M. de Bernard. The -romantic young nobleman of Westphalia arrives at Paris, and is admitted -into what a celebrated female author calls <i>la crême de la crême de la -haute volée</i> of Parisian society. He is a youth of about twenty years of -age. ‘No passion had as yet<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a> come to move his heart, and give life to -his faculties; he was awaiting and fearing the moment of love; calling -for it, and yet trembling at its approach; feeling, in the depths of his -soul, that that moment would create a mighty change in his being, and -decide, perhaps, by its influence, the whole of his future life.’</p> - -<p>Is it not remarkable that a young nobleman, with these ideas, should not -pitch upon a <i>demoiselle</i>, or a widow, at least? but no, the rogue must -have a married woman, bad luck to him; and what his fate is to be is -thus recounted by our author, in the shape of</p> - -<p class="cb"><small>A FRENCH FASHIONABLE CONVERSATION</small></p> - -<p>‘A lady, with a great deal of <i>esprit</i>, to whom forty years’ experience -of the great world had given a prodigious perspicacity of judgment, the -Duchess of Chalux, arbitress of the opinion to be held on all new-comers -to the Faubourg St. Germain, and of their destiny and reception in -it;—one of those women, in a word, who make or ruin a man—said, in -speaking of Gerard de Stolberg, whom she received at her own house, and -met everywhere, “This young German will never gain for himself the title -of an exquisite, or a man of <i>bonnes fortunes</i>, among us. In spite of -his calm and politeness, I think I can see in his character some rude -and insurmountable difficulties, which time will only increase, and -which will prevent him for ever from bending to the exigencies of either -profession; but, unless I very much deceive myself, he will, one day, be -the hero of a veritable romance.”</p> - -<p>‘“He, madam?” answered a young man, of fair complexion and fair hair, -one of the most devoted slaves of the fashion:—He, Madame la Duchesse? -Why, the man is, at best, but an original, fished out of the Rhine: a -dull heavy creature, as much capable of understanding a woman’s heart as -I am of speaking bas-Breton.”</p> - -<p>‘“Well, Monsieur de Belport, you will speak bas-Breton. Monsieur de -Stolberg has not your admirable ease of manner, nor your facility of -telling pretty nothings, nor your—in a word, that particular something -which makes you the most <i>recherche</i> man of the Faubourg St. Germain; -and even I avow to you that, were I still young, and a coquette, <i>and -that I took it into my head to have a lover</i>, I would prefer you.”</p> - -<p>‘All this was said by the Duchess with a certain air of raillery and -such a mixture of earnest and malice, that Monsieur de Belport, piqued -not a little, could not help saying, as he bowed profoundly before the -Duchess’s chair, “And might I, madam, be permitted to ask the reason of -this preference?<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>”</p> - -<p>‘“Oh, mon Dieu, oui,” said the Duchess, always in the same tone; -“because a lover like you would never think of carrying his attachment -to the height of passion; and these passions, do you know, have -frightened me all my life. One cannot retreat at will from the grasp of -a passionate lover; one leaves behind one some fragment of one’s moral -<i>self</i>, or the best part of one’s physical life. A passion, if it does -not kill you, adds cruelly to your years; in a word, it is the very -lowest possible taste. And now you understand why I should prefer you, -M. de Belport—you, who are reputed to be the leader of the fashion.”</p> - -<p>‘“Perfectly,” murmured the gentleman, piqued more and more.</p> - -<p>‘“Gerard de Stolberg <i>will</i> be passionate. I don’t know what woman will -please him, or will be pleased by him” (here the Duchess of Chalux spoke -more gravely); “but his love will be no play, I repeat it to you once -more. All this astonishes you, because you, great leaders of the <i>ton</i> -that you are, never can fancy that a hero of romance should be found -among your number. Gerard de Stolberg—but look, here he comes!”</p> - -<p>‘M. de Belport rose, and quitted the Duchess, without believing in her -prophecy: but he could not avoid smiling as he passed near the <i>hero of -romance</i>.</p> - -<p>‘It was because M. de Stolberg had never, in all his life, been a hero -of romance, or even an apprentice-hero of romance.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>‘Gerard de Stolberg was not, as yet, initiated into the thousand secrets -in the chronicle of the great world: he knew but superficially the -society in which he lived; and, therefore, he devoted his evening to the -gathering of all the information which he could acquire from the -indiscreet conversations of the people about him. His whole man became -ear and memory; so much was Stolberg convinced of the necessity of -becoming a diligent student in this new school, where was taught the art -of knowing and advancing in the great world. In the recess of a window -he learned more on this one night than months of investigation would -have taught him. The talk of a ball is more indiscreet than the -confidential chatter of a company of idle women. No man present at a -ball, whether listener or speaker, thinks he has a right to affect any -indulgence for his companions, and the most learned in malice will -always pass for the most witty.</p> - -<p>‘“How!” said the Viscount de Mondragé: “the Duchess of Rivesalte arrives -alone to-night, without her inevitable Dormilly!” and the Viscount, as -he spoke, pointed towards a tall and slender young woman, who, gliding -rather than walking, met the ladies, by whom she passed, with a graceful -and modest salute, and<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> replied to the looks of the men <i>by brilliant -veiled glances, full of coquetry and attack</i>.</p> - -<p>“Parbleu!” said an elegant personage standing near the Viscount de -Mondragé, “don’t you see Dormilly ranged behind the Duchess, in quality -of train-bearer, and hiding, under his long locks and his great screen -of moustaches, the blushing consciousness of his good luck?—They call -him <i>the fourth chapter</i> of the Duchess’s memoirs. The little Marquis -d’Alberas is ready to die out of spite; but the best of the joke is, -that she has only taken poor de Vendre for a lover in order to vent her -spleen on him. Look at him against the chimney yonder: if the -Marchioness do not break at once with him by quitting him for somebody -else, the poor fellow will turn an idiot.”</p> - -<p>‘“Is he jealous?” asked a young man, looking as if he did not know what -jealousy was, and as if he had no time to be jealous.</p> - -<p>‘“Jealous!—the very incarnation of jealousy; the second edition, -revised, corrected, and considerably enlarged; as jealous as poor -Gressigny, who is dying of it.”</p> - -<p>‘“What! Gressigny too? why, ‘tis growing quite into fashion: egad! <i>I</i> -must try and be jealous,” said Monsieur de Beauval. “But see! here comes -the delicious Duchess of Bellefiore,”’ etc. etc. etc.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Enough, enough; this kind of fashionable Parisian conversation, which -is, says our author, ‘a prodigious labour of improvising,’ a -‘chef-d’œuvre,’ a ‘strange and singular thing, in which monotony is -unknown,’ seems to be, if correctly reported, a ‘strange and singular -thing’ indeed; but somewhat monotonous, at least to an English reader, -and ‘prodigious’ only, if we may take leave to say so, for the wonderful -rascality which all the conversationists betray. Miss Neverout and the -Colonel, in Swift’s famous dialogue, are a thousand times more -entertaining and moral; and, besides, we can laugh <i>at</i> those worthies -as well as with them; whereas the ‘prodigious’ French wits are to us -quite incomprehensible. Fancy a duchess as old as Lady —— herself, and -who should begin to tell us ‘of what she would do if ever she had a mind -to take a lover;’ and another duchess, with a fourth lover, tripping -modestly among the ladies, and returning the gaze of the men by veiled -glances, full of coquetry and attack!—Parbleu, if Monsieur de -Viel-Castel should find himself among a society of French duchesses, and -they should tear his eyes out, and send the fashionable Orpheus floating -by the Seine, his slaughter might almost be considered as justifiable -<i>Counticide</i>.<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="A_GAMBLERS_DEATH" id="A_GAMBLERS_DEATH"></a>A GAMBLER’S DEATH</h2> - -<p class="nind">A<small>NYBODY</small> who was at C—— school some twelve years since, must recollect -Jack Attwood: he was the most dashing lad in the place, with more money -in his pocket than belonged to the whole fifth form in which we were -companions.</p> - -<p>When he was about fifteen, Jack suddenly retreated from C——, and -presently we heard that he had a commission in a cavalry regiment, and -was to have a great fortune from his father, when that old gentleman -should die. Jack himself came to confirm these stories a few months -after, and paid a visit to his old school chums. He had laid aside his -little school-jacket and inky corduroys, and now appeared in such a -splendid military suit as won the respect of all of us. His hair was -dripping with oil, his hands were covered with rings, he had a dusky -down over his upper lip which looked not unlike a moustache, and a -multiplicity of frogs and braiding on his surtout, which would have -sufficed to lace a field-marshal. When old Swishtail, the usher, passed -in his seedy black coat and gaiters, Jack gave him such a look of -contempt as set us all a-laughing: in fact it was his turn to laugh now; -for he used to roar very stoutly some months before, when Swishtail was -in the custom of belabouring him with his great cane.</p> - -<p>Jack’s talk was all about the regiment and the fine fellows in it: how -he had ridden a steeplechase with Captain Boldero, and licked him at the -last hedge; and how he had very nearly fought a duel with Sir George -Grig, about dancing with Lady Mary Slamken at a ball. ‘I soon made the -baronet know what it was to deal with a man of the N—th,’ said Jack. -‘Dammee, sir, when I lugged out my barkers, and talked of fighting -across the mess-room table, Grig turned as pale as a sheet, or as——’</p> - -<p>‘Or as you used to do, Attwood, when Swishtail hauled you up,’ piped out -little Hicks, the foundation-boy.</p> - -<p>It was beneath Jack’s dignity to thrash anybody now but a grown-up -baronet; so he let off little Hicks, and passed over the general titter -which was raised at his expense. However, he entertained us with his -histories about lords and ladies, and So-and-so ‘of ours,’ until we -thought him one of the greatest men in his Majesty’s service, and until -the school-bell rung; when, with a heavy heart, we got our books -together, and marched in to be whacked by old Swishtail. I promise you -he revenged himself on us for Jack’s contempt of him. I got that day at -least twenty cuts to my share, which ought to have belonged to Cornet -Attwood, of the N—th Dragoons.<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a></p> - -<p>When we came to think more coolly over our quondam school-fellow’s -swaggering talk and manners, we were not quite so impressed by his -merits as at his first appearance among us. We recollected how he used, -in former times, to tell us great stories, which were so monstrously -improbable that the smallest boy in the school would scout them; how -often we caught him tripping in facts, and how unblushingly he admitted -his little errors in the score of veracity. He and I, though never great -friends, had been close companions: I was Jack’s form-fellow (we fought -with amazing emulation for the <i>last</i> place in the class); but still I -was rather hurt at the coolness of my old comrade, who had forgotten all -our former intimacy, in his steeplechases with Captain Boldero and his -duel with Sir George Grig.</p> - -<p>Nothing more was heard of Attwood for some years; a tailor one day came -down to C——, who had made clothes for Jack in his school-days, and -furnished him with regimentals: he produced a long bill for one hundred -and twenty pounds and upwards, and asked where news might be had of his -customer. Jack was in India, with his regiment, shooting tigers and -jackals, no doubt. Occasionally, from that distant country, some -magnificent rumour would reach us of his proceedings. Once I heard that -he had been called to a court-martial for unbecoming conduct; another -time, that he kept twenty horses, and won the gold plate at the Calcutta -races. Presently, however, as the recollections of the fifth form wore -away, Jack’s image disappeared likewise, and I ceased to ask or to think -about my college chum.</p> - -<p>A year since, as I was smoking my cigar in the Estaminet du Grand -Balcon, an excellent smoking-shop, where the tobacco is unexceptionable, -and the Hollands of singular merit, a dark-looking, thick-set man, in a -greasy well-cut coat, with a shabby hat, cocked on one side of his dirty -face, took the place opposite to me, at the little marble table, and -called for brandy. I did not much admire the impudence or the appearance -of my friend, nor the fixed stare with which he chose to examine me. At -last he thrust a great greasy hand across the table, and said, -‘Titmarsh, do you forget your old friend Attwood?’</p> - -<p>I confess my recognition of him was not so joyful as on the day ten -years earlier, when he had come, bedizened with lace and gold rings, to -see us at C—— school: a man in the tenth part of a century learns a -deal of worldly wisdom, and his hand, which goes naturally forward to -seize the gloved finger of a millionaire, or a milor, draws -instinctively back from a dirty fist, encompassed by a ragged wristband -and a tattered cuff. But Attwood was in nowise so backward; and the iron -squeeze with which he shook<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a> my passive paw, proved that he was either -very affectionate or very poor. You, my dear sir, who are reading this -history, know very well the great art of shaking hands; recollect how -you shook Lord Dash’s hand the other day, and how you shook <i>off</i> poor -Blank, when he came to borrow five pounds of you.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p97_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p97_sml.jpg" width="174" height="198" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>However, the genial influence of the hollands speedily dissipated -anything like coolness between us; and, in the course of an hour’s -conversation, we became almost as intimate as when we were suffering -together under the ferule of old Swishtail. Jack told me that he had -quitted the army in disgust; and that his father, who was to leave him a -fortune, had died ten thousand pounds in debt: he did not touch upon his -own circumstances; but I could read them in his elbows, which were -peeping through his old frock. He talked a great deal, however, of runs -of luck, good and bad; and related to me an infallible plan for breaking -all the play-banks in Europe—a great number of old tricks;—and a vast -quantity of gin-punch was consumed on the occasion; so long, in fact, -did our conversation continue, that, I confess it with shame, the -sentiment, or something stronger, quite got the better of me, and I -have, to<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> this day, no sort of notion how our palaver concluded.—Only, -on the next morning I did not possess a certain five-pound note, which -on the previous evening was in my sketch-book (by far the prettiest -drawing, by the way, in the collection); but there, instead, was a strip -of paper, thus inscribed:</p> - -<p class="c"> -‘IOU<br /> -Five Pounds. <span class="smcap">John Attwood</span>, Late of the N—th Dragoons.’<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">I suppose Attwood borrowed the money, from this remarkable and -ceremonious acknowledgment on his part: had I been sober I would just as -soon have lent him the nose on my face; for, in my then circumstances, -the note was of much more consequence to me.</p> - -<p>As I lay, cursing my ill-fortune, and thinking how on earth I should -manage to subsist for the next two months, Attwood burst into my little -garret—his face strangely flushed—singing and shouting as if it had -been the night before. ‘Titmarsh,’ cried he, ‘you are my preserver!—my -best friend! Look here, and here, and here!’ And at every word Mr. -Attwood produced a handful of gold, or a glittering heap of five-franc -pieces, or a bundle of greasy, dusky bank-notes, more beautiful than -either silver or gold;—he had won thirteen thousand francs after -leaving me at midnight in my garret. He separated my poor little all, of -six pieces, from this shining and imposing collection; and the passion -of envy entered my soul: I felt far more anxious now than before, -although starvation was then staring me in the face; I hated Attwood for -<i>cheating</i> me out of all this wealth. Poor fellow! it had been better -for him had he never seen a shilling of it.</p> - -<p>However, a grand breakfast at the Café Anglais dissipated my chagrin; -and I will do my friend the justice to say, that he nobly shared some -portion of his good fortune with me. As far as the creature comforts -were concerned I feasted as well as he, and never was particular as to -settling my share of the reckoning.</p> - -<p>Jack now changed his lodgings; had cards, with Captain Attwood engraved -on them, and drove about a prancing cab-horse, as tall as the giraffe at -the Jardin des Plantes; he had as many frogs on his coat as in the old -days, and frequented all the flash restaurateurs and boarding-houses of -the capital. Madame de Saint Laurent, and Madame la Baronne de Vaudry, -and Madame la Comtesse de Don Jonville, ladies of the highest rank, who -keep a <i>société choisie</i>, and condescend to give dinners at five francs -a head, vied with each other in their attentions to Jack. His was the -wing of the fowl, and the largest portion of the Charlotte-Russe; his -was the place at the écarté table, where the Countess would ease him -nightly of a few pieces, declaring that he was the most charming -cavalier, <i>la fleur d’Albion</i>. Jack’s society, it may be seen, was<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> not -very select; nor, in truth, were his inclinations: he was a careless, -dare-devil, Macheath kind of fellow, who might be seen daily with a wife -on each arm.</p> - -<p>It may be supposed that, with the life he led, his five hundred pounds -of winnings would not last him long; nor did they; but for some time, -his luck never deserted him; and his cash, instead of growing lower, -seemed always to maintain a certain level;—he played every night.</p> - -<p>Of course, such a humble fellow as I could not hope for a continued -acquaintance and intimacy with Attwood. He grew overbearing and cool, I -thought; at any rate I did not admire my situation as his follower and -dependant, and left his grand dinner for a certain ordinary where I -could partake of five capital dishes for ninepence. Occasionally, -however, Attwood favoured me with a visit, or gave me a drive behind his -great cab-horse. He had formed a whole host of friends besides. There -was Fips, the barrister, Heaven knows what he was doing at Paris; and -Gortz, the West Indian, who was there on the same business; and Flapper, -a medical student,—all these three I met one night at Flapper’s rooms, -where Jack was invited, and a great ‘spread’ was laid in honour of him.</p> - -<p>Jack arrived rather late—he looked pale and agitated; and, though he -ate no supper, he drank raw brandy in such a manner as made Flapper’s -eyes wink: the poor fellow had but three bottles, and Jack bid fair to -swallow them all. However, the West Indian generously remedied the evil, -and, producing a napoleon, we speedily got the change for it in the -shape of four bottles of champagne.</p> - -<p>Our supper was uproariously harmonious; Fips sang the ‘Good Old English -Gentleman;’ Jack, the ‘British Grenadiers;’ and your humble servant, -when called upon, sang that beautiful ditty, ‘When the Bloom is on the -Rye,’ in a manner that drew tears from every eye, except Flapper’s, who -was asleep, and Jack’s, who was singing the ‘Bay of Biscay, O,’ at the -same time. Gortz and Fips were all the time lunging at each other with a -pair of single-sticks, the barrister having a very strong notion that he -was Richard the Third.</p> - -<p>At last Fips hit the West Indian such a blow across his sconce, that the -other grew furious; he seized a champagne-bottle, which was, -providentially, empty, and hurled it across the room at Fips; had that -celebrated barrister not bowed his head at the moment, the Queen’s Bench -would have lost one of its most eloquent practitioners.</p> - -<p>Fips stood as straight as he could; his cheek was pale with wrath. -‘M-m-ister Go-gortz,’ he said, ‘I always heard you were a blackguard; -now I can pr-pr-peperove it. Flapper, your pistols! every ge-ge-genlmn -knows what I mean.’</p> - -<p>Young Mr. Flapper had a small pair of pocket-pistols, which the<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> tipsy -barrister had suddenly remembered, and with which he proposed to -sacrifice the West Indian. Gortz was nothing loth, but was quite as -valorous as the lawyer.</p> - -<p>Attwood, who, in spite of his potations, seemed the soberest man of the -party, had much enjoyed the scene, until this sudden demand for the -weapons. ‘Pshaw!’ said he eagerly, ‘don’t give these men the means of -murdering each other; sit down and let us have another song.’ But they -would not be still; and Flapper forthwith produced his pistol-case, and -opened it, in order that the duel might take place on the spot. There -were no pistols there! ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Attwood, looking much -confused; ‘I—I took the pistols home with me to clean them!’</p> - -<p>I don’t know what there was in his tone, or in the words, but we were -sobered all of a sudden. Attwood was conscious of the singular effect -produced by him, for he blushed, and endeavoured to speak of other -things, but we could not bring our spirits back to the mark again, and -soon separated for the night. As we issued into the street, Jack took me -aside and whispered, ‘Have you a napoleon, Titmarsh, in your purse?’ -Alas! I was not so rich. My reply was, that I was coming to Jack, only -in the morning, to borrow a similar sum.</p> - -<p>He did not make any reply, but turned away homeward: I never heard him -speak another word.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Two mornings after (for none of our party met on the day succeeding the -supper), I was awakened by my porter, who brought a pressing letter from -Mr. Gortz:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear T.</span>—I wish you would come over here to breakfast. There’s a -row about Attwood.—Yours truly, <span class="smcap">Solomon Gortz</span>.’</p></div> - -<p>I immediately set forward to Gortz’s; he lived in the Rue du Heldes, a -few doors from Attwood’s new lodging. If the reader is curious to know -the house in which the catastrophe of this history took place, he has -but to march some twenty doors down from the Boulevard des Italiens, -when he will see a fine door, with a naked Cupid shooting at him from -the hall, and a Venus beckoning him up the stairs. On arriving at the -West Indian’s, at about midday (it was a Sunday morning), I found that -gentleman in his dressing-gown, discussing, in the company of Mr. Fips, -a large plate of <i>bifteck aux pommes</i>.</p> - -<p>‘Here’s a pretty row!’ said Gortz, quoting from his letter;—‘Attwood’s -off—have a bit of beefsteak?’</p> - -<p>‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed I, adopting the familiar phraseology of my -acquaintances:—‘Attwood off?—has he cut his stick?<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>’</p> - -<p>‘Not bad,’ said the feeling and elegant Fips—‘not such a bad guess, my -boy; but he has not exactly <i>cut his stick</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘What then?’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Why, his throat.</i>’ The man’s mouth was full of bleeding beef as he -uttered this gentlemanly witticism.</p> - -<p>I wish I could say that I was myself in the least affected by the news. -I did not joke about it like my friend Fips; this was more for -propriety’s sake than for feeling’s: but for my old school acquaintance, -the friend of my early days, the merry associate of the last few months, -I own, with shame, that I had not a tear or a pang. In some German tale -there is an account of a creature, most beautiful and bewitching, whom -all men admire and follow; but this charming and fantastic spirit only -leads them, one by one, into ruin, and then leaves them. The novelist, -who describes her beauty, says that his heroine is a fairy, and <i>has no -heart</i>. I think the intimacy which is begotten over the wine-bottle is a -spirit of this nature; I never knew a good feeling come from it, or an -honest friendship made by it: it only entices men, and ruins them; it is -only a phantom of friendship and feeling, called up by the delirious -blood, and the wicked spells of the wine.</p> - -<p>But to drop this strain of moralising (in which the writer is not too -anxious to proceed, for he cuts in it a most pitiful figure), we passed -sundry criticisms upon poor Attwood’s character, expressed our horror at -his death, which sentiment was fully proved by Mr. Fips, who declared -that the notion of it made him feel quite faint, and was obliged to -drink a large glass of brandy; and, finally, we agreed that we would go -and see the poor fellow’s corpse, and witness, if necessary, his burial.</p> - -<p>Flapper, who had joined us, was the first to propose this visit: he said -he did not mind the fifteen francs which Jack owed him for billiards, -but that he was anxious to <i>get back his pistol</i>. Accordingly, we -sallied forth, and speedily arrived at the hotel which Attwood inhabited -still. He had occupied, for a time, very fine apartments in this house; -and it was only on arriving there that day, that we found he had been -gradually driven from his magnificent suite of rooms <i>au premier</i>, to a -little chamber in the fifth story:—we mounted, and found him. It was a -little shabby room, with a few articles of rickety furniture, and a bed -in an alcove; the light from the one window was falling full upon the -bed and the body. Jack was dressed in a fine lawn shirt: he had kept it, -poor fellow, <i>to die in</i>; for in all his drawers and cupboards, there -was not a single article of clothing: he had pawned everything by which -he could raise a penny—desk, books, dressing-case,<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> and clothes; and -not a single halfpenny was found in his possession.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>He was lying as I have drawn him, one hand on his breast, the other -falling towards the ground. There was an expression of perfect calm on -the face, and no mark of blood to stain the side towards the light. On -the other side, however, there was a great pool of black blood, and in -it the pistol; it looked more like a toy than a weapon to take away the -life of this vigorous young man. In his forehead, at the side, was a -small black wound; Jack’s life had passed through it; it was little -bigger than a mole.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>‘Regardez un peu,’ said the landlady; ‘messieurs, il m’a gâté trois -matelas, et il me doit quarante quatre francs.’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p102_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p102_sml.jpg" width="175" height="111" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>This was all his epitaph: he had spoiled three mattresses, and owed the -landlady four-and-forty francs. In the whole world there was not a soul -to love him or lament him. We, his friends, were looking at his body -more as an object of curiosity, watching it with a kind of interest with -which one follows the fifth act of a tragedy, and leaving it with the -same feeling with which one leaves the theatre when the play is over and -the curtain is down.</p> - -<p>Beside Jack’s bed, on his little <i>table de nuit</i>, lay the remains of his -last meal, and an open letter, which we read. It was from one of his -suspicious acquaintances of former days, and ran thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Où es-tu, cher Jack? <i>why you not come and see me</i>—tu me dois de -l’argent, entends tu?—un chapeau, une cachemire, <i>a box of<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> the -Play</i>. Viens demain soir, je t’attendrai <i>at eight o’clock</i>, -Passage des Panoramas. <i>My Sir is at his country.</i>—Adieu à demain. -‘<i>Samedi</i>.’ <span style="margin-left: 2em;">‘<span class="smcap">FIFINE.</span></span></p></div> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>I shuddered as I walked through this very Passage des Panoramas, in the -evening. The girl was there, pacing to and fro, and looking in the -countenance of every passer-by, to recognise Attwood. ‘<span class="smcap">Adieu à -demain!</span>’—there was a dreadful meaning in the words, which the writer of -them little knew. ‘Adieu à demain!’—the morrow was come, and the soul -of the poor suicide was now in the presence of God. I dare not think of -his fate; for, except in the fact of his poverty and desperation, was he -worse than any of us, his companions, who had shared his debauches, and -marched with him up to the very brink of the grave?</p> - -<p>There is but one more circumstance to relate regarding poor Jack—his -burial; it was of a piece with his death.</p> - -<p>He was nailed into a paltry coffin and buried, at the expense of the -arrondissement, in a nook of the burial-place beyond the Barrière de -l’Étoile. They buried him at six o’clock, of a bitter winter’s morning, -and it was with difficulty that an English clergyman could be found to -read a service over his grave. The three men who have figured in this -history acted as Jack’s mourners; and as the ceremony was to take place -so early in the morning, these men sat up the night through, <i>and were -almost drunk</i> as they followed his coffin to its resting-place.</p> - -<p class="cb"><small>MORAL</small></p> - -<p>‘When we turned out in our greatcoats,’ said one of them afterwards, -‘reeking of cigars and brandy-and-water, d——e, sir, we quite -frightened the old buck of a parson; he did not much like our company.’ -After the ceremony was concluded, these gentlemen were very happy to get -home to a warm and comfortable breakfast, and finished the day royally -at Frascati’s.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p103_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p103_sml.jpg" width="110" height="80" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="NAPOLEON_AND_HIS_SYSTEM" id="NAPOLEON_AND_HIS_SYSTEM"></a>NAPOLEON AND HIS SYSTEM<br /><br /> -<small>ON PRINCE LOUIS NAPOLEON’S WORK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A<small>NY</small> person who recollects the history of the absurd outbreak of -Strasburg, in which Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte figured, three years -ago, must remember that, however silly the revolt was, however foolish -its pretext, however doubtful its aim, and inexperienced its leader, -there was, nevertheless, a party, and a considerable one, in France, -that were not unwilling to lend the new projectors their aid. The troops -who declared against the Prince, were, it was said, all but willing to -declare for him; and it was certain that, in many of the regiments of -the army, there existed a strong spirit of disaffection, and an eager -wish for the return of the imperial system and family.</p> - -<p>As to the good that was to be derived from the change, that is another -question. Why the Emperor of the French should be better than the King -of the French, or the King of the French better than the King of France -and Navarre, it is not our business to inquire; but all the three -monarchs have no lack of supporters; republicanism has no lack of -supporters; St. Simonianism was followed by a respectable body of -admirers; Robespierrism has a select party of friends. If, in a country -where so many quacks have had their day, Prince Louis Napoleon thought -he might renew the imperial quackery, why should he not? It has -recollections with it that must always be dear to a gallant nation; it -has certain claptraps in its vocabulary that can never fail to inflame a -vain, restless, grasping, disappointed one.</p> - -<p>In the first place, and don’t let us endeavour to disguise it, they hate -us. Not all the protestations of friendship, not all the wisdom of Lord -Palmerston, not all the diplomacy of our distinguished plenipotentiary, -Mr. Henry Lytton Bulwer—and, let us add, not all the benefit which both -countries would derive from the alliance—can make it, in our times at -least, permanent and cordial. They hate us. The Carlist organs revile us -with a querulous fury that never sleeps; the moderate party, if they -admit the utility of our alliance, are continually pointing out our -treachery, our insolence, and our monstrous infractions of it; and for -the Republicans, as sure as the morning comes, the columns of their -journals thunder out volleys of fierce denunciations against our -unfortunate country. They live by feeding the natural hatred against -England, by keeping old wounds open, by recurring cease<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>lessly to the -history of old quarrels; and as in these we, by God’s help, by land and -by sea, in old times and late, have had the uppermost, they perpetuate -the shame and mortification of the losing party, the bitterness of past -defeats, and the eager desire to avenge them. A party which knows how to -<i>exploiter</i> this hatred will always be popular to a certain extent; and -the imperial scheme has this, at least, among its conditions.</p> - -<p>Then there is the favourite claptrap of the ‘natural frontier.’ The -Frenchman yearns to be bounded by the Rhine and the Alps; and next -follows the cry, ‘Let France take her place among nations, and direct, -as she ought to do, the affairs of Europe.’ These are the two chief -articles contained in the new imperial programme, if we may credit the -journal which has been established to advocate the cause. A natural -boundary—stand among the nations—popular development—Russian -alliance, and a reduction of <i>la perfide Albion</i> to its proper -insignificance. As yet we know little more of the plan: and yet such -foundations are sufficient to build a party upon, and with such windy -weapons a substantial Government is to be overthrown!</p> - -<p>In order to give these doctrines, such as they are, a chance of finding -favour with his countrymen, Prince Louis has the advantage of being able -to refer to a former great professor of them—his uncle Napoleon. His -attempt is at once pious and prudent; it exalts the memory of the uncle, -and furthers the interests of the nephew, who attempts to show what -Napoleon’s ideas really were; what good had already resulted from the -practice of them; how cruelly they had been thwarted by foreign wars and -difficulties; and what vast benefits <i>would</i> have resulted from them; -ay, and (it is reasonable to conclude) might still, if the French nation -would be wise enough to pitch upon a governor that would continue the -interrupted scheme. It is, however, to be borne in mind that the Emperor -Napoleon had certain arguments in favour of his opinions for the time -being, which his nephew has not employed. On the 13th Vendémiaire, when -General Bonaparte believed in the excellence of a Directory, it may be -remembered that he aided his opinions by forty pieces of artillery, and -by Colonel Murat at the head of his dragoons. There was no resisting -such a philosopher; the Directory was established forthwith, and the -sacred cause of the minority triumphed. In like manner, when the General -was convinced of the weakness of the Directory, and saw fully the -necessity of establishing a Consulate, what were his arguments? Moreau, -Lannes, Murat, Berthier, Leclerc, Lefebvre—gentle apostles of the -truth!—marched to St. Cloud, and there, with fixed bayonets, caused it -to prevail. Error<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> vanished in an instant. At once five hundred of its -high priests tumbled out of windows, and lo! three Consuls appeared to -guide the destinies of France! How much more expeditious, reasonable, -and clinching was this argument of the 18th Brumaire, than any one that -can be found in any pamphlet! A fig for your duodecimos and octavos! -Talk about points, there are none like those at the end of a bayonet; -and the most powerful of styles is a good rattling ‘article’ from a -nine-pounder.</p> - -<p>At least this is our interpretation of the manner in which were always -propagated the <i>Idées Napoléoniennes</i>. Not such, however, is Prince -Louis’s belief; and, if you wish to go along with him in opinion, you -will discover that a more liberal, peaceable, prudent Prince never -existed: you will read that ‘the mission of Napoleon’ was to be the -‘<i>testamentary executor of the Revolution</i>;’ and the Prince should have -added, the legatee; or, more justly still, as well as the <i>executor</i>, he -should be called the <i>executioner</i>, and then his title would be -complete. In Vendémiaire, the military Tartuffe, he threw aside the -Revolution’s natural heirs, and made her, as it were, <i>alter her will</i>; -on the 18th of Brumaire he strangled her, and on the 19th seized on her -property, and kept it until force deprived him of it. Illustrations, to -be sure, are no arguments, but the example is the Prince’s, not ours.</p> - -<p>In the Prince’s eyes, then, his uncle is a god; of all monarchs the most -wise, upright, and merciful. Thirty years ago the opinion had millions -of supporters; while millions again were ready to avouch the exact -contrary. It is curious to think of the former difference of opinion -concerning Napoleon; and in reading his nephew’s rapturous encomiums of -him, one goes back to the days when we ourselves were as loud and mad in -his dispraise. Who does not remember his own personal hatred and horror, -twenty-five years ago, for the man whom we used to call the ‘bloody -Corsican upstart and assassin’? What stories did we not believe of -him?—what murders, rapes, robberies, not lay to his charge?—we, who -were living within a few miles of his territory, and might, by books and -newspapers, be made as well acquainted with his merits or demerits as -any of his own countrymen.</p> - -<p>Then was the age when the <i>Idées Napoléoniennes</i> might have passed -through many editions; for while we were thus outrageously bitter, our -neighbours were as extravagantly attached to him by a strange -infatuation—adored him like a god, whom we chose to consider as a -fiend; and vowed that, under his government, their nation had attained -its highest pitch of grandeur and glory. In revenge there existed in -England (as is proved by a thousand authentic documents) a monster so -hideous, a tyrant<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> so ruthless and bloody, that the world’s history -cannot show his parallel. This ruffian’s name was, during the early part -of the French Revolution, Pittetcobourg. Pittetcobourg’s emissaries were -in every corner of France; Pittetcobourg’s gold chinked in the pockets -of every traitor in Europe; it menaced the life of the godlike -Robespierre; it drove into cellars and fits of delirium even the gentle -philanthropist Marat; it fourteen times caused the dagger to be lifted -against the bosom of the First Consul, Emperor, and King,—that first, -great, glorious, irresistible, cowardly, contemptible, bloody hero and -fiend, Bonaparte, before mentioned.</p> - -<p>On our side of the Channel we have had leisure, long since, to -reconsider our verdict against Napoleon; though, to be sure, we have not -changed our opinion about Pittetcobourg. After five-and-thirty years all -parties bear witness to his honesty, and speak with affectionate -reverence of his patriotism, his genius, and his private virtue. In -France, however, or, at least, among certain parties in France, there -has been no such modification of opinion. With the Republicans, -Pittetcobourg is Pittetcobourg still,—crafty, bloody, seeking whom he -may devour; and <i>perfide Albion</i> more perfidious than ever. This hatred -is the point of union between the Republic and the Empire; it has been -fostered ever since, and must be continued by Prince Louis, if he would -hope to conciliate both parties.</p> - -<p>With regard to the Emperor, then, Prince Louis erects to his memory as -fine a monument as his wits can raise. One need not say that the -imperial apologist’s opinion should be received with the utmost caution; -for a man who has such a hero for an uncle may naturally be proud of and -partial to him; and when this nephew of the great man would be his heir, -likewise, and, bearing his name, step also into his imperial shoes, one -may reasonably look for much affectionate panegyric. ‘The Empire was the -best of empires,’ cries the Prince; and possibly it was; undoubtedly, -the Prince thinks it was; but he is the very last person who would -convince a man with a proper suspicious impartiality. One remembers a -certain consultation of politicians which is recorded in the -Spelling-book; and the opinion of that patriotic sage who averred that, -for a real blameless constitution, an impenetrable shield for liberty, -and cheap defence of nations, there was nothing like leather.</p> - -<p>Let us examine some of the Prince’s article. If we may be allowed humbly -to express an opinion, his leather is not only quite insufficient for -those vast public purposes for which he destines it, but is, moreover, -and in itself, very <i>bad leather</i>. The hides are<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> poor, small, unsound -slips of skin; or, to drop this cobbling metaphor, the style is not -particularly brilliant, the facts not very startling, and, as for the -conclusions, one may differ with almost every one of them. Here is an -extract from his first chapter, ‘On Governments in General:’—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘I speak it with regret, I can see but two Governments, at this -day, which fulfil the mission that Providence has confided to them; -they are the two colossi at the end of the world; one at the -extremity of the old world, the other at the extremity of the new. -Whilst our old European centre is as a volcano, consuming itself in -its crater, the two nations of the East and the West march, without -hesitation, towards perfection; the one under the will of a single -individual, the other under liberty.</p> - -<p>‘Providence has confided to the United States of North America the -task of peopling and civilising that immense territory which -stretches from the Atlantic to the South Sea, and from the North -Pole to the Equator. The Government, which is only a simple -administration, has only hitherto been called upon to put in -practice the old adage, <i>Laissez faire, laissez passer</i>, in order -to favour that irresistible instinct which pushes the people of -America to the west.</p> - -<p>‘In Russia it is to the imperial dynasty that is owing all the vast -progress which, in a century and a-half, has rescued that empire -from barbarism. The imperial power must contend against all the -ancient prejudices of our old Europe: it must centralise, as far as -possible, all the powers of the State in the hands of one person, -in order to destroy the abuses which the feudal and communal -franchises have served to perpetuate. The last alone can hope to -receive from it the improvements which it expects.</p> - -<p>‘But thou, France of Henry IV., of Louis XIV., of Carnot, of -Napoleon—thou, who wert always for the west of Europe the source -of progress, who possessest in thyself the two great pillars of -empire, the genius for the arts of peace, and the genius of -war—hast thou no further passion to fulfil? Wilt thou never cease -to waste thy force and energies in intestine struggles? No; such -cannot be thy destiny: the day will soon come, when, to govern -thee, it will be necessary to understand that thy part is to place -in all treaties thy sword of Brennus on the side of civilisation.’</p></div> - -<p>These are the conclusions of the Prince’s remarks upon Governments in -general; and it must be supposed that the reader is very little wiser at -the end than at the beginning. But two Governments in the world fulfil -their mission: the one Government, which is no Government; the other, -which is a despotism. The duty of France is <i>in all treaties</i> to place -her sword of Brennus in the scale of<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> civilisation. Without quarrelling -with the somewhat confused language of the latter proposition, may we -ask what, in Heaven’s name, is the meaning of all the three? What is -this <i>épée de Brennus</i>? and how is France to use it? Where is the great -source of political truth, from which, flowing pure, we trace American -republicanism in one stream, Russian despotism in another? Vastly -prosperous is the great republic, if you will: if dollars and cents -constitute happiness, there is plenty for all: but can any one, who has -read of the American doings in the late frontier troubles, and the daily -disputes on the slave question, praise the <i>Government</i> of the -States?—a Government which dares not punish homicide or arson performed -before its very eyes, and which the pirates of Texas and the pirates of -Canada can brave at their will? There is no Government, but a prosperous -anarchy; as the Prince’s other favourite Government is a prosperous -slavery. What, then, is to be the <i>épée de Brennus</i> Government? Is it to -be a mixture of the two? ‘Society,’ writes the Prince axiomatically, -‘contains in itself two principles—the one of progress and immortality, -the other of disease and disorganisation.’ No doubt; and as the one -tends towards liberty, so the other is only to be cured by order: and -then, with a singular felicity, Prince Louis picks us out a couple of -Governments, in one of which the common regulating power is as -notoriously too weak, as it is in the other too strong, and talks in -rapturous terms of the manner in which they fulfil their ‘providential -mission’!</p> - -<p>From these considerations on things in general, the Prince conducts us -to Napoleon in particular, and enters largely into a discussion of the -merits of the imperial system. Our author speaks of the Emperor’s advent -in the following grandiose way:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Napoleon, on arriving at the public stage, saw that his part was -to be the <i>testamentary executor</i> of the Revolution. The -destructive fire of parties was extinct; and when the Revolution, -dying, but not vanquished, delegated to Napoleon the accomplishment -of her last will, she said to him, “Establish upon solid bases the -principal result of my efforts. Unite divided Frenchmen. Defeat -feudal Europe that is leagued against me. Cicatrise my wounds. -Enlighten the nations. Execute that in width, which I have had to -perform in depth. Be for Europe what I have been for France. And, -even if you must water the tree of civilisation with your blood—if -you must see your projects misunderstood, and your sons without a -country, wandering over the face of the earth, never abandon the -sacred cause of the French people. Ensure its<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> triumph by all the -means which genius can discover and humanity approve.”</p> - -<p>‘This grand mission Napoleon performed to the end. His task was -difficult. He had to place upon new principles a society still -boiling with hatred and revenge; and to use, for building up, the -same instruments which had been employed for pulling down.</p> - -<p>‘The common lot of every new truth that arises, is to wound rather -than to convince—rather than to gain proselytes, to awaken fear. -For, oppressed as it long has been, it rushes forward with -additional force; having to encounter obstacles, it is compelled to -combat them, and overthrow them; until, at length, comprehended and -adopted by the generality, it becomes the basis of new social -order.</p> - -<p>‘Liberty will follow the same march as the Christian religion. -Armed with death from the ancient society of Rome, it for a long -while excited the hatred and fear of the people. At last, by force -of martyrdoms and persecutions, the religion of Christ penetrated -into the conscience and the soul; it soon had kings and armies at -its orders, and Constantine and Charlemagne bore it triumphant -throughout Europe. Religion then laid down her arms of war. It laid -open to all the principles of peace and order which it contained; -it became the prop of Government, as it was the organising element -of society. Thus will it be with liberty. In 1793 it frightened -people and sovereigns alike; thus, having clothed itself in a -milder garb, <i>it insinuated itself everywhere in the train of our -battalions</i>. In 1815 all parties adopted its flag, and armed -themselves with its moral force—covered themselves with its -colours. The adoption was not sincere, and liberty was soon obliged -to reassume its warlike accoutrements. With the contest their fears -returned. Let us hope that they will soon cease, and that liberty -will soon resume her peaceful standards, to quit them no more.</p> - -<p>‘The Emperor Napoleon contributed more than any one else towards -accelerating the reign of liberty, by saving the moral influence of -the Revolution, and diminishing the fears which it imposed. Without -the Consulate and the Empire, the Revolution would have been only a -grand drama, leaving grand revolutions but no traces: the -Revolution would have been drowned in the counter-revolution. The -contrary, however, was the case. Napoleon rooted the Revolution in -France, and introduced, throughout Europe, the principal benefits -of the crisis of 1789. To use his own words, “He purified the -Revolution,” he confirmed kings, and ennobled people. He purified -the Revolution in separating the truths which it contained from the -passions that, during its delirium, disfigured it. He ennobled the -people in giving them<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> the consciousness of their force, and those -institutions which raise men in their own eyes. The Emperor may be -considered as the Messiah of the new ideas; for—and we must -confess it—in the moments immediately succeeding a social -revolution, it is not so essential to put rigidly into practice all -the propositions resulting from the new theory, but to become -master of the regenerative genius, to identify one’s self with the -sentiments of the people, and boldly to direct them towards the -desired point. To accomplish such a task <i>your fibre should respond -to that of the people</i>, as the Emperor said; you should feel like -it, your interests should be so intimately raised with its own, -that you should vanquish or fall together.’</p></div> - -<p>Let us take breath after these big phrases,—grand round figures of -speech,—which, when put together, amount, like certain other -combinations of round figures, to exactly 0. We shall not stop to argue -the merits and demerits of Prince Louis’s notable comparison between the -Christian religion and the Imperial-revolutionary system. There are many -blunders in the above extract as we read it; blundering metaphors, -blundering arguments, and blundering assertions; but this is surely the -grandest blunder of all; and one wonders at the blindness of the -legislator and historian who can advance such a parallel. And what are -we to say of the legacy of the dying Revolution to Napoleon? Revolutions -do not die, and, on their deathbeds, making fine speeches, hand over -their property to young officers of artillery. We have all read the -history of his rise. The constitution of the year III. was carried. Old -men of the Montagne, disguised royalists, Paris sections, -<i>Pittetcobourg</i>, above all, with his money-bags, thought that here was a -fine opportunity for a revolt, and opposed the new constitution in arms: -the new constitution had knowledge of a young officer, who would not -hesitate to defend its cause, and who effectually beat the majority. The -tale may be found in every account of the Revolution, and the rest of -his story need not be told. We know every step that he took: we know -how, by doses of cannon-balls promptly administered, he cured the fever -of the sections—that fever which another camp-physician (Menou) -declined to prescribe for; we know how he abolished the Directory; and -how the Consulship came; and then the Empire; and then the disgrace, -exile, and lonely death. Has not all this been written by historians in -all tongues?—by memoir-writing pages, chamberlains, marshals, lackeys, -secretaries, contemporaries, and ladies-of-honour? Not a word of miracle -is there in all this narration; not a word of celestial missions, or -political Messiahs. From Napoleon’s rise to<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> his fall, the bayonet -marches alongside of him: now he points it at the tails of the ‘five -hundred,’—now he charges with it across the bloody Arcola—now he flies -before it over the fatal plain of Waterloo.</p> - -<p>Unwilling, however, as he may be to grant that there are any spots in -the character of his hero’s government, the Prince is, nevertheless, -obliged to allow that such existed; that the Emperor’s manner of rule -was a little more abrupt and dictatorial than might possibly be -agreeable. For this the Prince has always an answer ready—it is the -same poor one that Napoleon uttered a million of times to his companions -in exile—the excuse of necessity. He <i>would</i> have been very liberal, -but that the people were not fit for it; or that the cursed war -prevented him—or any other reason why. His first duty, however, says -his apologist, was to form a general union of Frenchmen, and he set -about his plan in this wise:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Let us not forget, that all which Napoleon undertook, in order to -create a general fusion, he performed without renouncing the -principles of the Revolution. He recalled the <i>émigrés</i>, without -touching upon the law by which their goods had been confiscated and -sold as public property. He re-established the Catholic religion at -the same time that he proclaimed the liberty of conscience, and -endowed equally the ministers of all sects. He caused himself to be -consecrated by the Sovereign Pontiff, without conceding to the -Pope’s demand any of the liberties of the Gallican Church. He -married a daughter of the Emperor of Austria, without abandoning -any of the rights of France to the conquests she had made. He -re-established noble titles, without attaching to them any -privileges or prerogatives, and these titles were conferred on all -ranks, on all services, on all professions. Under the Empire all -idea of caste was destroyed; no man ever thought of vaunting his -pedigree—no man ever was asked how he was born, but what he had -done.</p> - -<p>‘The first quality of a people which aspires to liberal government -is respect to the law. Now, a law has no other power than lies in -the interest which each citizen has to defend or to contravene it. -In order to make a people respect the law, it was necessary that it -should be executed in the interest of all, and should consecrate -the principle of equality in all its extension. It was necessary to -restore the <i>prestige</i> with which the Government had been formerly -invested, and to make the principles of the Revolution take root in -the public manners. At the commencement of a new society, it is the -legislator who makes or corrects the manners;<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> later, it is the -manners which make the law, or preserve it, from age to age -intact.’</p></div> - -<p>Some of these fusions are amusing. No man in the Empire was asked how he -was born, but what he had done; and, accordingly, as a man’s actions -were sufficient to illustrate him, the Emperor took care to make a host -of new title-bearers, princes, dukes, barons, and what not, whose rank -has descended to their children. He married a princess of Austria; but, -for all that, did not abandon his conquests—perhaps not actually; but -he abandoned his allies, and, eventually, his whole kingdom. Who does -not recollect his answer to the Poles, at the commencement of the -Russian campaign? But for Napoleon’s imperial father-in-law, Poland -would have been a kingdom, and his race, perhaps, imperial still. Why -was he to fetch this princess out of Austria to make heirs for his -throne? Why did not the man of the people marry a girl of the people? -Why must he have a Pope to crown him—half a dozen kings for brothers, -and a bevy of aides-de-camp dressed out like so many mountebanks from -Astley’s, with dukes’ coronets, and grand blue velvet marshals’ batons? -We have repeatedly his words for it. He wanted to create an -aristocracy—another acknowledgment on his part of the Republican -dilemma—another apology for the Revolutionary blunder. To keep the -Republic within bounds, a despotism is necessary; to rally round the -despotism, an aristocracy must be created; and for what have we been -labouring all this while? for what have bastiles been battered down, and -kings’ heads hurled, as a gage of battle, in the face of armed Europe? -To have a Duke of Otranto instead of a Duke de la Trémoille, and Emperor -Stork in place of King Log. Oh, lame conclusion! Is the blessed -Revolution which is prophesied for us in England only to end in -establishing a Prince Fergus O’Connor, or a Cardinal Wade, or a Duke of -Daniel Whittle Harvey? Great as those patriots are, we love them better -under their simple family names, and scorn titles and coronets.</p> - -<p>At present, in France, the delicate matter of titles seems to be better -arranged, any gentleman, since the Revolution, being free to adopt any -one he may fix upon; and it appears that the Crown no longer confers any -patents of nobility, but contents itself with saying, as in the case of -M. de Pontois, the other day, ‘<i>Le Roi trouve convenable</i> that you take -the title of,’ etc.</p> - -<p>To execute the legacy of the Revolution, then; to fulfil his -providential mission; to keep his place,—in other words, for the -simplest are always the best,—to keep his place, and to keep his -Government in decent order, the Emperor was obliged to establish<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> a -military despotism, to re-establish honours and titles; it was -necessary, as the Prince confesses, to restore the old <i>prestige</i> of the -Government, in order to make the people respect it; and he adds—a truth -which one hardly would expect from him,—‘At the commencement of a new -society, it is the legislator who makes and corrects the manners; later, -it is the manners which preserve the laws.’ Of course, and here is the -great risk that all revolutionising people run; they must tend to -despotism; ‘they must personify themselves in a man,’ is the Prince’s -phrase: and, according as is his temperament or disposition—according -as he is a Cromwell, a Washington, or a Napoleon—the Revolution becomes -tyranny or freedom, prospers or falls.</p> - -<p>Somewhere in the St. Helena memorials, Napoleon reports a message of his -to the Pope. ‘Tell the Pope,’ he says to an archbishop, ‘to remember -that I have six hundred thousand armed Frenchmen, <i>qui marcheront avec -moi, pour moi, et comme moi</i>.’ And this is the legacy of the Revolution, -the advancement of freedom! A hundred volumes of imperial special -pleading will not avail against such a speech as this—one so insolent, -and at the same time so humiliating, which gives unwittingly the whole -of the Emperor’s progress, strength, and weakness. The six hundred -thousand armed Frenchmen were used up, and the whole fabric falls; the -six hundred thousand are reduced to sixty thousand, and straightway all -the rest of the fine imperial scheme vanishes: the miserable senate, so -crawling and abject but now, becomes, of a sudden, endowed with a -wondrous independence; the miserable sham nobles, sham Empress, sham -kings, dukes, princes, chamberlains, pack up their plumes and -embroideries, pounce upon what money and plate they can lay their hands -on, and when the Allies appear before Paris, when for courage and -manliness there is yet hope, when with fierce marches hastening to the -relief of his capital, bursting through ranks upon ranks of the enemy, -and crushing or scattering them from the path of his swift and -victorious despair, the Emperor at last is at home,—where are the great -dignitaries and the lieutenant-generals of the Empire? Where is Maria -Louisa, the Empress Eagle, with her little callow King of Rome? Is she -going to defend her nest and her eaglet? Not she. Empress-queen, -lieutenant-general, and court dignitaries are off on the wings of all -the winds—<i>profligati sunt</i>, they are away with the money-bags, and -Louis Stanislaus Xavier rolls into the palace of his fathers.</p> - -<p>With regard to Napoleon’s excellences as an administrator, a legislator, -a constructor of public works, and a skilful financier, his nephew -speaks with much diffuse praise, and few persons, we<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> suppose, will be -disposed to contradict him. Whether the Emperor composed his famous -code, or borrowed it, is of little importance; but he established it, -and made the law equal for every man in France except one. His vast -public works and vaster wars were carried on without new loans or -exorbitant taxes; it was only the blood and liberty of the people that -were taxed, and we shall want a better advocate than Prince Louis to -show us that these were not most unnecessarily and lavishly thrown away. -As for the former and material improvements, it is not necessary to -confess here that a despotic energy can effect such far more readily -than a Government of which the strength is diffused in many conflicting -parties. No doubt, if we could create a despotical governing machine, a -steam autocrat,—passionless, untiring, and supreme,—we should advance -farther, and live more at ease, than under any other form of government. -Ministers might enjoy their pensions and follow their own devices; Lord -John might compose histories or tragedies at his leisure, and Lord -Palmerston, instead of racking his brains to write leading articles for -Cupid, might crown his locks with flowers, and sing <span title="Greek: erôta mounon">ἑρωτα μοὑνον</span>, -his natural Anacreontics. But, alas! not so: if the despotic -Government has its good side, Prince Louis Napoleon must acknowledge -that it has its bad, and it is for this that the civilised world is -compelled to substitute for it something more orderly and less -capricious. Good as the Imperial Government might have been, it must be -recollected, too, that, since its first fall, both the Emperor and his -admirer and would-be successor have had their chance of re-establishing -it. ‘Flying from steeple to steeple,’ the eagles of the former did -actually, and according to promise, perch for a while on the towers of -Notre-Dame. We know the event: if the fate of war declared against the -Emperor, the country declared against him too; and, with old Lafayette -for a mouthpiece, the representatives of the nation did, in a neat -speech, pronounce themselves in permanence, but spoke no more of the -Emperor than if he had never been. Thereupon the Emperor proclaimed his -son the Emperor Napoleon II. ‘L’Empereur est mort, vive l’Empereur!’ -shouted Prince Lucien. Psha! not a soul echoed the words: the play was -played, and as for old Lafayette and his ‘permanent’ representatives, a -corporal with a hammer nailed up the door of their spouting-club, and -once more Louis Stanislaus Xavier rolled back to the bosom of his -people.</p> - -<p>In like manner Napoleon III. returned from exile, and made his -appearance on the frontier. His eagle appeared at Strasburg, and from -Strasburg advanced to the capital; but it arrived at Paris with a -keeper, and in a postchaise; whence, by the orders of the sovereign, it -was removed to the American shores, and there<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> magnanimously let loose. -Who knows, however, how soon it may be on the wing again, and what a -flight it will take?</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_MARY_ANCEL" id="THE_STORY_OF_MARY_ANCEL"></a>THE STORY OF MARY ANCEL</h2> - -<p class="nind">‘G<small>O</small>, my nephew,’ said old Father Jacob to me, ‘and complete thy studies -at Strasburg: Heaven surely hath ordained thee for the ministry in these -times of trouble, and my excellent friend Schneider will work out the -divine intention.’</p> - -<p>Schneider was an old college friend of Uncle Jacob’s, was a Benedictine -monk, and a man famous for his learning; as for me, I was at that time -my uncle’s chorister, clerk, and sacristan; I swept the church, chanted -the prayers with my shrill treble, and swung the great copper -incense-pot on Sundays and feasts; and I toiled over the Fathers for the -other days of the week.</p> - -<p>The old gentleman said that my progress was prodigious, and, without -vanity, I believe he was right, for I then verily considered that -praying was my vocation, and not fighting, as I have found since.</p> - -<p>You would hardly conceive (said the Major, swearing a great oath) how -devout and how learned I was in those days; I talked Latin faster than -my own beautiful <i>patois</i> of Alsatian French; I could utterly overthrow, -in argument, every Protestant (heretics we called them) parson in the -neighbourhood, and there was a confounded sprinkling of these -unbelievers in our part of the country. I prayed half a dozen times a -day; I fasted thrice in a week; and, as for penance, I used to scourge -my little sides, till they had no more feeling than a peg-top: such was -the godly life I led at my Uncle Jacob’s in the village of Steinbach.</p> - -<p>Our family had long dwelt in this place, and a large farm and a pleasant -house were then in the possession of another uncle—Uncle Edward. He was -the youngest of the three sons of my grandfather; but Jacob, the elder, -had shown a decided vocation for the Church, from, I believe, the age of -three, and now was by no means tired of it at sixty. My father, who was -to have inherited the paternal property, was, as I hear, a terrible -scamp and scapegrace, quarrelled with his family, and disappeared -altogether, living and dying at Paris; so far we knew through my mother, -who came, poor woman, with me, a child of six months, on her bosom, was -refused all shelter by my grandfather, but was housed and kindly cared -for by my good Uncle Jacob.<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a></p> - -<p>Here she lived for about seven years, and the old gentleman, when she -died, wept over her grave a great deal more than I did, who was then too -young to mind anything but toys or sweetmeats.</p> - -<p>During this time my grandfather was likewise carried off: he left, as I -said, the property to his son Edward, with a small proviso in his will -that something should be done for me, his grandson.</p> - -<p>Edward was himself a widower, with one daughter, Mary, about three years -older than I, and certainly she was the dearest little treasure with -which Providence ever blessed a miserly father; by the time she was -fifteen, five farmers, three lawyers, twelve Protestant parsons, and a -lieutenant of Dragoons had made her offers: it must not be denied that -she was an heiress as well as a beauty, which, perhaps, had something to -do with the love of these gentlemen. However, Mary declared that she -intended to live single, turned away her lovers one after another, and -devoted herself to the care of her father.</p> - -<p>Uncle Jacob was as fond of her as he was of any saint or martyr. As for -me, at the mature age of twelve I had made a kind of divinity of her, -and when we sang ‘Ave Maria’ on Sundays I could not refrain from turning -to her, where she knelt, blushing and praying and looking like an angel, -as she was. Besides her beauty, Mary had a thousand good qualities; she -could play better on the harpsichord, she could dance more lightly, she -could make better pickles and puddings, than any girl in Alsace; there -was not a want or a fancy of the old hunks, her father, or a wish of -mine or my uncle’s, that she would not gratify if she could; as for -herself, the sweet soul had neither wants nor wishes except to see us -happy.</p> - -<p>I could talk to you for a year of all the pretty kindnesses that she -would do for me; how, when she found me of early mornings among my -books, her presence ‘would cast a light upon the day;’ how she used to -smooth and fold my little surplice, and embroider me caps and gowns for -high feast-days; how she used to bring flowers for the altar, and who -could deck it so well as she? But sentiment does not come glibly from -under a grizzled moustache, so I will drop it, if you please.</p> - -<p>Amongst other favours she showed me, Mary used to be particularly fond -of kissing me: it was a thing I did not so much value in those days; but -I found that the more I grew alive to the extent of the benefit, the -less she would condescend to confer it on me; till, at last, when I was -about fourteen, she discontinued it altogether, of her own wish at -least; only sometimes I used to<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> be rude, and take what she had now -become so mighty unwilling to give.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p118_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p118_sml.jpg" width="223" height="284" alt="MARY ANCEL" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">MARY ANCEL</span> -</p> - -<p>I was engaged in a contest of this sort one day with Mary, when, just as -I was about to carry off a kiss from her cheek, I was saluted with a -staggering slap on my own, which was bestowed by Uncle Edward, and sent -me reeling some yards down the garden.<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a></p> - -<p>The old gentleman, whose tongue was generally as close as his purse, now -poured forth a flood of eloquence which quite astonished me. I did not -think that so much was to be said on any subject as he managed to utter -on one, and that was abuse of me; he stamped, he swore, he screamed; and -then, from complimenting me, he turned to Mary, and saluted her in a -manner equally forcible and significant: she, who was very much -frightened at the commencement of the scene, grew very angry at the -coarse words he used, and the wicked motives he imputed to her.</p> - -<p>‘The child is but fourteen,’ she said; ‘he is your own nephew, and a -candidate for holy orders:—Father, it is a shame that you should thus -speak of me, your daughter, or of one of his holy profession.’</p> - -<p>I did not particularly admire this speech myself, but it had an effect -on my uncle, and was the cause of the words with which this history -commences. The old gentleman persuaded his brother that I must be sent -to Strasburg, and there kept until my studies for the Church were -concluded. I was furnished with a letter to my uncle’s old college chum, -Professor Schneider, who was to instruct me in theology and Greek.</p> - -<p>I was not sorry to see Strasburg, of the wonders of which I had heard so -much; but felt very loth as the time drew near when I must quit my -pretty cousin and my good old uncle. Mary and I managed, however, a -parting walk, in which a number of tender things were said on both -sides. I am told that you Englishmen consider it cowardly to cry; as for -me, I wept and roared incessantly: when Mary squeezed me, for the last -time, the tears came out of me as if I had been neither more nor less -than a great wet sponge. My cousin’s eyes were stoically dry; her -ladyship had a part to play, and it would have been wrong for her to be -in love with a young chit of fourteen—so she carried herself with -perfect coolness, as if there was nothing the matter. I should not have -known that she cared for me, had it not been for a letter which she -wrote me a month afterwards—<i>then</i>, nobody was by, and the consequence -was that the letter was half washed away with her weeping: if she had -used a watering-pot the thing could not have been better done.</p> - -<p>Well, I arrived at Strasburg—a dismal, old-fashioned, rickety town in -those days—and straightway presented myself and letter at Schneider’s -door; over it was written—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c"> -‘COMITÉ DE SALUT PUBLIC.’</p></div> - -<p>Would you believe it? I was so ignorant a young fellow, that<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> I had no -idea of the meaning of the words: however, I entered the citizen’s room -without fear, and sat down in his antechamber until I could be admitted -to see him.</p> - -<p>Here I found very few indications of his reverence’s profession; the -walls were hung round with portraits of Robespierre, Marat, and the -like; a great bust of Mirabeau, mutilated, with the word <i>Tratîre</i> -underneath; lists and Republican proclamations, tobacco-pipes, and -firearms. At a deal table, stained with grease and wine, sat a gentleman -with a huge pigtail dangling down to that part of his person which -immediately succeeds his back, and a red nightcap containing a tricolour -cockade as large as a pancake. He was smoking a short pipe, reading a -little book, and sobbing as if his heart would break. Every now and then -he would make brief remarks upon the personages or the incidents of his -book, by which I could judge that he was a man of the very keenest -sensibilities—‘Ah, brigand!’ ‘Oh, malheureuse!’ ‘Oh, Charlotte, -Charlotte!’ The work which this gentleman was perusing is called <i>The -Sorrows of Werther</i>; it was all the rage in those days, and my friend -was only following the fashion. I asked him if I could see Father -Schneider. He turned towards me a hideous pimpled face, which I dream of -now at forty years’ distance.</p> - -<p>‘Father who?’ said he. ‘Do you imagine that Citizen Schneider has not -thrown off the absurd mummery of priesthood? If you were a little older -you would go to prison for calling him Father Schneider—many a man has -died for less!’ And he pointed to a picture of a guillotine, which was -hanging in the room.</p> - -<p>I was in amazement.</p> - -<p>‘What is he? Is he not a teacher of Greek, an abbé, a monk, until -monasteries were abolished, the learned editor of the songs of -Anacreon?’</p> - -<p>‘He <i>was</i> all this,’ replied my grim friend; ‘he is now a Member of the -Committee of Public Safety, and would think no more of ordering your -head off than of drinking this tumbler of beer.’</p> - -<p>He swallowed, himself, the frothy liquid, and then proceeded to give me -the history of the man to whom my uncle had sent me for instruction.</p> - -<p>Schneider was born in 1756: was a student at Würzburg, and afterwards -entered a convent, where he remained nine years. He here became -distinguished for his learning and his talents as a preacher, and became -chaplain to Duke Charles of Würtemberg. The doctrines of the Illuminati -began about this time to spread in Germany, and Schneider speedily -joined the sect. He had been a professor of Greek at Cologne; and being -compelled, on account of<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a> his irregularity, to give up his chair, he -came to Strasburg at the commencement of the French Revolution, and -acted for some time a principal part as a revolutionary agent at -Strasburg.</p> - -<p>[‘Heaven knows what would have happened to me had I continued long under -his tuition!’ said the Captain.’ I owe the preservation of my morals -entirely to my entering the army. A man, sir, who is a soldier, has very -little time to be wicked; except in the case of a siege and the sack of -a town, when a little licence can offend nobody.’]</p> - -<p>By the time that my friend had concluded Schneider’s biography, we had -grown tolerably intimate, and I imparted to him (with that experience so -remarkable in youth) my whole history—my course of studies, my pleasant -country life, the names and qualities of my dear relations, and my -occupations in the vestry before religion was abolished by order of the -Republic. In the course of my speech I recurred so often to the name of -my cousin Mary, that the gentleman could not fail to perceive what a -tender place she had in my heart.</p> - -<p>Then we reverted to <i>The Sorrows of Werther</i>, and discussed the merits -of that sublime performance. Although I had before felt some misgivings -about my new acquaintance, my heart now quite yearned towards him. He -talked about love and sentiment in a manner which made me recollect that -I was in love myself; and you know that when a man is in that condition, -his taste is not very refined, any maudlin trash of prose or verse -appearing sublime to him, provided it correspond, in some degree, with -his own situation.</p> - -<p>‘Candid youth!’ cried my unknown, ‘I love to hear thy innocent story, -and look on thy guileless face. There is, alas! so much of the contrary -in this world, so much terror and crime and blood, that we who mingle -with it are only too glad to forget it. Would that we could shake off -our cares as men, and be boys, as thou art, again!’</p> - -<p>Here my friend began to weep once more, and fondly shook my hand. I -blessed my stars that I had, at the very outset of my career, met with -one who was so likely to aid me. What a slanderous world it is! thought -I; the people in our village call these Republicans wicked and -bloody-minded; a lamb could not be more tender than this sentimental -bottle-nosed gentleman! The worthy man then gave me to understand that -he held a place under Government. I was busy in endeavouring to discover -what his situation might be, when the door of the next apartment opened, -and Schneider made his appearance.</p> - -<p>At first he did not notice me, but he advanced to my new<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> acquaintance, -and gave him, to my astonishment, something very like a blow.</p> - -<p>‘You drunken, talking fool,’ he said, ‘you are always after your time. -Fourteen people are cooling their heels yonder, waiting until you have -finished your beer and your sentiment!’</p> - -<p>My friend slunk, muttering, out of the room.</p> - -<p>‘That fellow,’ said Schneider, turning to me, ‘is our public -executioner: a capital hand, too, if he would but keep decent time; but -the brute is always drunk, and blubbering over <i>The Sorrows of -Werther!</i>’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>I know not whether it was his old friendship for my uncle, or my proper -merits, which won the heart of this the sternest ruffian of -Robespierre’s crew; but certain it is, that he became strangely attached -to me, and kept me constantly about his person. As for the priesthood -and the Greek, they were of course very soon out of the question. The -Austrians were on our frontier; every day brought us accounts of battles -won; and the youth of Strasburg, and of all France, indeed, were -bursting with military ardour. As for me, I shared the general mania, -and speedily mounted a cockade as large as that of my friend the -executioner.</p> - -<p>The occupations of this worthy were unremitting. St. Just, who had come -down from Paris to preside over our town, executed the laws and the -aristocrats with terrible punctuality; and Schneider used to make -country excursions in search of offenders, with this fellow, as a -provost-marshal, at his back. In the meantime, having entered my -sixteenth year, and being a proper lad of my age, I had joined a -regiment of cavalry, and was scampering now after the Austrians who -menaced us, and now threatening the <i>émigrés</i>, who were banded at -Coblentz. My love for my dear cousin increased as my whiskers grew; and -when I was scarcely seventeen, I thought myself man enough to marry her, -and to cut the throat of any one who should venture to say me nay.</p> - -<p>I need not tell you that during my absence at Strasburg, great changes -had occurred in our little village, and somewhat of the revolutionary -rage had penetrated even to that quiet and distant place. The hideous -‘Fête of the Supreme Being’ had been celebrated at Paris; the practice -of our ancient religion was forbidden; its professors were most of them -in concealment, or in exile, or had expiated on the scaffold their crime -of Christianity. In our poor village my uncle’s church was closed, and -he, himself, an inmate in my brother’s house, only owing his safety to -his great popularity among his former flock and the influence of Edward -Ancel.<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a></p> - -<p>The latter had taken in the Revolution a somewhat prominent part; that -is, he had engaged in many contracts for the army, attended the clubs -regularly, corresponded with the authorities of his department, and was -loud in his denunciations of the aristocrats in his neighbourhood. But -owing, perhaps, to the German origin of the peasantry, and their quiet -and rustic lives, the revolutionary fury which prevailed in the cities -had hardly reached the country people. The occasional visit of a -commissary from Paris or Strasburg served to keep the flame alive, and -to remind the rural swains of the existence of a Republic in France.</p> - -<p>Now and then, when I could gain a week’s leave of absence, I returned to -the village, and was received with tolerable politeness by my uncle, and -with a warmer feeling by his daughter.</p> - -<p>I won’t describe to you the progress of our love, or the wrath of my -Uncle Edward when he discovered that it still continued. He swore and he -stormed; he locked Mary into her chamber, and vowed that he would -withdraw the allowance he made me, if ever I ventured near her. His -daughter, he said, should never marry a hopeless, penniless subaltern; -and Mary declared she would not marry without his consent. What had I to -do?—to despair and to leave her. As for my poor Uncle Jacob, he had no -counsel to give me, and, indeed, no spirit left: his little church was -turned into a stable, his surplice torn off his shoulders, and he was -only too lucky in keeping <i>his head</i> on them. A bright thought struck -him: suppose you were to ask the advice of my old friend Schneider -regarding this marriage? he has ever been your friend, and may help you -now as before.</p> - -<p>(Here the Captain paused a little.) You may fancy (continued he) that it -was droll advice of a reverend gentleman like Uncle Jacob to counsel me -in this manner, and to bid me make friends with such a murderous -cut-throat as Schneider; but we thought nothing of it in those days; -guillotining was as common as dancing, and a man was only thought the -better patriot the more severe he might be. I departed forthwith to -Strasburg, and requested the vote and interest of the Citizen President -of the Committee of Public Safety.</p> - -<p>He heard me with a great deal of attention. I described to him most -minutely the circumstances, expatiated upon the charms of my dear Mary, -and painted her to him from head to foot. Her golden hair and her bright -blushing cheeks, her slim waist and her tripping tiny feet; and -furthermore, I added that she possessed a fortune which ought, by -rights, to be mine, but for the miserly old father. ‘Curse him for an -aristocrat!’ concluded I, in my wrath.<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a></p> - -<p>As I had been discoursing about Mary’s charms, Schneider listened with -much complacency and attention: when I spoke about her fortune, his -interest redoubled; and when I called her father an aristocrat, the -worthy ex-Jesuit gave a grin of satisfaction, which was really quite -terrible. Oh, fool that I was to trust him so far!</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The very same evening an officer waited upon me with the following note -from St. Just:—</p> - -<p class="r"> -‘<span class="smcap">Strasburg</span>: <i>Fifth year of the Republic one and<br /> -‘indivisible, 11 Ventôse.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>‘The citizen Pierre Ancel is to leave Strasburg within two hours, and to -carry the enclosed despatches to the President of the Committee of -Public Safety at Paris. The necessary leave of absence from his military -duties has been provided. Instant punishment will follow the slightest -delay on the road.</p> - -<p class="r"> -‘Salut et Fraternité.’<br /> -</p> - -<p>There was no choice but obedience, and off I sped on my weary way to the -capital.</p> - -<p>As I was riding out of the Paris gate I met an equipage which I knew to -be that of Schneider. The ruffian smiled at me as I passed, and wished -me a <i>bon voyage</i>. Behind his chariot came a curious machine, or cart; a -great basket, three stout poles, and several planks, all painted red, -were lying in this vehicle, on the top of which was seated my friend -with the big cockade. It was the <i>portable guillotine</i> which Schneider -always carried with him on his travels. The <i>bourreau</i> was reading <i>The -Sorrows of Werther</i>, and looked as sentimental as usual.</p> - -<p>I will not speak of my voyage, in order to relate to you Schneider’s. My -story had awakened the wretch’s curiosity and avarice, and he was -determined that such a prize as I had shown my cousin to be should fall -into no hands but his own. No sooner, in fact, had I quitted his room -than he procured the order for my absence, and was on the way to -Steinbach as I met him.</p> - -<p>The journey is not a very long one; and on the next day my Uncle Jacob -was surprised by receiving a message that the Citizen Schneider was in -the village, and was coming to greet his old friend. Old Jacob was in an -ecstasy, for he longed to see his college acquaintance, and he hoped -also that Schneider had come into that part of the country upon the -marriage-business of your humble servant. Of course Mary was summoned to -give her best dinner, and wear her best frock; and her father made ready -to receive the new State dignitary.<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a></p> - -<p>Schneider’s carriage speedily rolled into the courtyard, and Schneider’s -<i>cart</i> followed, as a matter of course. The ex-priest only entered the -house; his companion remaining with the horses to dine in private. Here -was a most touching meeting between him and Jacob. They talked over -their old college pranks and successes; they capped Greek verses, and -quoted ancient epigrams upon their tutors, who had been dead since the -Seven Years’ War. Mary declared it was quite touching to listen to the -merry friendly talk of these two old gentlemen.</p> - -<p>After the conversation had continued for a time in this strain, -Schneider drew up all of a sudden, and said, quietly, that he had come -on particular and unpleasant business—hinting about troublesome times, -spies, evil reports, and so forth. Then he called Uncle Edward aside, -and had with him a long and earnest conversation; so Jacob went out and -talked with Schneider’s <i>friend</i>: they speedily became very intimate, -for the ruffian detailed all the circumstances of his interview with me. -When he returned into the house, some time after this pleasing colloquy, -he found the tone of the society strangely altered. Edward Ancel, pale -as a sheet, trembling, and crying for mercy; poor Mary weeping; and -Schneider pacing energetically about the apartment, raging about the -rights of man, the punishment of traitors, and the one and indivisible -Republic.</p> - -<p>‘Jacob,’ he said as my uncle entered the room, ‘I was willing, for the -sake of our old friendship, to forget the crimes of your brother. He is -a known and dangerous aristocrat; he holds communications with the enemy -on the frontier; he is a possessor of great and ill-gotten wealth, of -which he has plundered the Republic. Do you know,’ said he, turning to -Edward Ancel, ‘where the least of these crimes, or the mere suspicion of -them, would lead you?’</p> - -<p>Poor Edward sate trembling in his chair, and answered not a word. He -knew full well how quickly, in this dreadful time, punishment followed -suspicion; and though guiltless of all treason with the enemy, perhaps -he was aware that, in certain contracts with the Government, he had -taken to himself a more than patriotic share of profit.</p> - -<p>‘Do you know,’ resumed Schneider, in a voice of thunder, ‘for what -purpose I came hither, and by whom I am accompanied? I am the -administrator of the justice of the Republic. The life of yourself and -your family is in my hands: yonder man, who follows me, is the executor -of the law; he has rid the nation of hundreds of wretches like yourself. -A single word from me, and your doom is sealed without hope, and your -last hour is come. Ho! Grégoire!’ shouted he; ‘is all ready?<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>’</p> - -<p>Grégoire replied from the court, ‘I can put up the machine in half an -hour. Shall I go down to the village and call the troops and the law -people?’</p> - -<p>‘Do you hear him?’ said Schneider. ‘The guillotine is in your courtyard; -your name is on my list, and I have witnesses to prove your crime. Have -you a word in your defence?’</p> - -<p>Not a word came; the old gentleman was dumb; but his daughter, who did -not give way to his terrors, spoke for him.</p> - -<p>‘You cannot, sir,’ said she, ‘although you say it, <i>feel</i> that my father -is guilty; you would not have entered our house thus alone if you had -thought it. You threaten him in this manner because you have something -to ask and to gain from us: what is it, citizen?—tell us at how much -you value our lives, and what sum we are to pay for our ransom?’</p> - -<p>‘Sum!’ said Uncle Jacob; ‘he does not want money of us: my old friend, -my college chum, does not come hither to drive bargains with anybody -belonging to Jacob Ancel!’</p> - -<p>‘Oh no, sir, no, you can’t want money of us,’ shrieked Edward; ‘we are -the poorest people of the village: ruined, Monsieur Schneider, ruined in -the cause of the Republic.’</p> - -<p>‘Silence, father,’ said my brave Mary; ‘this man wants a <i>price</i>: he -comes with his worthy friend yonder, to frighten us, not to kill us. If -we die, he cannot touch a sou of our money; it is confiscated to the -State. Tell us, sir, what is the price of our safety?’</p> - -<p>Schneider smiled, and bowed with perfect politeness.</p> - -<p>‘Mademoiselle Marie,’ he said, ‘is perfectly correct in her surmise. I -do not want the life of this poor drivelling old man: my intentions are -much more peaceable, be assured. It rests entirely with this -accomplished young lady (whose spirit I like, and whose ready wit I -admire), whether the business between us shall be a matter of love or -death. I humbly offer myself, Citizen Ancel, as a candidate for the hand -of your charming daughter. Her goodness, her beauty, and the large -fortune which I know you intend to give her, would render her a -desirable match for the proudest man in the Republic, and, I am sure, -would make me the happiest.’</p> - -<p>‘This must be a jest, Monsieur Schneider,’ said Mary, trembling, and -turning deadly pale: ‘you cannot mean this; you do not know me: you -never heard of me until to-day.’</p> - -<p>‘Pardon me, belle dame,’ replied he; ‘your cousin Pierre has often -talked to me of your virtues; indeed, it was by his special suggestion -that I made the visit.’</p> - -<p>‘It is false!—it is a base and cowardly lie!’ exclaimed she (for the -young lady’s courage was up),—‘Pierre never could have<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> forgotten -himself and me so as to offer me to one like you. You come here with a -lie on your lips—a lie against my father, to swear his life away, -against my dear cousin’s honour and love. It is useless now to deny it: -Father, I love Pierre Ancel; I will marry no other but him—no, though -our last penny were paid to this man as the price of our freedom.’</p> - -<p>Schneider’s only reply to this was a call to his friend Grégoire.</p> - -<p>‘Send down to the village for the maire and some gendarmes; and tell -your people to make ready.’</p> - -<p>‘Shall I put <i>the machine</i> up?’ shouted he of the sentimental turn.</p> - -<p>‘You hear him,’ said Schneider; ‘Marie Ancel, you may decide the fate of -your father. I shall return in a few hours,’ concluded he, ‘and will -then beg to know your decision.’</p> - -<p>The advocate of the rights of man then left the apartment, and left the -family, as you may imagine, in no very pleasant mood.</p> - -<p>Old Uncle Jacob, during the few minutes which had elapsed in the -enactment of this strange scene, sate staring wildly at Schneider, and -holding Mary on his knees: the poor little thing had fled to him for -protection, and not to her father, who was kneeling almost senseless at -the window, gazing at the executioner and his hideous preparations. The -instinct of the poor girl had not failed her; she knew that Jacob was -her only protector, if not of her life—Heaven bless him!—of her -honour. ‘Indeed,’ the old man said, in a stout voice, ‘this must never -be, my dearest child—you must not marry this man. If it be the will of -Providence that we fall, we shall have at least the thought to console -us that we die innocent. Any man in France at a time like this would be -a coward and traitor if he feared to meet the fate of the thousand brave -and good who have preceded us.’</p> - -<p>‘Who speaks of dying?’ said Edward. ‘You, brother Jacob?—you would not -lay that poor girl’s head on the scaffold, or mine, your dear brother’s. -You will not let us die, Mary; you will not, for a small sacrifice, -bring your poor old father into danger?’</p> - -<p>Mary made no answer. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘there is time for escape: he -is to be here but in two hours; in two hours we may be safe, in -concealment, or on the frontier.’ And she rushed to the door of the -chamber, as if she would have instantly made the attempt: two gendarmes -were at the door. ‘We have orders, mademoiselle,’ they said, ‘to allow -no one to leave this apartment until the return of the Citizen -Schneider.’</p> - -<p>Alas! all hope of escape was impossible. Mary became quite silent for a -while; she would not speak to Uncle Jacob; and in<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> reply to her father’s -eager questions, she only replied, coldly, that she would answer -Schneider when he arrived.</p> - -<p>The two dreadful hours passed away only too quickly; and, punctual to -his appointment, the ex-monk appeared. Directly he entered, Mary -advanced to him, and said calmly—</p> - -<p>‘Sir, I could not deceive you if I said that I freely accepted the offer -which you have made me. I will be your wife; but I tell you that I love -another; and that it is only to save the lives of these two old men that -I yield my person up to you.’</p> - -<p>Schneider bowed, and said—</p> - -<p>‘It is bravely spoken. I like your candour—your beauty. As for the -love, excuse me for saying that is a matter of total indifference. I -have no doubt, however, that it will come as soon as your feelings in -favour of the young gentleman, your cousin, have lost their present -fervour. That engaging young man has, at present, another -mistress—Glory. He occupies, I believe, the distinguished post of -corporal in a regiment which is about to march to—Perpignan, I -believe.’</p> - -<p>It was, in fact, Monsieur Schneider’s polite intention to banish me as -far as possible from the place of my birth; and he had, accordingly, -selected the Spanish frontier as the spot where I was to display my -future military talents.</p> - -<p>Mary gave no answer to this sneer: she seemed perfectly resigned and -calm: she only said—</p> - -<p>‘I must make, however, some conditions regarding our proposed marriage, -which a gentleman of Monsieur Schneider’s gallantry cannot refuse.’</p> - -<p>‘Pray command me,’ replied the husband-elect. ‘Fair lady, you know I am -your slave.’</p> - -<p>‘You occupy a distinguished political rank, citizen representative,’ -said she; ‘and we in our village are likewise known and beloved. I -should be ashamed, I confess, to wed you here; for our people would -wonder at the sudden marriage, and imply that it was only by compulsion -that I gave you my hand. Let us, then, perform this ceremony at -Strasburg, before the public authorities of the city, with the state and -solemnity which befits the marriage of one of the chief men of the -Republic.’</p> - -<p>‘Be it so, madam,’ he answered, and gallantly proceeded to embrace his -bride.</p> - -<p>Mary did not shrink from this ruffian’s kiss; nor did she reply when -poor old Jacob, who sat sobbing in a corner, burst out, and said—‘Oh, -Mary, Mary, I did not think this of thee!’</p> - -<p>‘Silence, brother!’ hastily said Edward; ‘my good son-in-law will pardon -your ill-humour.<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>’</p> - -<p>I believe Uncle Edward in his heart was pleased at the notion of the -marriage; he only cared for money and rank, and was little scrupulous as -to the means of obtaining them.</p> - -<p>The matter then was finally arranged; and presently, after Schneider had -transacted the affairs which brought him into that part of the country, -the happy bridal party set forward for Strasburg. Uncles Jacob and -Edward occupied the back seat of the old family carriage, and the young -bride and bridegroom (he was nearly Jacob’s age) were seated -majestically in front. Mary has often since talked to me of this -dreadful journey. She said she wondered at the scrupulous politeness of -Schneider during the route; nay, that at another period she could have -listened to and admired the singular talent of this man, his great -learning, his fancy, and wit; but her mind was bent upon other things, -and the poor girl firmly thought that her last day was come.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, by a blessed chance, I had not ridden three leagues -from Strasburg, when the officer of a passing troop of a cavalry -regiment, looking at the beast on which I was mounted, was pleased to -take a fancy to it, and ordered me, in an authoritative tone, to -descend, and to give up my steed for the benefit of the Republic. I -represented to him, in vain, that I was a soldier like himself, and the -bearer of despatches to Paris. ‘Fool!’ he said; ‘do you think they would -send despatches by a man who can ride at best but ten leagues a day?’ -And the honest soldier was so wroth at my supposed duplicity, that he -not only confiscated my horse, but my saddle, and the little portmanteau -which contained the chief part of my worldly goods and treasure. I had -nothing for it but to dismount, and take my way on foot back again to -Strasburg. I arrived there in the evening, determining the next morning -to make my case known to the Citizen St. Just; and though I made my -entry without a sou, I don’t know what secret exultation I felt at again -being able to return.</p> - -<p>The antechamber of such a great man as St. Just was, in those days, too -crowded for an unprotected boy to obtain an early audience; two days -passed before I could obtain a sight of the friend of Robespierre. On -the third day, as I was still waiting for the interview, I heard a great -bustle in the courtyard of the house, and looked out with many others at -the spectacle.</p> - -<p>A number of men and women, singing epithalamiums, and dressed in some -absurd imitation of Roman costume, a troop of soldiers and gendarmerie, -and an immense crowd of the <i>badauds</i> of Strasburg, were surrounding a -carriage which then entered the court of the mayoralty. In this -carriage, great God! I saw my dear Mary, and Schneider by her side. The -truth instantly came<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> upon me; the reason for Schneider’s keen inquiries -and my abrupt dismissal; but I could not believe that Mary was false to -me. I had only to look in her face, white and rigid as marble, to see -that this proposed marriage was not with her consent.</p> - -<p>I fell back in the crowd as the procession entered the great room in -which I was, and hid my face in my hands; I could not look upon her as -the wife of another,—upon her so long loved and truly—the saint of my -childhood—the pride and hope of my youth—torn from me for ever, and -delivered over to the unholy arms of the murderer who stood before me.</p> - -<p>The door of St. Just’s private apartment opened, and he took his seat at -the table of mayoralty just as Schneider and his cortége arrived before -it.</p> - -<p>Schneider then said that he came in before the authorities of the -Republic to espouse the Citoyenne Marie Ancel.</p> - -<p>‘Is she a minor?’ said St. Just.</p> - -<p>‘She is a minor, but her father is here to give her away.’</p> - -<p>‘I am here,’ said Uncle Edward, coming eagerly forward and bowing. -‘Edward Ancel, so please you, citizen representative. The worthy Citizen -Schneider has done me the honour of marrying into my family.’</p> - -<p>‘But my father has not told you the terms of the marriage,’ said Mary, -interrupting him, in a loud, clear voice.</p> - -<p>Here Schneider seized her hand, and endeavoured to prevent her from -speaking. Her father turned pale, and cried, ‘Stop, Mary, stop! For -Heaven’s sake, remember your poor old father’s danger!’</p> - -<p>‘Sir, may I speak?’</p> - -<p>‘Let the young woman speak,’ said St. Just, ‘if she have a desire to -talk.’ He did not suspect what would be the purport of her story.</p> - -<p>‘Sir,’ she said, ‘two days since the Citizen Schneider entered for the -first time our house; and you will fancy that it must be a love of very -sudden growth which has brought either him or me before you to-day. He -had heard from a person who is now, unhappily, not present, of my name -and of the wealth which my family was said to possess; and hence arose -this mad design concerning me. He came into our village with supreme -power, an executioner at his heels, and the soldiery and authorities of -the district entirely under his orders. He threatened my father with -death if he refused to give up his daughter; and I, who knew that there -was no chance of escape, except here before you, consented to become his -wife. My father I know to be innocent, for all his transactions with the -State have passed through my hands. Citizen representative,<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a> I demand to -be freed from this marriage; and I charge Schneider as a traitor to the -Republic, as a man who would have murdered an innocent citizen for the -sake of private gain.’</p> - -<p>During the delivery of this little speech, Uncle Jacob had been sobbing -and panting like a broken-winded horse; and when Mary had done, he -rushed up to her and kissed her, and held her tight in his arms. ‘Bless -thee, my child!’ he cried, ‘for having had the courage to speak the -truth, and shame thy old father and me, who dared not say a word.’</p> - -<p>‘The girl amazes me,’ said Schneider, with a look of astonishment. ‘I -never saw her, it is true, till yesterday; but I used no force: her -father gave her to me with his free consent, and she yielded as gladly. -Speak, Edward Ancel, was it not so?’</p> - -<p>‘It was, indeed, by my free consent,’ said Edward, trembling.</p> - -<p>‘For shame, brother!’ cried old Jacob. ‘Sir, it was by Edward’s free -consent and my niece’s; but the guillotine was in the courtyard! -Question Schneider’s famulus, the man Grégoire, him who reads <i>The -Sorrows of Werther</i>.’</p> - -<p>Grégoire stepped forward, and looked hesitatingly at Schneider as he -said, ‘I know not what took place within doors; but I was ordered to put -up the scaffold without; and I was told to get soldiers, and let no one -leave the house.’</p> - -<p>‘Citizen St. Just,’ cried Schneider, ‘you will not allow the testimony -of a ruffian like this, of a foolish girl, and a mad ex-priest, to weigh -against the word of one who has done such service to the Republic: it is -a base conspiracy to betray me; the whole family is known to favour the -interest of the <i>émigrés</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘And therefore you would marry a member of the family, and allow the -others to escape: you must make a better defence, Citizen Schneider,’ -said St. Just, sternly.</p> - -<p>Here I came forward, and said that, three days since, I had received an -order to quit Strasburg for Paris, immediately after a conversation with -Schneider, in which I had asked him his aid in promoting my marriage -with my cousin, Mary Ancel; that he had heard from me full accounts -regarding her father’s wealth; and that he had abruptly caused my -dismissal, in order to carry on his scheme against her.</p> - -<p>‘You are in the uniform of a regiment in this town; who sent you from -it?’ said St. Just.</p> - -<p>I produced the order, signed by himself, and the despatches which -Schneider had sent me.</p> - -<p>‘The signature is mine, but the despatches did not come from my office. -Can you prove in any way your conversation with Schneider?<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>’</p> - -<p>‘Why,’ said my sentimental friend Grégoire, ‘for the matter of that, I -can answer that the lad was always talking about this young woman: he -told me the whole story himself, and many a good laugh I had with -Citizen Schneider as we talked about it.’</p> - -<p>‘The charge against Edward Ancel must be examined into,’ said St. Just. -‘The marriage cannot take place. But if I had ratified it, Mary Ancel, -what would then have been your course?’</p> - -<p>Mary felt for a moment in her bosom, and said—‘<i>He would have died -to-night—I would have stabbed him with this dagger</i>.’<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The rain was beating down the streets, and yet they were thronged; all -the world was hastening to the market-place, where the worthy Grégoire -was about to perform some of the pleasant duties of his office. On this -occasion it was not death that he was to inflict; he was only to expose -a criminal who was to be sent on afterwards to Paris. St. Just had -ordered that Schneider should stand for six hours in the public <i>place</i> -of Strasburg, and then be sent on to the capital, to be dealt with as -the authorities there might think fit.</p> - -<p>The people followed with execrations the villain to his place of -punishment; and Grégoire grinned as he fixed up to the post the man -whose orders he had obeyed so often—who had delivered over to disgrace -and punishment so many who merited it not.</p> - -<p>Schneider was left for several hours exposed to the mockery and insults -of the mob; he was then, according to his sentence, marched on to Paris, -where it is probable that he would have escaped death, but for his own -fault. He was left for some time in prison, quite unnoticed, perhaps -forgotten: day by day fresh victims were carried to the scaffold, and -yet the Alsatian tribune remained alive; at last, by the mediation of -one of his friends, a long petition was presented to Robespierre, -stating his services and his innocence, and demanding his freedom. The -reply to this was an order for his instant execution: the wretch died in -the last days of Robespierre’s reign. His comrade, St. Just, followed -him, as you know; but Edward Ancel had been released before this, for -the action of my brave Mary had created a strong feeling in his favour.</p> - -<p>‘And Mary?’ said I.</p> - -<p>Here a stout and smiling old lady entered the Captain’s little room: she -was leaning on the arm of a military-looking man of some forty years, -and followed by a number of noisy rosy children.<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a></p> - -<p>‘This is Mary Ancel,’ said the Captain, ‘and I am Captain Pierre, and -yonder is the Colonel, my son; and you see us here assembled in force, -for it is the fête of little Jacob yonder, whose brothers and sisters -have all come from their schools to dance at his birthday.’</p> - -<h2><a name="BEATRICE_MERGER" id="BEATRICE_MERGER"></a>BEATRICE MERGER</h2> - -<p class="nind">B<small>EATRICE</small> M<small>ERGER</small>, whose name might figure at the head of one of Mr. -Colburn’s politest romances—so smooth and aristocratic does it -sound—is no heroine, except of her own simple history; she is not a -fashionable French Countess, nor even a victim of the Revolution.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 116px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p133_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p133_sml.jpg" width="116" height="172" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>She is a stout, sturdy girl of two-and-twenty, with a face beaming with -good-nature, and marked dreadfully by small-pox; and a pair of black -eyes, which might have done some execution had they been placed in a -smoother face. Beatrice’s station in society is not very exalted; she is -a servant-of-all-work: she will dress your wife, your dinner, your -children; she does beefsteaks and plain work; she makes beds, blacks -boots, and waits at table;—such, at least, were the offices which she -performed in the fashionable establishment of the writer of this book; -perhaps her history may not inaptly occupy a few pages of it.</p> - -<p>‘My father died,’ said Beatrice, ‘about six years since, and left my -poor mother with little else but a small cottage and a strip of land, -and four children too young to work. It was hard enough in my father’s -time to supply so many little mouths with food; and how was a poor -widowed woman to provide for them now, who had neither the strength nor -the opportunity for labour?</p> - -<p>‘Besides us, to be sure, there was my old aunt; and she would<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> have -helped us, but she could not, for the old woman is bedridden; so she did -nothing but occupy our best room, and grumble from morning till night: -Heaven knows! poor old soul, that she had no great reason to be very -happy; for you know, sir, that it frets the temper to be sick; and that -it is worse still to be sick and hungry too.</p> - -<p>‘At that time, in the country where we lived (in Picardy, not very far -from Boulogne), times were so bad that the best workman could hardly -find employ; and when he did, he was happy if he could earn a matter of -twelve sous a day. Mother, work as she would, could not gain more than -six; and it was a hard job, out of this, to put meat into six bellies, -and clothing on six backs. Old Aunt Bridget would scold, as she got her -portion of black bread; and my little brothers used to cry if theirs did -not come in time. I, too, used to cry when I got my share; for mother -kept only a little, little piece for herself, and said that she had -dined in the fields,—God pardon her for the lie! and bless her, as I am -sure He did; for, but for Him, no working man or woman could subsist -upon such a wretched morsel as my dear mother took.</p> - -<p>‘I was a thin, ragged, barefooted girl, then, and sickly and weak for -want of food; but I think I felt mother’s hunger more than my own; and -many and many a bitter night I lay awake, crying, and praying to God to -give me means of working for myself and aiding her. And He has, indeed, -been good to me,’ said pious Beatrice, ‘for He has given me all this!</p> - -<p>‘Well, time rolled on, and matters grew worse than ever: winter came, -and was colder to us than any other winter, for our clothes were thinner -and more torn; mother sometimes could find no work, for the fields in -which she laboured were hidden under the snow; so that when we wanted -them most we had them least—warmth, work, or food.</p> - -<p>‘I knew that, do what I would, mother would never let me leave her, -because I looked to my little brothers and my old cripple of an aunt; -but, still, bread was better for us than all my service; and when I left -them the six would have a slice more; so I determined to bid good-bye to -nobody, but to go away, and look for work elsewhere. One Sunday, when -mother and the little ones were at church, I went in to Aunt Bridget, -and said, “Tell mother when she comes back, that Beatrice is gone.” I -spoke quite stoutly, as if I did not care about it.</p> - -<p>‘“Gone! gone where?” said she. “You an’t going to leave me alone, you -nasty thing; you an’t going to the village to dance, you ragged, -barefooted slut: you’re all of a piece in this house—your mother, your -brothers, and you. I know you’ve got meat in the<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> kitchen, and you only -give me black bread;” and here the old lady began to scream as if her -heart would break; but we did not mind it, we were so used to it.</p> - -<p>‘“Aunt,” said I, “I’m going, and took this very opportunity because you -<i>were</i> alone; tell mother I am too old now to eat her bread and do no -work for it: I am going, please God, where work and bread can be found:” -and so I kissed her: she was so astonished that she could not move or -speak; and I walked away through the old room, and the little garden, -God knows whither!</p> - -<p>‘I heard the old woman screaming after me, but I did not stop nor turn -round. I don’t think I could, for my heart was very full; and if I had -gone back again, I should never have had the courage to go away. So I -walked a long, long way, until night fell; and I thought of poor mother -coming home from mass, and not finding me; and little Pierre shouting -out, in his clear voice, for Beatrice to bring him his supper. I think I -should like to have died that night, and I thought I should too; for -when I was obliged to throw myself on the cold, hard ground, my feet -were too torn and weary to bear me any farther.</p> - -<p>‘Just then the moon got up; and do you know I felt a comfort in looking -at it, for I knew it was shining on our little cottage, and it seemed -like an old friend’s face. A little way on, as I saw by the moon, was a -village; and I saw, too, that a man was coming towards me; he must have -heard me crying, I suppose.</p> - -<p>‘Was not God good to me? This man was a farmer, who had need of a girl -in his house; he made me tell him why I was alone, and I told him the -same story I have told you, and he believed me and took me home. I had -walked six long leagues from our village that day, asking everywhere for -work in vain; and here, at bedtime, I found a bed and a supper!</p> - -<p>‘Here I lived very well for some months; my master was very good and -kind to me; but, unluckily, too poor to give me any wages; so that I -could save nothing to send to my poor mother. My mistress used to scold; -but I was used to that at home, from Aunt Bridget; and she beat me -sometimes, but I did not mind it; for your hardy country girl is not -like your tender town lasses, who cry if a pin pricks them, and give -warning to their mistresses at the first hard word. The only drawback to -my comfort was, that I had no news of my mother; I could not write to -her, nor could she have read my letter, if I had; so there I was, at -only six leagues’ distance from home, as far off as if I had been to -Paris or to ‘Merica.</p> - -<p>‘However, in a few months I grew so listless and homesick, that my -mistress said she would keep me no longer; and though I<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> went away as -poor as I came, I was still too glad to get back to the old village -again, and see dear mother, if it were but for a day. I knew she would -share her crust with me, as she had done for so long a time before; and -hoped that, now, as I was taller and stronger, I might find work more -easily in the neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>‘You may fancy what a fête it was when I came back; though I’m sure we -cried as much as if it had been a funeral. Mother got into a fit, which -frightened us all; and as for Aunt Bridget, she <i>skreeled</i> away for -hours together, and did not scold for two days at least. Little Pierre -offered me the whole of his supper; poor little man! his slice of bread -was no bigger than before I went away.</p> - -<p>‘Well, I got a little work here, and a little there; but still I was a -burden at home rather than a breadwinner; and, at the closing in of the -winter, was very glad to hear of a place at two leagues’ distance, where -work, they said, was to be had. Off I set, one morning, to find it, but -missed my way, somehow, until it was night-time before I -arrived.—Night-time and snow again; it seemed as if all my journeys -were to be made in this bitter weather.</p> - -<p>‘When I came to the farmers door, his house was shut up, and his people -all a-bed; I knocked for a long while in vain; at last he made his -appearance at a window upstairs, and seemed so frightened, and looked so -angry, that I suppose he took me for a thief. I told him how I had come -for work. “Who comes for work at such an hour?” said he. “Go home, you -impudent baggage, and do not disturb honest people out of their sleep.” -He banged the window to; and so I was left alone to shift for myself as -I might. There was no shed, no cowhouse, where I could find a bed; so I -got under a cart, on some straw; it was no very warm berth. I could not -sleep for the cold; and the hours passed so slowly, that it seemed as if -I had been there a week, instead of a night; but still it was not so bad -as the first night when I left home, and when the good farmer found me.</p> - -<p>‘In the morning, before it was light, the farmer’s people came out, and -saw me crouching under the cart: they told me to get up; but I was so -cold that I could not: at last the man himself came, and recognised me -as the girl who had disturbed him the night before. When he heard my -name and the purpose for which I came, this good man took me into the -house, and put me into one of the beds out of which his sons had just -got; and if I was cold before, you may be sure I was warm and -comfortable now: such a bed as this I had never slept in, nor ever did I -have such good milk-soup as he gave me out of his own breakfast.<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> Well, -he agreed to hire me; and what do you think he gave me?—six sous a day! -and let me sleep in the cowhouse besides: you may fancy how happy I was -now, at the prospect of earning so much money.</p> - -<p>‘There was an old woman among the labourers who used to sell us soup: I -got a cupful every day for a halfpenny, with a bit of bread in it; and -might eat as much beetroot besides as I liked: not a very wholesome -meal, to be sure, but God took care that it should not disagree with me.</p> - -<p>‘So, every Saturday, when work was over, I had thirty sous to carry home -to mother; and tired though I was, I walked merrily the two leagues to -our village, to see her again. On the road there was a great wood to -pass through, and this frightened me; for if a thief should come and rob -me of my whole week’s earnings, what could a poor lone girl do to help -herself? But I found a remedy for this too, and no thieves ever came -near me; I used to begin saying my prayers as I entered the forest, and -never stopped until I was safe at home; and safe I always arrived, with -my thirty sous in my pocket.—Ah! you may be sure, Sunday was a merry -day for us all.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>This is the whole of Beatrice’s history which is worthy of publication; -the rest of it only relates to her arrival in Paris, and the various -masters and mistresses whom she there had the honour to serve. As soon -as she enters the capital the romance disappears, and the poor girl’s -sufferings and privations luckily vanish with it. Beatrice has got now -warm gowns, and stout shoes, and plenty of good food. She has had her -little brother from Picardy; clothed, fed, and educated him: that young -gentleman is now a carpenter, and an honour to his profession. Madame -Merger is in easy circumstances, and receives, yearly, fifty francs from -her daughter. To crown all, Mademoiselle Beatrice herself is a funded -proprietor, and consulted the writer of this biography as to the best -method of laying out a capital of two hundred francs, which is the -present amount of her fortune.</p> - -<p>God bless her! she is richer than his Grace the Duke of Devonshire; and, -I dare to say, has, in her humble walk, been more virtuous and more -happy than all the dukes in the realm.</p> - -<p>It is, indeed, for the benefit of dukes and such great people (who, I -make no doubt, have long since ordered copies of these Sketches from Mr. -Macrone) that poor little Beatrice’s story has been indited. Certain it -is that the young woman would never have been immortalised in this way, -but for the good which her betters may derive from her example. If your -ladyship will but<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> reflect a little, after boasting of the sums which -you spend in charity; the beef and blankets which you dole out at -Christmas; the poonah-painting which you execute for fancy fairs; the -long, long sermons which you listen to at St. George’s, the whole year -through;—your ladyship, I say, will allow that, although perfectly -meritorious in your line, as a patroness of the Church of England, of -Almack’s, and of the Lying-in Asylum, yours is but a paltry sphere of -virtue, a pitiful attempt at benevolence, and that this honest -servant-girl puts you to shame! And you, my Lord Bishop; do you, out of -your six sous a day, give away five to support your flock and family? -Would you drop a single coach-horse (I do not say <i>a dinner</i>, for such a -notion is monstrous in one of your lordship’s degree) to feed any one of -the starving children of your lordship’s mother—the Church?</p> - -<p>I pause for a reply. His lordship took too much turtle and cold punch -for dinner yesterday, and cannot speak just now; but we have, by this -ingenious question, silenced him altogether: let the world wag as it -will, and poor Christians and curates starve as they may, my lord’s -footmen must have their new liveries, and his horses their four feeds a -day.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>When we recollect his speech about the Catholics—when we remember his -last charity sermon,—but I say nothing. Here is a poor benighted -superstitious creature, worshipping images, without a rag to her tail, -who has as much faith, and humility, and charity, as all the reverend -bench.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>This angel is without a place; and for this reason (besides the pleasure -of composing the above slap at Episcopacy)—I have indited her history. -If the Bishop is going to Paris, and wants a good honest -maid-of-all-work, he can have her, I have no doubt; or if he chooses to -give a few pounds to her mother, they can be sent to Mr. Titmarsh, at -the publisher’s.</p> - -<p>Here is Miss Merger’s last letter and autograph. The note was evidently -composed by an <i>écrivain public</i>:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘<i>Madame</i>—<i>Ayant appris par ce Monsieur, que vous vous portiez -bien, ainsi que Monsieur, ayant su aussi que vous parliez de moi -dans votre lettre cette nouvelle m’a fait bien plaisir. Je profite -de l’occasion pour vous faire passer ce petit billet où Je voudrais -pouvoir m’enveloper pour aller vous voir el pour vous dire que Je -suis encore sans place Je m’ennuye toujours de ne pas vous voir -ainsi que Minette [Minette</i> is a cat] <i>qui semble m’interroger tour -à tour<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> et demander où votes êtes. Je vous envoye aussi la note du -linge à blanchir</i>—<i>ah, Madame! Je vais cesser de vous écrire mais -non de vous regretter</i>.’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p139_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p139_sml.jpg" width="178" height="32" alt="Beatrice Mergen signature" title="" /> -</p> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CARICATURES_AND_LITHOGRAPHY_IN_PARIS" id="CARICATURES_AND_LITHOGRAPHY_IN_PARIS"></a>CARICATURES AND LITHOGRAPHY IN PARIS</h2> - -<p class="nind">F<small>IFTY</small> years ago there lived at Munich a poor fellow, by name Aloys -Senefelder, who was in so little repute as an author and artist, that -printers and engravers refused to publish his works at their own -charges, and so set him upon some plan for doing without their aid. In -the first place, Aloys invented a certain kind of ink, which would -resist the action of the acid that is usually employed by engravers, and -with this he made his experiments upon copper plates, as long as he -could afford to purchase them. He found that to write upon the plates -backwards, after the manner of engravers, required much skill and many -trials; and he thought that, were he to practise upon any other polished -surface—a smooth stone, for instance, the least costly article -imaginable—he might spare the expense of the copper until he had -sufficient skill to use it.</p> - -<p>One day, it is said that Aloys was called upon to write—rather a humble -composition for an author and artist—a washing-bill. He had no paper at -hand, and so he wrote out the bill with some of his newly invented ink -upon one of his Kilheim stones. Some time afterwards he thought he would -try and take an <i>impression</i> of his washing-bill: he did, and succeeded. -Such is the story, which the reader most likely knows very well; and -having alluded to the origin of the art, we shall not follow the stream -through its windings and enlargement after it issued from the little -parent rock, or fill our pages with the rest of the pedigree. Senefelder -invented Lithography. His invention has not made so much noise and larum -in the world as some others, which have an origin quite as humble and -unromantic; but it is one to which we owe no small profit and a great -deal of pleasure; and, as such, we are bound to speak of it with all -gratitude and respect. The schoolmaster, who is now abroad, has taught -us, in our youth, how the<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a> cultivation of art ‘emollit mores nec sinit -esse’—(it is needless to finish the quotation); and lithography has -been, to our thinking, the very best ally that art ever had; the best -friend of the artist, allowing him to produce rapidly multiplied and -authentic copies of his own works (without trusting to the tedious and -expensive assistance of the engraver); and the best friend to the people -likewise, who have means of purchasing these cheap and beautiful -productions, and thus having their ideas ‘mollified’ and their manners -‘feros’ no more.</p> - -<p>With ourselves among whom money is plenty, enterprise so great, and -everything matter of commercial speculation, lithography has not been so -much practised as wood or steel engraving, which, by the aid of great -original capital and spread of sale, are able more than to compete with -the art of drawing on stone. The two former may be called art done by -<i>machinery</i>. We confess to a prejudice in favour of the honest work of -<i>hand</i>, in matters of art, and prefer the rough workmanship of the -painter to the smooth copies of his performances which are produced, for -the most part, on the wood block or the steel plate.</p> - -<p>The theory will possibly be objected to by many of our readers: the best -proof in its favour, we think, is, that the state of art amongst the -people in France and Germany, where publishers are not so wealthy or -enterprising as with us,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> and where lithography is more practised, is -infinitely higher than in England, and the appreciation more correct. As -draughtsmen, the French and German painters are incomparably superior to -our own; and with art, as with any other commodity, the demand will be -found pretty equal to the supply: with us, the general demand is for -neatness, prettiness, and what is called <i>effect</i> in pictures, and these -can be rendered completely, nay, improved, by the engraver’s -conventional manner of copying the artist’s performances. But to copy -fine expression and fine drawing, the engraver himself must be a fine -artist; and let anybody examine the host of picture-books which appear -every Christmas, and say whether, for the most part, painters or -engravers possess any artistic merit? We boast, nevertheless, of some of -the best engravers and painters in Europe. Here, again, the supply is -accounted for by the demand; our highest class is richer than other -aristocracy, quite as well instructed, and can judge and pay for fine -pictures <a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>and engravings. But these costly productions are for the few, -and not for the many, who have not yet certainly arrived at properly -appreciating fine art.</p> - -<p>Take the standard ‘Album,’ for instance—that unfortunate collection of -deformed Zuleikas and Medoras (from the ‘Byron Beauties,’ the Flowers, -Gems, Souvenirs, Caskets of Loveliness, Beauty, as they may be called); -glaring caricatures of flowers, singly, in groups, in flower-pots, or -with hideous deformed little Cupids sporting among them; of what are -called ‘mezzotinto’ pencil-drawings, ‘poonah-paintings,’ and what not. -‘The Album’ is to be found invariably upon the round rosewood -brass-inlaid drawing-room table of the middle classes, and with a couple -of ‘Annuals’ besides, which flank it on the same table, represents the -art of the house; perhaps there is a portrait of the master of the house -in the dining-room, grim-glancing from above the mantelpiece; and of the -mistress over the piano upstairs; add to these some odious miniatures of -the sons and daughters, on each side of the chimney-glass; and here, -commonly (we appeal to the reader if this is an overcharged picture), -the collection ends. The family goes to the Exhibition once a year, to -the National Gallery once in ten years: to the former place they have an -inducement to go; there are their own portraits, or the portraits of -their friends, or the portraits of public characters; and you will see -them infallibly wondering over No. 2645 in the catalogue, representing -‘The Portrait of a Lady,’ or of the ‘First Mayor of Little Pedlington -since the Passing of the Reform Bill;’ or else bustling and squeezing -among the miniatures, where lies the chief attraction of the Gallery. -England has produced, owing to the effects of this class of admirers of -art, two admirable, and five hundred very clever portrait-painters. How -many <i>artists</i>? Let the reader count upon his five fingers, and see if, -living at the present moment, he can name one for each.</p> - -<p>If, from this examination of our own worthy middle classes, we look to -the same class in France, what a difference do we find! Humble <i>cafés</i> -in country towns have their walls covered with pleasing picture papers, -representing, ‘Les Gloires de l’Armée Française,’ the ‘Seasons,’ the -‘Four Quarters of the World,’ ‘Cupid and Psyche,’ or some other -allegory, landscape, or history, rudely painted, as papers for walls -usually are; but the figures are all tolerably well drawn; and the -common taste, which has caused a demand for such things, undeniable. In -Paris, the manner in which the <i>cafés</i> and houses of the <i>restaurateurs</i> -are ornamented, is, of course, a thousand times richer, and nothing can -be more beautiful, or more exquisitely finished and correct, than the -designs which adorn many of them. We are not prepared to say what<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> sums -were expended upon the painting of ‘Véry’s’ or ‘Verfour’s,’ of the -‘Salle Musard,’ or of numberless other places of public resort in the -capital. There is many a shopkeeper whose sign is a very tolerable -picture; and often have we stopped to admire (the reader will give us -credit for having remained <i>outside</i>) the excellent workmanship of the -grapes and vine-leaves over the door of some very humble, dirty, -inodorous shop of a <i>marchand de vin</i>.</p> - -<p>These, however, serve only to educate the public taste, and are -ornaments, for the most part, much too costly for the people. But the -same love of ornament which is shown in their public places of resort, -appears in their houses likewise; and every one of our readers who has -lived in Paris, in any lodging, magnificent or humble, with any family, -however poor, may bear witness how profusely the walls of his smart -<i>salon</i> in the English quarter, or of his little room <i>au sixième</i> in -the Pays Latin, has been decorated with prints of all kinds. In the -first, probably, with bad engravings on copper from the bad and tawdry -pictures of the artists of the time of the Empire; in the latter, with -gay caricatures of Granville or Monnier; military pieces, such as are -dashed off by Raffet, Charlet, Vernet (one can hardly say which of the -three designers has the greatest merit, or the most vigorous hand); or -clever pictures from the crayon of the Deverias, the admirable -Roqueplan, or Decamp. We have named here, we believe, the principal -lithographic artists in Paris; and those—as doubtless there are -many—of our readers who have looked over Monsieur Aubert’s portfolios, -or gazed at that famous caricature-shop window in the Rue du Coq, or are -even acquainted with the exterior of Monsieur Delaporte’s little -emporium in the Burlington Arcade, need not be told how excellent the -productions of all these artists are in their <i>genre</i>. We get in these -engravings the <i>loisirs</i> of men of genius, not the finikin performances -of laboured mediocrity, as with us: all these artists are good painters, -as well as good designers; a design from them is worth a whole gross of -‘Books of Beauty;’ and if we might raise a humble supplication to the -artists in our own country of similar merit—to such men as Leslie, -Maclise, Herbert, Cattermole, and others—it would be, that they should, -after the example of their French brethren and of the English landscape -painters, take chalk in hand, produce their own copies of their own -sketches, and never more draw a single ‘Forsaken One,’ ‘Rejected One,’ -‘Dejected One,’ at the entreaty of any publisher, or for the pages of -any Book of Beauty, Royalty, or Loveliness whatever.</p> - -<p>Can there he a more pleasing walk in the whole world than a stroll -through the Gallery of the Louvre on a fête-day? not to look <a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>so much at -the pictures as at the lookers-on. Thousands of the poorer classes are -there: mechanics in their Sunday clothes, smiling grisettes, smart -dapper soldiers of the line, with bronzed wondering faces, marching -together in little companies of six or seven, and stopping every now and -then at Napoleon or Leonidas as they appear in proper vulgar heroics in -the pictures of David or Gros. The taste of these people will hardly be -approved by the connoisseur, but they have <i>a</i> taste for art. Can the -same be said of our lower classes, who, if they are inclined to be -sociable and amused in their holidays, have no place of resort but the -taproom or tea-garden, and no food for conversation except such as can -be built upon the politics or the police reports of the last Sunday -paper? So much has Church and State puritanism done for us—so well has -it succeeded in materialising and binding down to the earth the -imagination of men, for which God has made another world (which certain -statesmen take but too little into account)—that fair and beautiful -world of art, in which there <i>can</i> be nothing selfish or sordid, of -which Dulness has forgotten the existence, and which Bigotry has -endeavoured to shut out from sight—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘On a banni les démons et les fées,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Le raisonner tristement s’accrédite:<br /></span> -<span class="ist">On court, hélas! après la vérité:<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Ah! croyez-moi, l’erreur a son mérite!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>We are not putting in a plea here for demons and fairies, as Voltaire -does in the above exquisite lines; nor about to expatiate on the -beauties of error, for it has none; but the clank of steam-engines, and -the shouts of politicians, and the struggle for gain or bread, and the -loud denunciations of stupid bigots, have well-nigh smothered poor Fancy -among us. We boast of our science, and vaunt our superior morality. Does -the latter exist? In spite of all the forms which our policy has -invented to secure it—in spite of all the preachers, all the -meeting-houses, and all the legislative enactments—if any person will -take upon himself the painful labour of purchasing and perusing some of -the cheap periodical prints which form the people’s library of -amusement, and contain what may be presumed to be their standard in -matters of imagination and fancy, he will see how false the claim is -that we bring forward of superior morality. The aristocracy, who are so -eager to maintain, were, of course, not the last to feel, the annoyance -of the legislative restrictions on the Sabbath, and eagerly seized upon -that happy invention for dissipating the gloom and <i>ennui</i> ordered by -Act of Parliament to prevail on that day—the Sunday paper. It might be -read in a club-room, where the poor could not see how their betters -ordained one thing for the vulgar, and another for themselves; or in an -easy-chair, in the study, whither my lord retires every Sunday for his<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> -devotions. It dealt in private scandal and ribaldry, only the more -piquant for its pretty flimsy veil of <i>double entendre</i>. It was a -fortune to the publisher, and it became a necessary to the reader, which -he could not do without, any more than without his snuff-box, his -opera-box, or his <i>chasse</i> after coffee. The delightful novelty could -not for any time be kept exclusively for the <i>haut ton</i>; and from my -lord it descended to his valet or tradesmen, and from Grosvenor Square -it spread all the town through; so that now the lower classes have their -scandal and ribaldry organs, as well as their betters (the rogues, they -<i>will</i> imitate them!); and as their tastes are somewhat coarser than my -lord’s, and their numbers a thousand to one, why of course the prints -have increased, and the profligacy has been diffused in a ratio exactly -proportionable to the demand, until the town is infested with such a -number of monstrous publications of the kind as would have put Abbé -Dubois to the blush, or made Louis XV. cry shame. Talk of English -morality!—the worst licentiousness, in the worst period of the French -monarchy, scarcely equalled the wickedness of this Sabbath-keeping -country of ours.</p> - -<p>The reader will be glad, at last, to come to the conclusion that we -would fain draw from all these descriptions—why does this immorality -exist? Because the people <i>must</i> be amused, and have not been taught -<i>how</i>; because the upper classes, frightened by stupid cant, or absorbed -in material want, have not as yet learned the refinement which only the -cultivation of art can give; and when their intellects are uneducated, -and their tastes are coarse, the tastes and amusements of classes still -more ignorant must be coarse and vicious likewise, in an increased -proportion.</p> - -<p>Such discussions and violent attacks upon high and low, Sabbath Bills, -politicians, and what not, may appear, perhaps, out of place, in a few -pages which purport only to give an account of some French drawings: all -we would urge is, that, in France, these prints are made because they -are liked and appreciated; with us they are not made, because they are -not liked and appreciated; and the more is the pity. Nothing merely -intellectual will be popular among us: we do not love beauty for -beauty’s sake, as Germans; or wit, for wit’s sake, as the French: for -abstract art we have no appreciation. We admire H. B.’s caricatures, -because they are the caricatures of well-known political characters, not -because they are witty; and Boz, because he writes us good palpable -stories (if we may use such a word to a story); and Madame Vestris, -because she has the most beautifully shaped legs;—the <i>art</i> of the -designer, the writer, the actress (each admirable in its way), is a very -minor consideration; each might have ten times<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> the wit, and would be -quite unsuccessful without their substantial points of popularity.</p> - -<p>In France such matters are far better managed, and the love of art is a -thousand times more keen; and (from this feeling, surely) how much -superiority is there in French <i>society</i> over our own; how much better -is social happiness understood; how much more manly equality is there -between Frenchman and Frenchman, than between rich and poor in our own -country, with all our superior wealth, instruction, and political -freedom! There is, amongst the humblest, a gaiety, cheerfulness, -politeness, and sobriety, to which in England no class can show a -parallel; and these, be it remembered, are not only qualities for -holidays, but for working days too, and add to the enjoyment of human -life as much as good clothes, good beef, or good wages. If, to our -freedom, we could but add a little of their happiness!—it is one, after -all, of the cheapest commodities in the world, and in the power of every -man (with means of gaining decent bread) who has the will or the skill -to use it.</p> - -<p>We are not going to trace the history of the rise and progress of art in -France: our business, at present, is only to speak of one branch of art -in that country—lithographic designs, and those chiefly of a humorous -character. A history of French caricature was published in Paris, two or -three years back, illustrated by numerous copies of designs, from the -time of Henry III. to our own day. We can only speak of this work from -memory, having been unable, in London, to procure the sight of a copy; -but our impression, at the time we saw the collection, was as -unfavourable as could possibly be; nothing could be more meagre than the -wit, or poorer than the execution, of the whole set of drawings. Under -the Empire, art, as may be imagined, was at a very low ebb; and aping -the Government of the day, and catering to the national taste and -vanity, it was a kind of tawdry caricature of the sublime; of which the -pictures of David and Girodet, and almost the entire collection now at -the Luxembourg Palace, will give pretty fair examples. Swollen, -distorted, unnatural, the painting was something like the politics of -those days; with force in it, nevertheless, and something of grandeur, -that will exist in spite of taste, and is born of energetic will. A man, -disposed to write comparisons of characters, might, for instance, find -some striking analogies between Mountebank Murat, with his irresistible -bravery and horsemanship, who was a kind of mixture of Duguesclin and -Ducrow, and Mountebank David, a fierce powerful painter and genius, -whose idea of beauty and sublimity seem to have been gained from the -bloody melodramas on the Boulevard. Both, however, were great in their<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a> -way, and were worshipped as gods in those heathen times of false belief -and hero-worship.</p> - -<p>As for poor caricature and freedom of the press, they, like the rightful -princess in a fairy tale, with the merry fantastic dwarf, her attendant, -were entirely in the power of the giant who ruled the land. The Princess -Press was so closely watched and guarded (with some little show, -nevertheless, of respect for her rank), that she dared not utter a word -of her own thoughts; and, for poor Caricature, he was gagged, and put -out of the way altogether: imprisoned as completely as ever Asmodeus was -in his phial.</p> - -<p>How the Press and her attendant fared in succeeding reigns, is well -known; their condition was little bettered by the downfall of Napoleon: -with the accession of Charles X. they were more oppressed even than -before—more than they could bear; for so hard were they pressed, that, -as one has seen when sailors were working a capstan, back of a sudden -the bars flew, knocking to the earth the men who were endeavouring to -work them. The Revolution came, and up sprang Caricature in France; all -sorts of fierce epigrams were discharged at the flying monarch, and -speedily were prepared, too, for the new one.</p> - -<p>About this time there lived at Paris (if our information be correct) a -certain M. Philipon, an indifferent artist (painting was his -profession), a tolerable designer, and an admirable wit. M. Philipon -designed many caricatures himself, married the sister of an eminent -publisher of prints (M. Aubert), and the two, gathering about them a -body of wits and artists like themselves, set up journals of their -own:—<i>La Caricature</i>, first published once a week; and the <i>Charivari</i> -afterwards, a daily paper, in which a design also appears daily.</p> - -<p>At first the caricatures inserted in the <i>Charivari</i> were chiefly -political; and a most curious contest speedily commenced between the -State and M. Philipon’s little army in the Galerie Véro-Dodat. Half a -dozen poor artists on the one side, and his Majesty Louis Philippe, his -august family, and the numberless placemen and supporters of the -monarchy, on the other; it was something like Thersites girding at Ajax, -and piercing through the folds of the <i>clypei septemplicis</i> with the -poisonous shifts of his scorn. Our French Thersites was not always an -honest opponent, it must be confessed; and many an attack was made upon -the gigantic enemy, which was cowardly, false, and malignant. But to see -the monster writhing under the effects of the arrow—to see his uncouth -fury in return, and the blind blows that he dealt at his diminutive -opponent!—not one of these told in a hundred; when they <i>did</i> tell,<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a> it -may be imagined that they were fierce enough in all conscience, and -served almost to annihilate the adversary.</p> - -<p>To speak more plainly, and to drop the metaphor of giant and dwarf, the -King of the French suffered so much, his Ministers were so mercilessly -ridiculed, his family and his own remarkable figure drawn with such -odious and grotesque resemblance, in fanciful attitudes, circumstances, -and disguises, so ludicrously mean, and often so appropriate, that the -King was obliged to descend into the lists and battle his ridiculous -enemy in form. Prosecutions, seizures, fines, regiments of furious legal -officials, were first brought into play against poor M. Philipon and his -little dauntless troop of malicious artists; some few were bribed out of -his ranks; and if they did not, like Gilray in England, turn their -weapons upon their old friends, at least laid down their arms, and would -fight no more. The bribes, fines, indictments, and loud-tongued <i>avocats -du Roi</i> made no impression; Philipon repaired the defeat of a fine by -some fresh and furious attack upon his great enemy; if his epigrams were -more covert, they were no less bitter; if he was beaten a dozen times -before a jury, he had eighty or ninety victories to show in the same -field of battle, and every victory and every defeat brought him new -sympathy. Every one who was at Paris a few years since must recollect -the famous ‘<i>poire</i>’ which was chalked upon all the walls of the city, -and which bore so ludicrous a resemblance to Louis Philippe. The <i>poire</i> -became an object of prosecution, and M. Philipon appeared before a jury -to answer for the crime of inciting to contempt against the King’s -person, by giving such a ludicrous version of his face. Philipon, for -defence, produced a sheet of paper, and drew a <i>poire</i>, a real large -Burgundy pear: in the lower parts round and capacious, narrower near the -stalk, and crowned with two or three careless leaves. ‘There was no -treason at least in <i>that</i>,’ he said to the jury; ‘could any one object -to such a harmless botanical representation?’ Then he drew a second -pear, exactly like the former, except that one or two lines were -scrawled in the midst of it, which bore, somehow, a ludicrous -resemblance to the eyes, nose, and mouth of a celebrated personage; and, -lastly, he drew the exact portrait of Louis Philippe; the well-known -toupet, the ample whiskers and jowl were there, neither extenuated nor -set down in malice. ‘Can I help it, gentlemen of the jury, then,’ said -he, ‘if his Majesty’s face is like a pear? Say you, yourselves, -respectable citizens, is it, or is it not, like a pear?’ Such eloquence -could not fail of its effect; the artist was acquitted, and <i>La Poire</i> -is immortal.</p> - -<p>At last came the famous September laws: the freedom of the<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> Press, -which, from August 1830, was to be ‘désormais une vérité,’ was calmly -strangled by the monarch who had gained his crown for his supposed -championship of it; by his Ministers, some of whom had been stout -Republicans on paper but a few years before; and by the Chamber, which, -such is the blessed constitution of French elections, will generally -vote, unvote, revote in any way the Government wishes. With a wondrous -union, and happy forgetfulness of principle, monarch, Ministers, and -deputies issued the restriction laws; the Press was sent to prison; as -for the poor dear Caricature, it was fairly murdered. No more political -satires appear now, and ‘through the eye, correct the heart;’ no more -<i>poires</i> ripen on the walls of the metropolis; Philipon’s political -occupation is gone.</p> - -<p>But there is always food for satire; and the French caricaturists, being -no longer allowed to hold up to ridicule and reprobation the King and -the deputies, have found no lack of subjects for the pencil in the -ridicules and rascalities of common life. We have said that public -decency is greater amongst the French than amongst us, which, to some of -our readers, may appear paradoxical; but we shall not attempt to argue -that, in private roguery, our neighbours are not our equals. The -<i>procès</i> of Gisquet, which has appeared lately in the papers, shows how -deep the demoralisation must be, and how a Government, based itself on -dishonesty (a tyranny that is under the title and fiction of a -democracy), must practise and admit corruption in its own and in its -agents’ dealings with the nation. Accordingly, of cheating contracts, of -Ministers dabbling with the funds, or extracting underhand profits for -the granting of unjust privileges and monopolies,—of grasping, envious -police restrictions, which destroy the freedom, and, with it, the -integrity of commerce,—those who like to examine such details may find -plenty in French history; the whole French finance system has been a -swindle from the days of Louvois, or Law, down to the present time. The -Government swindles the public, and the small traders swindle their -customers, on the authority and example of the superior powers. Hence -the art of roguery, under such high patronage, maintains in France a -noble front of impudence, and a fine audacious openness, which it does -not wear in our country.</p> - -<p>Among the various characters of roguery which the French satirists have -amused themselves by depicting, there is one of which the <i>greatness</i> -(using the word in the sense which Mr. Jonathan Wild gave to it) so far -exceeds that of all others, embracing, as it does, all in turn, that it -has come to be considered the type of roguery in general; and now, just -as all the political<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a> squibs were made to come of old from the lips of -Pasquin, all the reflections on the prevailing cant, knavery, quackery, -humbug, are put into the mouth of Monsieur Robert Macaire.</p> - -<p>A play was written, some twenty years since, called the <i>Auberge des -Adrets</i>, in which the characters of two robbers escaped from the galleys -were introduced—Robert Macaire, the clever rogue above mentioned, and -Bertrand, the stupid rogue, his friend, accomplice, butt, and scapegoat, -on all occasions of danger. It is needless to describe the play—a -witless performance enough, of which the joke was Macaire’s exaggerated -style of conversation, a farrago of all sorts of highflown sentiments, -such as the French love to indulge in—contrasted with his actions, -which were philosophically unscrupulous, and his appearance, which was -most picturesquely sordid. The play had been acted, we believe, and -forgotten, when a very clever actor, M. Frédéric Lemaître, took upon -himself the performance of the character of Robert Macaire, and looked, -spoke, and acted it to such admirable perfection, that the whole town -rung with applauses of his performance, and the caricaturists delighted -to copy his singular figure and costume. M. Robert Macaire appears in a -most picturesque green coat, with a variety of rents and patches, a pair -of crimson pantaloons ornamented in the same way, enormous whiskers and -ringlets, an enormous stock and shirt-frill, as dirty and ragged as -stock and shirt-frill can be, the relic of a hat very gaily cocked over -one eye, and a patch to take away somewhat from the brightness of the -other—these are the principal <i>pièces</i> of his costume—a snuff-box like -a creaking warming-pan, a handkerchief hanging together by a miracle, -and a switch of about the thickness of a man’s thigh, formed the -ornaments of this exquisite personage. He is a compound of Fielding’s -‘Blueskin’ and Goldsmith’s ‘Beau Tibbs.’ He has the dirt and dandyism of -the one, with the ferocity of the other: sometimes he is made to -swindle, but where he can get a shilling more, M. Macaire will murder -without scruple: he performs one and the other act (or any in the scale -between them) with a similar bland imperturbability, and accompanies his -actions with such philosophical remarks as may be expected from a person -of his talents, his energies, his amiable life and character.</p> - -<p>Bertrand is the simple recipient of Macaire’s jokes, and makes vicarious -atonement for his crimes, acting, in fact, the part which Pantaloon -performs in the pantomime, who is entirely under the fatal influence of -Clown. He is quite as much a rogue as that gentleman, but he has not his -genius and courage. So in pantomimes (it may, doubtless, have been -remarked by the reader),<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a> Clown always leaps first, Pantaloon following -after, more clumsily and timidly than his bold and accomplished friend -and guide. Whatever blows are destined for Clown fall, by some means of -ill luck, upon the pate of Pantaloon; whenever the Clown robs, the -stolen articles are sure to be found in his companion’s pocket; and thus -exactly Robert Macaire and his companion Bertrand are made to go through -the world; both swindlers, but the one more accomplished than the other. -Both robbing all the world, and Robert robbing his friend, and, in the -event of danger, leaving him faithfully in the lurch. There is, in the -two characters, some grotesque good for the spectator—a kind of -<i>Beggars’ Opera</i> moral.</p> - -<p>Ever since Robert, with his dandified rags and airs, his cane and -snuff-box, and Bertrand with torn surtout and all-absorbing pocket, have -appeared on the stage, they have been popular with the Parisians; and -with these two types of clever and stupid knavery, M. Philipon and his -companion Daumier have created a world of pleasant satire upon all the -prevailing abuses of the day.</p> - -<p>Almost the first figure that these audacious caricaturists dared to -depict was a political one: in Macaire’s red breeches and tattered coat -appeared no less a personage than the King himself—the old <i>Poire</i>—in -a country of humbugs and swindlers the <i>facile princeps</i>; fit to govern, -as he is deeper than all the rogues in his dominions. Bertrand was -opposite to him, and having listened with delight and reverence to some -tale of knavery truly Royal, was exclaiming with a look and voice -expressive of the most intense admiration, ‘<span class="smcap">Ah, vieux blagueur!</span> -va!’—the word <i>blague</i> is untranslatable—it means <i>French</i> humbug, as -distinct from all other; and only those who know the value of an epigram -in France, an epigram so wonderfully just, a little word so curiously -comprehensive, can fancy the kind of rage and rapture with which it was -received. It was a blow that shook the whole dynasty. Thersites had -there given such a wound to Ajax, as Hector in arms could scarcely have -inflicted: a blow sufficient almost to create the madness to which the -fabulous hero of Homer and Ovid fell a prey.</p> - -<p>Not long, however, was French caricature allowed to attack personages so -illustrious: the September laws came, and henceforth no more epigrams -were launched against politics, but the caricaturists were compelled to -confine their satire to subjects and characters that had nothing to do -with the State. The Duke of Orleans was no longer to figure in -lithography as the fantastic Prince Rosolin; no longer were multitudes -(in chalk) to shelter under the enormous shadow of M. d’Argout’s nose; -Marshal Lohan’s squirt was hung up in peace, and M. Thiers’s pigmy -figure and round<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> spectacled face were no more to appear in print.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> -Robert Macaire was driven out of the Chambers and the Palace—his -remarks were a great deal too appropriate and too severe for the ears of -the great men who congregated in those places.</p> - -<p>The Chambers and the Palace were shut to him; but the rogue, driven out -of this rogue’s paradise, saw ‘that the world was all before him where -to choose,’ and found no lack of opportunities for exercising his wit. -There was the Bar, with its roguish practitioners, rascally attorneys, -stupid juries, and forsworn judges; there was the Bourse, with all its -gambling, swindling, and hoaxing, its cheats and its dupes; the Medical -Profession, and the quacks who ruled it, alternately; the Stage, and the -cant that was prevalent there; the Fashion, and its thousand follies and -extravagances. Robert Macaire had all these to <i>exploiter</i>. Of all the -empire, through all the ranks, professions, the lies, crimes, and -absurdities of men, he may make sport at will: of all except of a -certain class. Like Bluebeard’s wife, he may see everything, but is -bidden <i>to beware of the blue chamber</i>. Robert is more wise than -Bluebeard’s wife, and knows that it would cost him his head to enter it. -Robert therefore keeps aloof for the moment. Would there be any use in -his martyrdom? Bluebeard cannot live for ever; perhaps, even now, those -are on their way (one sees a suspicious cloud of dust or two) that are -to destroy him.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Robert and his friend have been furnishing the designs -that we have before us, and of which perhaps the reader will be edified -by a brief description. We are not, to be sure, to judge of the French -nation by M. Macaire, any more than we are to judge of our own national -morals in the last century by such a book as the <i>Beggars’ Opera</i>; but -upon the morals and the national manners, works of satire afford a world -of light that one would in vain look for in regular books of history. -Doctor Smollett would have blushed to devote any considerable portion of -his pages to a discussion of the acts and character of Mr. Jonathan -Wild, such a figure being hardly admissible among the dignified -personages who usually push all others out from the possession of the -historical page; but a chapter of that gentleman’s memoirs, as they are -recorded in that exemplary <i>recueil</i>—the <i>Newgate Calendar</i>; nay, a -canto of the great comic epic (involving many fables, and containing -much exaggeration, but still having the seeds of truth) which the -satirical poet of those days wrote in celebration of him—we mean -Fielding’s <i>History of Jonathan Wild the Great</i><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>—does seem to us to -give a more curious picture of the manners of those times than any -recognised history of them. At the close of his history of George II., -Smollett condescends to give a short chapter on Literature and Manners. -He speaks of Glover’s <i>Leonidas</i>, Cibber’s <i>Careless Husband</i>, the poems -of Mason, Grey, the two Whiteheads, ‘the nervous style, extensive -erudition, and superior sense of a Cooke; the delicate taste, the -polished muse, and tender feeling of a Lyttelton.’ ‘King,’ he says, -‘shone unrivalled in Roman eloquence; the female sex distinguished -themselves by their taste and ingenuity. Miss Carte rivalled the -celebrated Dacier in learning and critical knowledge; Mrs. Lennox -signalised herself by many successful efforts of genius both in poetry -and prose; and Miss Reid excelled the celebrated Rosalba in -portrait-painting, both in miniature and at large, in oil as well as in -crayons. The genius of Cervantes was transferred into the novels of -Fielding, who painted the characters and ridiculed the follies of life -with equal strength, humour, and propriety. The field of history and -biography was cultivated by many writers of ability, among whom we -distinguish the copious Guthrie, the circumstantial Ralph, the laborious -Carte, the learned and elegant Robertson, and, above all, the ingenious, -penetrating, and comprehensive Hume,’ etc. We will quote no more of the -passage. Could a man in the best humour sit down to write a graver -satire? Who cares for the tender muse of Lyttelton? Who knows the signal -efforts of Mrs. Lennox’s genius? Who has seen the admirable -performances, in miniature and at large, in oil as well as in crayons, -of a Miss Reid? Laborious Carte, and circumstantial Ralph, and copious -Guthrie, where are they, their works, and their reputation? Mrs. -Lennox’s name is just as clean wiped out of the list of worthies as if -she had never been born; and Miss Reid, though she was once actual flesh -and blood, ‘rival in miniature and at large’ of the celebrated Rosalba, -she is as if she had never been at all; her little farthing rushlight of -a soul and reputation having burnt out, and left neither wick nor -tallow. Death, too, has overtaken copious Guthrie and circumstantial -Ralph. Only a few know whereabouts is the grave where lies laborious -Carte; and yet, O wondrous power of genius! Fielding’s men and women are -alive, though History’s are not. The progenitors of circumstantial Ralph -sent forth, after much labour and pains of making, educating, feeding, -clothing, a real man child, a great palpable mass of flesh, bones, and -blood (we say nothing about the spirit), which was to move through the -world, ponderous, writing histories, and to die, having achieved the -title of circumstantial Ralph; and lo! without any of the trouble that -the<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> parents of Ralph had undergone, alone perhaps in a watch-or -spunging-house, fuddled most likely, in the blandest, easiest, and most -good-humoured way in the world, Henry Fielding makes a number of men and -women on so many sheets of paper, not only more amusing than Ralph or -Miss Reid, but more like flesh and blood, and more alive now than they. -Is not Amelia preparing her husband’s little supper? Is not Miss Snap -chastely preventing the crime of Mr. Firebrand? Is not Parson Adams in -the midst of his family, and Mr. Wild taking his last bowl of punch with -the Newgate Ordinary? Is not every one of them a real substantial -<i>have</i>-been personage now?—more real than Reid or Ralph? For our parts, -we will not take upon ourselves to say that they do not exist somewhere -else, that the actions attributed to them have not really taken place; -certain we are that they are more worthy of credence than Ralph, who may -or may not have been circumstantial; who may or may not even have -existed, a point unworthy of disputation. As for Miss Reid, we will take -an affidavit that neither in miniature nor at large did she excel the -celebrated Rosalba; and with regard to Mrs. Lennox, we consider her to -be a mere figment, like Narcissa, Miss Tabitha Bramble, or any hero or -heroine depicted by the historian of <i>Peregrine Pickle</i>.</p> - -<p>In like manner, after viewing nearly ninety portraits of Robert Macaire -and his friend Bertrand, all strongly resembling each other, we are -inclined to believe in them both as historical personages, and to -canvass gravely the circumstances of their lives. Why should we not? -Have we not their portraits? Are not they sufficient proofs? If not, we -must discredit Napoleon (as Archbishop Whateley teaches), for about his -figure and himself we have no more authentic testimony.</p> - -<p>Let the reality of M. Robert Macaire and his friend M. Bertrand be -granted, if but to gratify our own fondness for those exquisite -characters: we find the worthy pair in the French capital, mingling with -all grades of its society, <i>pars magna</i> in the intrigues, pleasures, -perplexities, rogueries, speculations, which are carried on in Paris, as -in our own chief city; for it need not be said that roguery is of no -country nor clime, but finds <span title="Greek: hôs pantachou ge patris hê boskousa -gê">ὡς πανταχοὑ γε πατρἱς ἡ βὁσκουσα γἡ</span>, is a citizen of all countries where the quarters are good; among -our merry neighbours it finds itself very much at its ease.</p> - -<p>Not being endowed, then, with patrimonial wealth, but compelled to -exercise their genius to obtain distinction, or even subsistence, we see -Messrs. Bertrand and Macaire, by turns, adopting all trades and -professions, and exercising each with <a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>their own peculiar ingenuity. As -public men, we have spoken already of their appearance in one or two -important characters, and stated that the Government grew fairly jealous -of them, excluding them from office, as the Whigs did Lord Brougham. As -private individuals they are made to distinguish themselves as the -founders of journals, <i>sociétés en commandite</i> (companies of which the -members are irresponsible beyond the amount of their shares), and all -sorts of commercial speculations, requiring intelligence and honesty on -the part of the directors, confidence and liberal disbursements from the -shareholders.</p> - -<p>These are, among the French, so numerous, and have been, of late years -(in the shape of Newspaper Companies, Bitumen Companies, Galvanised-Iron -Companies, Railroad Companies, etc.), pursued with such a blind <i>furor</i> -and lust of gain by that easily excited and imaginative people, that, as -may be imagined, the satirist has found plenty of occasion for remark, -and M. Macaire and his friend innumerable opportunities for exercising -their talents.</p> - -<p>We know nothing of M. Emile de Girardin, except that, in a duel, he shot -the best man in France, Armand Carrel; and in Girardin’s favour it must -be said, that he had no other alternative; but was right in provoking -the duel, seeing that the whole Republican party had vowed his -destruction, and that he fought and killed their champion, as it were. -We know nothing of M. Girardin’s private character; but, as far as we -can judge from the French public prints, he seems to be the most -speculative of speculators, and, of course, a fair butt for the malice -of the caricaturists. His one great crime, in the eyes of the French -Republicans and Republican newspaper proprietors, was, that Girardin set -up a journal, as he called it, ‘franchement monarchique,’—a journal in -the pay of the monarchy, that is,—and a journal that cost only forty -francs by the year. The <i>National</i> costs twice as much; the <i>Charivari</i> -itself costs half as much again; and though all newspapers, of all -parties, concurred in ‘snubbing’ poor M. Girardin and his journal, the -Republican prints were by far the most bitter against him, thundering -daily accusations and personalities; whether the abuse was well or ill -founded, we know not. Hence arose the duel with Carrel; after the -termination of which, Girardin put by his pistol, and vowed, very -properly, to assist in the shedding of no more blood. Girardin had been -the originator of numerous other speculations besides the journal: the -capital of these, like that of the journal, was raised by shares, and -the shareholders, by some fatality, have found themselves woefully in -the lurch; while Girardin carries on the war gaily, is, or was, a -<i>member of</i> the Chamber of Deputies, has money, goes to Court,<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a> and -possesses a certain kind of reputation. He invented, we believe, the -‘Institution Agronome de Coetbo,’<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> the ‘Physionotype,’ the ‘Journal -des Connaissances Utiles,’ the ‘Panthéon Littéraire,’ and the system of -‘Primes’—premiums, that is—to be given, by lottery, to certain -subscribers in these institutions. Could Robert Macaire see such things -going on, and have no hand in them?</p> - -<p>Accordingly Messrs. Macaire and Bertrand are made the heroes of many -speculations of the kind. In almost the first print of our collection, -Robert discourses to Bertrand of his projects. ‘Bertrand,’ says the -disinterested admirer of talent and enterprise, ‘j’adore l’industrie. Si -tu veux, nous créons une banque, mais là, une vraie banque: capital, -cent millions de millions, cent milliards de milliards d’actions. Nous -enfonçons la banque de France, les banquiers, les banquistes; nous -enfonçons tout le monde.’ ‘Oui,’ says Bertrand, very calm and stupid, -‘mais les gendarmes?’ ‘Que tu es bête, Bertrand: est-ce qu’on arrête un -millionnaire?’ Such is the key to M. Macaire’s philosophy; and a wise -creed too, as times go.</p> - -<p>Acting on these principles, Robert appears soon after; he has not -created a bank, but a journal. He sits in a chair of state, and -discourses to a shareholder. Bertrand, calm and stupid as before, stands -humbly behind. ‘Sir,’ says the editor of <i>La Blague</i>, journal -quotidienne, ‘our profits arise from a new combination. The journal -costs twenty francs; we sell it for twenty-three and a-half. A million -subscribers make three millions and a-half of profits; there are my -figures; contradict me by figures, or I will bring an action for libel.’ -The reader may fancy the scene takes place in England, where many such a -swindling prospectus has obtained credit ere now. At Plate 33, Robert is -still a journalist; he brings to the editor of a paper an article of his -composition, a violent attack on a law. ‘My dear M. Macaire,’ says the -editor, ‘this must be changed; we must <i>praise</i> this law.’ ‘Bon, bon!’ -says our versatile Macaire. ‘Je vais retoucher ça, et je vous fais en -faveur de la loi <i>un article mousseux</i>.’</p> - -<p>Can such things be? Is it possible that French journalists can so forget -themselves? The rogues! they should come to England and learn -consistency. The honesty of the Press in England is like the air we -breathe, without it we die. No, no! in France the satire may do very -well; but for England it is too monstrous. Call the Press stupid, call -it vulgar, call it violent,—but honest it <i>is</i>. Who ever heard of a -journal changing its politics? <i>O tempora! O mores!</i> as Robert Macaire -says, this would be carrying the joke too far.<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a></p> - -<p>When he has done with newspapers, Robert Macaire begins to distinguish -himself on ‘Change,<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> as a creator of companies, a vendor of shares, or -a dabbler in foreign stock. ‘Buy my coal-mine shares,’ shouts Robert; -‘gold mines, silver mines, diamond mines, “sont de la pot-bouille, de la -ratatouille en comparaison de ma houille.”’ ‘Look,’ says he, on another -occasion, to a very timid open-countenanced client, ‘you have a property -to sell! I have found the very man, a rich capitalist, a fellow whose -bills are better than bank-notes.’ His client sells; the bills are taken -in payment, and signed by that respectable capitalist, Monsieur de Saint -Bertrand. At Plate 81, we find him inditing a circular letter to all the -world, running thus:—‘Sir,—I regret to say that your application for -shares in the Consolidated European Incombustible Blacking Association -cannot be complied with, as all the shares of the C.E.I.B.A. were -disposed of on the day they were issued. I have, nevertheless, -registered your name, and in case a second series should be put forth, I -shall have the honour of immediately giving you notice. I am, sir, -yours, etc., the Director, <span class="smcap">Robert Macaire</span>.’—‘Print three hundred -thousand of these,’ he says to Bertrand, ‘and poison all France with -them.’ As usual, the stupid Bertrand remonstrates—‘But we have not sold -a single share; you have not a penny in your pocket, and——’ -‘Bertrand, you are an ass; do as I bid you.’</p> - -<p>Will this satire apply anywhere in England? Have we any Consolidated -European Blacking Associations amongst us? Have we penniless directors -issuing El Dorado prospectuses, and jockeying their shares through the -market? For information on this head, we must refer the reader to the -newspapers; or if he be connected with the City, and acquainted with -commercial men, he will be able to say whether <i>all</i> the persons whose -names figure at the head of announcements of projected companies are as -rich as Rothschild, or quite as honest as heart could desire.</p> - -<p>When Macaire has sufficiently <i>exploité</i> the Bourse, whether as a -gambler in the public funds or other companies, he sagely perceives that -it is time to turn to some other profession, and, providing himself with -a black gown, proposes blandly to Bertrand to set up—a new religion. -‘Mon ami,’ says the repentant sinner, ‘le temps de la commandite va -passer, <i>mais les badauds ne passeront pas</i>.’ (O rare sentence! it -should be written in letters of gold!) ‘<i>Occupons-nous de ce qui est -éternel.</i> Si nous fassions une religion?’ On which M. Bertrand remarks, -‘A religion! what the devil—a religion is not an easy thing to make.’ -But Macaire’s receipt is<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a> easy. ‘Get a gown, take a shop,’ he says, -‘borrow some chairs, preach about Napoleon, or the discovery of America, -or Molière—and there’s a religion for you.’</p> - -<p>We have quoted this sentence more for the contrast it offers with our -own manners, than for its merits. After the noble paragraph, ‘Les -badauds ne passeront pas. Occupons-nous de ce qui est éternel,’ one -would have expected better satire upon cant than the words that follow. -We are not in a condition to say whether the subjects chosen are those -that had been selected by Père Enfantin, or Chatel, or Lacordaire; but -the words are curious, we think, for the very reason that the satire is -so poor. The fact is, there is no religion in Paris; even clever M. -Philipon, who satirises everything, and must know, therefore, some -little about the subject which he ridicules, has nothing to say but, -‘Preach a sermon, and that makes a religion; anything will do.’ If -<i>anything</i> will do, it is clear that the religious commodity is not in -much demand. Tartuffe had better things to say about hypocrisy in his -time; but then Faith was alive; now, there is no satirising religious -cant in France, for its contrary, true religion, has disappeared -altogether; and having no substance, can cast no shadow. If a satirist -would lash the religious hypocrites in <i>England</i> now—the High Church -hypocrites, the Low Church hypocrites, the promiscuous Dissenting -hypocrites, the No-Popery hypocrites—he would have ample subject -enough. In France, the religious hypocrites went out with the Bourbons. -Those who remain pious in that country (or, rather, we should say, in -the capital, for of that we speak) are unaffectedly so, for they have no -worldly benefit to hope for from their piety; the great majority have no -religion at all, and do not scoff at the few, for scoffing is the -minority’s weapon, and is passed always to the weaker side, whatever -that may be. Thus H. B. caricatures the Ministers: if by any accident -that body of men should be dismissed from their situations, and be -succeeded by H. B.’s friends, the Tories,—what must the poor artist do? -He must pine away and die, if he be not converted; he cannot always be -paying compliments; for caricature has a spice of Goethe’s Devil in it, -and is ‘der Geist, der stets verneint,’ the Spirit that is always -denying.</p> - -<p>With one or two of the French writers and painters of caricatures, the -King tried the experiment of bribery; which succeeded occasionally in -buying off the enemy, and bringing him from the Republican to the Royal -camp; but when there, the deserter was never of any use. Figaro, when so -treated, grew fat and desponding, and lost all his sprightly <i>verve</i>; -and Nemesis became as gentle as a Quakeress. But these instances of -‘ratting’ were not many.<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> Some few poets were bought over; but, among -men following the profession of the Press, a change of politics is an -infringement of the point of honour, and a man must <i>fight</i> as well as -apostatise. A very curious table might be made, signalising the -difference of the moral standard between us and the French. Why is the -grossness and indelicacy, publicly permitted in England, unknown in -France, where private morality is certainly at a lower ebb? Why is the -point of private honour now more rigidly maintained among the French? -Why is it, as it should be, a moral disgrace for a Frenchman to go into -debt, and no disgrace for him to cheat his customer? Why is there more -honesty and less—more propriety and less?—and how are we to account -for the particular vices or virtues which belong to each nation in its -turn?</p> - -<p>The above is the Reverend M. Macaire’s solitary exploit as a spiritual -swindler; as <i>Maître</i> Macaire in the courts of law, as <i>avocat</i>, -<i>avoué</i>—in a humbler capacity even, as a prisoner at the bar, he -distinguishes himself greatly, as may be imagined. On one occasion we -find the learned gentleman humanely visiting an unfortunate <i>détenu</i>—no -other person, in fact, than his friend M. Bertrand, who has fallen into -some trouble, and is awaiting the sentence of the law. He begins—</p> - -<p>‘Mon cher Bertrand, donne-moi cent écus, je te fais acquitter d’emblée.’</p> - -<p>‘J’ai pas d’argent.’</p> - -<p>‘Hé bien, donne-moi cent francs?’</p> - -<p>‘Pas le sou.’</p> - -<p>‘Tu n’as pas dix francs?’</p> - -<p>‘Pas un liard.’</p> - -<p>‘Alors donne moi tes bottes, je plaiderai la circonstance atténuante.’</p> - -<p>The manner in which Maître Macaire soars from the <i>cent écus</i> (a high -point already) to the sublime of the boots, is in the best comic style. -In another instance he pleads before a judge, and, mistaking his client, -pleads for defendant, instead of plaintiff. ‘The infamy of the -plaintiff’s character, my <i>luds</i>, renders his testimony on such a charge -as this wholly unavailing.’ ‘M. Macaire, M. Macaire,’ cries the -attorney, in a fright, ‘you are for the plaintiff!’ ‘This, my lords, is -what the defendant <i>will say</i>. This is the line of defence which the -opposite party intend to pursue; as if slanders like these could weigh -with an enlightened jury, or injure the spotless reputation of my -client!’ In this story and expedient M. Macaire has been indebted to the -English bar. If there be an occupation for the English satirist in the -exposing of the cant and knavery of the pretenders to religion,<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> what -room is there for him to lash the infamies of the law? On this point the -French are babes in iniquity compared to us—a counsel prostituting -himself for money is a matter with us so stale, that it is hardly food -for satire: which, to be popular, must find some much more complicated -and interesting knavery whereon to exercise its skill.</p> - -<p>M. Macaire is more skilful in love than in law, and appears once or -twice in a very amiable light while under the influence of the tender -passion. We find him at the head of one of those useful establishments -unknown in our country—a Bureau de Mariage: half a dozen of such places -are daily advertised in the journals: and ‘une veuve de trente ans ayant -une fortune de deux cent mille francs,’ or ‘une demoiselle de quinze -ans, jolie, d’une famille très distinguée, qui possède trente mille -livres de rentes,’—continually, in this kind-hearted way, are offering -themselves to the public; sometimes it is a gentleman, with a ‘physique -agréable,—des talens de société’—and a place under Government, who -makes a sacrifice of himself in a similar manner. In our little -historical gallery we find this philanthropic anti-Malthusian at the -head of an establishment of this kind, introducing a very meek -simple-looking bachelor to some distinguished ladies of his -<i>connaissance</i>. ‘Let me present you, sir, to Madame de St. Bertrand’ (it -is our old friend), ‘veuve de la grande armée, et Mdlle. Eloa de -Wormspire. Ces dames brûlent de l’envie de faire votre connoissance. Je -les ai invitées à dîner chez vous ce soir: vous nous menerez à l’opéra, -et nous ferons une petite parte d’écarté. Tenez-vous bien, M. Gobard! -ces dames out des projets sur vous!’</p> - -<p>Happy Gobard! happy system, which can thus bring the pure and loving -together, and acts as the best ally of Hymen! The announcement of the -rank and titles of Madame de St. Bertrand—‘veuve de la grande -armée’—is very happy. ‘La grande armée’ has been a father to more -orphans, and a husband to more widows, than it ever made. Mistresses of -<i>cafés</i>, old governesses, keepers of boarding-houses, genteel beggars, -and ladies of lower rank still, have this favourite pedigree. They have -all had <i>malheurs</i> (what kind it is needless to particularise), they are -all connected with the <i>grand homme</i>, and their fathers were all -colonels. This title exactly answers to the ‘clergyman’s daughter’ in -England—as, ‘A young lady, the daughter of a clergyman, is desirous to -teach,’ etc.; ‘A clergyman’s widow receives into her house a few -select,’ and so forth. ‘Appeal to the benevolent.—By a series of -unheard-of calamities, a young lady, daughter of a clergyman in the west -of England, has been plunged,’ etc. etc. The difference is curious, as -indicating the standard of respectability.<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a></p> - -<p>The male beggar of fashion is not so well known among us as in Paris, -where street-doors are open; six or eight families live in a house; and -the gentleman who earns his livelihood by this profession can make half -a dozen visits without the trouble of knocking from house to house, and -the pain of being observed by the whole street, while the footman is -examining him from the area. Some few may be seen in England about the -Inns of Court, where the locality is favourable (where, however, the -owners of the chambers are not proverbially soft of heart, so that the -harvest must be poor); but Paris is full of such adventurers,—fat, -smooth-tongued, and well-dressed, with gloves and gilt-headed canes, who -would be insulted almost by the offer of silver, and expect your gold as -their right. Among these, of course, our friend Robert plays his part; -and an excellent engraving represents him, snuff-box in hand, advancing -to an old gentleman, whom, by his poodle, his powdered head, and his -drivelling, stupid look, one knows to be a Carlist of the old <i>régime</i>. -‘I beg pardon,’ says Robert; ‘is it really yourself to whom I have the -honour of speaking?’—‘It is.’ ‘Do you take snuff?’—‘I thank you.’ -‘Sir, I have had misfortunes—I want assistance. I am a Vendéan of -illustrious birth. You know the family of <i>Macairbec</i>—we are of Brest. -My grandfather served the King in his galleys; my father and I belong, -also, to the marine. Unfortunate suits at law have plunged us into -difficulties, and I do not hesitate to ask you for the succour of ten -francs.’—‘Sir, I never give to those I don’t know.’—‘Right, sir, -perfectly right. Perhaps you will have the kindness to <i>lend</i> me ten -francs?’</p> - -<p>The adventures of Doctor Macaire need not be described, because the -different degrees in quackery which are taken by that learned physician -are all well known in England, where we have the advantage of many -higher degrees in the science, which our neighbours know nothing about. -We have not Hahnemann, but we have his disciples; we have not Broussais, -but we have the College of Health; and surely a dose of Morison’s pills -is a sublimer discovery than a draught of hot water. We had St. John -Long, too,—where is his science?—and we are credibly informed that -some important cures have been effected by the inspired dignitaries of -‘the church’ in Newman Street—which, if it continue to practise, will -sadly interfere with the profits of the regular physicians, and where -the miracles of the Abbé Paris are about to be acted over again.</p> - -<p>In speaking of M. Macaire and his adventures, we have managed so -entirely to convince ourselves of the reality of the personage, that we -have quite forgotten to speak of Messrs. Philipon and<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a> Daumier, who are, -the one the inventor, the other the designer, of the Macaire Picture -Gallery. As works of <i>esprit</i>, these drawings are not more remarkable -than they are as works of art, and we never recollect to have seen a -series of sketches possessing more extraordinary cleverness and variety. -The countenance and figure of Macaire and the dear stupid Bertrand are -preserved, of course, with great fidelity throughout; but the admirable -way in which each fresh character is conceived, the grotesque -appropriateness of Robert’s every successive attitude and gesticulation, -and the variety of Bertrand’s postures of invariable repose, the -exquisite fitness of all the other characters, who act their little part -and disappear from the scene, cannot be described on paper, or too -highly lauded. The figures are very carelessly drawn; but, if the reader -can understand us, all the attitudes and limbs are perfectly -<i>conceived</i>, and wonderfully natural and various. After pondering over -these drawings for some hours, as we have been while compiling this -notice of them, we have grown to believe that the personages are real, -and the scenes remain imprinted on the brain as if we had absolutely -been present at their acting. Perhaps the clever way in which the plates -are coloured, and the excellent effect which is put into each, may add -to this illusion. Now, in looking, for instance, at H. B.’s slim vapoury -figures, they have struck us as excellent <i>likenesses</i> of men and women, -but no more: the bodies want spirit, action, and individuality. George -Cruikshank, as a humorist, has quite as much genius, but he does not -know the art of ‘effect’ so well as Monsieur Daumier; and, if we might -venture to give a word of advice to another humorous designer, whose -works are extensively circulated—the illustrator of <i>Pickwick</i> and -<i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>,—it would be to study well these caricatures of -Monsieur Daumier; who, though he executes very carelessly, knows very -well what he would express, indicates perfectly the attitude and -identity of his figure, and is quite aware, beforehand, of the effect -which he intends to produce. The one we should fancy to be a practised -artist, taking his ease: the other, a young one, somewhat bewildered: a -very clever one, however, who, if he would think more, and exaggerate -less, would add not a little to his reputation.</p> - -<p>Having pursued, all through these remarks, the comparison between -English art and French art, English and French humour, manners, and -morals, perhaps we should endeavour, also, to write an analytical essay -on English cant or humbug, as distinguished from French. It might be -shown that the latter was more picturesque and startling, the former -more substantial and positive. It has none of the poetic flights of the -French genius, but advances<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a> steadily, and gains more ground in the end -than its sprightlier compeer. But such a discussion would carry us -through the whole range of French and English history, and the reader -has probably read quite enough of the subject in this and the foregoing -pages.</p> - -<p>We shall, therefore, say no more of French and English caricatures -generally, or of Mr. Macaire’s particular accomplishments and -adventures. They are far better understood by examining the original -pictures by which Philipon and Daumier have illustrated them, than by -translations first into print and afterwards into English. They form a -very curious and instructive commentary upon the present state of -society in Paris, and a hundred years hence, when the whole of this -struggling, noisy, busy, merry race shall have exchanged their pleasures -or occupations for a quiet coffin (and a tawdry lying epitaph) at -Montmartre, or Père la Chaise; when the follies here recorded shall have -been superseded by new ones, and the fools now so active shall have -given up the inheritance of the world to their children: the latter -will, at least, have the advantage of knowing, intimately and exactly, -the manners of life and being of their grandsires, and calling up, when -they so choose it, our ghosts from the grave, to live, love, quarrel, -swindle, suffer, and struggle on blindly as of yore. And when the amused -speculator shall have laughed sufficiently at the immensity of our -follies, and the paltriness of our aims, smiled at our exploded -superstitions, wondered how this man should he considered great, who is -now clean forgotten (as copious Guthrie before mentioned); how this -should have been thought a patriot who is but a knave spouting -commonplace; or how that should have been dubbed a philosopher who is -but a dull fool, blinking solemn, and pretending to see in the dark; -when he shall have examined all these at his leisure, smiling in a -pleasant contempt and good-humoured superiority, and thanking Heaven for -his increased lights, he will shut the book, and be a fool as his -fathers were before him.</p> - -<p>It runs in the blood. Well hast thou said, O ragged Macaire,—‘Le jour -va passer, <span class="smcap">MAIS LES BADAUDS NE PASSERONT PAS</span>.’</p> - -<h2><a name="LITTLE_POINSINET" id="LITTLE_POINSINET"></a>LITTLE POINSINET</h2> - -<p class="nind">A<small>BOUT</small> the year 1760, there lived, at Paris, a little fellow, who was the -darling of all the wags of his acquaintance. Nature seemed, in the -formation of this little man, to have amused herself, by giving loose to -half a hundred of her most comical caprices.<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> He had some wit and -drollery of his own, which sometimes rendered his sallies very amusing; -but, where his friends laughed with him once, they laughed at him a -thousand times, for he had a fund of absurdity in himself that was more -pleasant than all the wit in the world. He was as proud as a peacock, as -wicked as an ape, and as silly as a goose. He did not possess one single -grain of common sense; but, in revenge, his pretensions were enormous, -his ignorance vast, and his credulity more extensive still. From his -youth upwards, he had read nothing but the new novels, and the verses in -the almanacs, which helped him not a little in making, what he called, -poetry of his own; for, of course, our little hero was a poet. All the -common usages of life, all the ways of the world, and all the customs of -society, seemed to be quite unknown to him; add to these good qualities, -a magnificent conceit, a cowardice inconceivable, and a face so -irresistibly comic, that every one who first beheld it was compelled to -burst out a-laughing, and you will have some notion of this strange -little gentleman. He was very proud of his voice, and uttered all his -sentences in the richest tragic tone. He was little better than a dwarf; -but he elevated his eyebrows, held up his neck, walked on the tips of -his toes, and gave himself the airs of a giant. He had a little pair of -bandy legs, which seemed much too short to support anything like a human -body; but, by the help of these crooked supporters, he thought he could -dance like a Grace; and, indeed, fancied all the graces possible were to -be found in his person. His goggle eyes were always rolling about -wildly, as if in correspondence with the disorder of his little brain; -and his countenance thus wore an expression of perpetual wonder. With -such happy natural gifts, he not only fell into all traps that were laid -for him, but seemed almost to go out of his way to seek them; although, -to be sure, his friends did not give him much trouble in that search, -for they prepared hoaxes for him incessantly.</p> - -<p>One day the wags introduced him to a company of ladies, who, though not -countesses and princesses exactly, took, nevertheless, those titles upon -themselves for the nonce; and were all, for the same reason, violently -smitten with Master Poinsinet’s person. One of them, the lady of the -house, was especially tender; and, seating him by her side at supper, so -plied him with smiles, ogles, and champagne, that our little hero grew -crazed with ecstasy, and wild with love. In the midst of his happiness, -a cruel knock was heard below, accompanied by quick loud talking, -swearing, and shuffling of feet: you would have thought a regiment was -at the door. ‘Oh, heavens!’ cried the marchioness, starting up, and -giving to the hand of Poinsinet one parting squeeze; ‘fly—fly, my<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> -Poinsinet: ‘tis the colonel—my husband!’ At this, each gentleman of the -party rose, and, drawing his rapier, vowed to cut his way through the -colonel and all his <i>mousquetaires</i>, or die, if need be, by the side of -Poinsinet.</p> - -<p>The little fellow was obliged to lug out his sword too, and went -shuddering downstairs, heartily repenting of his passion for -marchionesses. When the party arrived in the street, they found, sure -enough, a dreadful company of <i>mousquetaires</i>, as they seemed, ready to -oppose their passage. Swords crossed,—torches blazed; and, with the -most dreadful shouts and imprecations, the contending parties rushed -upon one another; the friends of Poinsinet surrounding and supporting -that little warrior, as the French knights did King Francis at Pavia, -otherwise the poor fellow certainly would have fallen down in the gutter -from fright.</p> - -<p>But the combat was suddenly interrupted; for the neighbours, who knew -nothing of the trick going on, and thought the brawl was real, had been -screaming with all their might for the police, who began about this time -to arrive. Directly they appeared, friends and enemies of Poinsinet at -once took to their heels; and, in <i>this</i> part of the transaction, at -least, our hero himself showed that he was equal to the longest-legged -grenadier that ever ran away.</p> - -<p>When, at last, those little bandy legs of his had borne him safely to -his lodgings, all Poinsinet’s friends crowded round him, to congratulate -him on his escape and his valour.</p> - -<p>‘Egad, how he pinked that great red-haired fellow!’ said one.</p> - -<p>‘No; did I?’ said Poinsinet.</p> - -<p>‘Did you? Psha! don’t try to play the modest, and humbug <i>us</i>; you know -you did. I suppose you will say, next, that you were not for three -minutes point to point with Cartentierce himself, the most dreadful -swordsman of the army.’</p> - -<p>‘Why, you see,’ says Poinsinet, quite delighted, ‘it was so dark that I -did not know with whom I was engaged; although, <i>corbleu</i>, I <i>did for</i> -one or two of the fellows.’ And after a little more of such -conversation, during which he was fully persuaded that he had done for a -dozen of the enemy at least, Poinsinet went to bed, his little person -trembling with fright and pleasure; and he fell asleep, and dreamed of -rescuing ladies, and destroying monsters, like a second Amadis de Gaul.</p> - -<p>When he awoke in the morning, he found a party of his friends in his -room: one was examining his coat and waistcoat; another was casting many -curious glances at his inexpressibles. ‘Look here!’ said this gentleman, -holding up the garment to the light; ‘<i>one</i>—two—three gashes! I am -hanged if the cowards did not<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a> aim at Poinsinet’s legs! There are four -holes in the sword arm of his coat, and seven have gone right through -coat and waistcoat. Good heaven! Poinsinet, have you had a surgeon to -your wounds?’</p> - -<p>‘Wounds!’ said the little man, springing up, ‘I don’t know—that is, I -hope—that is—O Lord! O Lord! I hope I’m not wounded!’ and, after a -proper examination, he discovered he was not.</p> - -<p>‘Thank heaven! thank heaven!’ said one of the wags (who, indeed, during -the slumbers of Poinsinet had been occupied in making these very holes -through the garments of that individual), ‘if you have escaped, it is by -a miracle. Alas! alas! all your enemies have not been so lucky.’</p> - -<p>‘How! is anybody wounded?’ said Poinsinet.</p> - -<p>‘My dearest friend, prepare yourself; that unhappy man who came to -revenge his menaced honour—that gallant officer—that injured husband, -Colonel Count de Cartentierce——’</p> - -<p>‘Well?’</p> - -<p>‘Is <span class="smcap">NO MORE</span>! he died this morning, pierced through with nineteen wounds -from your hand, and calling upon his country to revenge his murder.’</p> - -<p>When this awful sentence was pronounced, all the auditory gave a -pathetic and simultaneous sob; and as for Poinsinet, he sank back on his -bed with a howl of terror, which would have melted a Visigoth to -tears,—or to laughter. As soon as his terror and remorse had, in some -degree, subsided, his comrades spoke to him of the necessity of making -his escape; and huddling on his clothes, and bidding them all a tender -adieu, he set off, incontinently, without his breakfast, for England, -America, or Russia, not knowing exactly which.</p> - -<p>One of his companions agreed to accompany him on a part of this -journey,—that is, as far as the barrier of St. Denis, which is, as -everybody knows, on the highroad to Dover; and there, being tolerably -secure, they entered a tavern for breakfast; which meal, the last that -he ever was to take, perhaps, in his native city, Poinsinet was just -about to discuss, when, behold! a gentleman entered the apartment where -Poinsinet and his friend were seated, and, drawing from his pocket a -paper, with ‘<span class="smcap">Au nom du Roy</span>’ flourished on the top, read from it, or -rather from Poinsinet’s own figure, his exact <i>signalement</i>, laid his -hand on his shoulder, and arrested him in the name of the King, and of -the provost-marshal of Paris. ‘I arrest you, sir,’ said he gravely, -‘with regret; you have slain, with seventeen wounds, in single combat, -Colonel Count de Cartentierce, one of his Majesty’s household; and, as -his<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> murderer, you full under the immediate authority of the -provost-marshal, and die without trial or benefit of clergy.’</p> - -<p>You may fancy how the poor little man’s appetite fell when he heard this -speech. ‘In the provost-marshal’s hands?’ said his friend: ‘then it <i>is</i> -all over, indeed! When does my poor friend suffer, sir?’</p> - -<p>‘At half-past six o’clock the day after to-morrow,’ said the officer, -sitting down, and helping himself to wine. ‘But stop,’ said he suddenly; -‘sure I can’t mistake? Yes—no—yes, it is. My dear friend, my dear -Durand! don’t you recollect your old schoolfellow, Antoine?’ And -herewith the officer flung himself into the arms of Durand, Poinsinet’s -comrade, and they performed a most affecting scene of friendship.</p> - -<p>‘This may be of some service to you,’ whispered Durand to Poinsinet; -and, after some further parley, he asked the officer when he was bound -to deliver up his prisoner; and, hearing that he was not called upon to -appear at the Marshalsea before six o’clock at night, Monsieur Durand -prevailed upon Monsieur Antoine to wait until that hour, and in the -meantime to allow his prisoner to walk about the town in his company. -This request was, with a little difficulty, granted; and poor Poinsinet -begged to be carried to the houses of his various friends, and bid them -farewell. Some were aware of the trick that had been played upon him; -others were not; but the poor little man’s credulity was so great, that -it was impossible to undeceive him; and he went from house to house -bewailing his fate, and followed by the complaisant marshal’s officer.</p> - -<p>The news of his death he received with much more meekness than could -have been expected; but what he could not reconcile to himself was, the -idea of dissection afterwards. ‘What can they want with me?’ cried the -poor wretch, in an unusual fit of candour. ‘I am very small and ugly; it -would be different if I were a tall, fine-looking fellow.’ But he was -given to understand that beauty made very little difference to the -surgeons, who, on the contrary, would, on certain occasions, prefer a -deformed man to a handsome one; for science was much advanced by the -study of such monstrosities. With this reason Poinsinet was obliged to -be content; and so paid his rounds of visits, and repeated his dismal -adieus.</p> - -<p>The officer of the provost-marshal, however amusing Poinsinet’s woes -might have been, began, by this time, to grow very weary of them, and -gave him more than one opportunity to escape. He would stop at -shop-windows, loiter round comers, and look up in the sky, but all in -vain: Poinsinet would not escape, do what the other would. At length, -luckily, about dinner-time, the officer met<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a> one of Poinsinet’s friends -and his own: and the three agreed to dine at a tavern, as they had -breakfasted; and there the officer, who vowed that he had been up for -five weeks incessantly, fell suddenly asleep in the profoundest fatigue; -and Poinsinet was persuaded, after much hesitation on his part, to take -leave of him.</p> - -<p>And now, this danger overcome, another was to be avoided. Beyond a doubt -the police were after him, and how was he to avoid them? He must be -disguised, of course; and one of his friends, a tall gaunt lawyer’s -clerk, agreed to provide him with habits.</p> - -<p>So little Poinsinet dressed himself out in the clerk’s dingy black suit, -of which the knee-breeches hung down to his heels, and the waist of the -coat reached to the calves of his legs; and, furthermore, he blacked his -eyebrows, and wore a huge black periwig, in which his friend vowed that -no one could recognise him. But the most painful incident, with regard -to the periwig, was, that Poinsinet, whose solitary beauty—if beauty it -might be called—was a head of copious, curling yellow hair, was -compelled to snip off every one of his golden locks, and to rub the -bristles with a black dye; ‘for if your wig were to come off,’ said the -lawyer, ‘and your fair hair to tumble over your shoulders, every man -would know, or at least suspect you.’ So off the locks were cut, and in -his black suit and periwig little Poinsinet went abroad.</p> - -<p>His friends had their cue; and when he appeared amongst them, not one -seemed to know him. He was taken into companies where his character was -discussed before him, and his wonderful escape spoken of. At last he was -introduced to the very officer of the provost-marshal who had taken him -into custody, and who told him that he had been dismissed the provost’s -service, in consequence of the escape of the prisoner. Now, for the -first time, poor Poinsinet thought himself tolerably safe, and blessed -his kind friends who had procured for him such a complete disguise. How -this affair ended I know not:—whether some new lie was coined to -account for his release, or whether he was simply told that he had been -hoaxed: it mattered little; for the little man was quite as ready to be -hoaxed the next day.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p168_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p168_sml.jpg" width="201" height="332" alt="POINSINET IN DISGUISE" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">POINSINET IN DISGUISE</span> -</p> - -<p>Poinsinet was one day invited to dine with one of the servants of the -Tuileries; and, before his arrival, a person in company had been -decorated with a knot of lace and a gold key, such as chamberlains wear; -he was introduced to Poinsinet as the Count de Truchses, chamberlain to -the King of Prussia. After dinner the conversation fell upon the Count’s -visit to Paris; when his Excellency, with a mysterious air, vowed that -he had only come for pleasure. ‘It is mighty well,’ said a third person, -‘and, of<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> course, we can’t cross-question your lordship too closely;’ -but at the same time it was hinted to Poinsinet that a person of such -consequence did not travel for <i>nothing</i>, with which opinion Poinsinet -solemnly agreed; and indeed it was borne out by a subsequent declaration -of the Count, who condescended, at last, to tell the company, in -confidence, that he <i>had</i> a mission, and a most important one—to find, -namely, among the literary men of France, a governor for the Prince -Royal of Prussia. The company seemed astonished that the King had not -made choice of Voltaire or D’Alembert, and mentioned a dozen other -distinguished men who might be competent to this important duty; but the -Count, as may be imagined, found objections to every one of them; and, -at last, one of the guests said, that, if his Prussian Majesty was not -particular as to age, he knew a person more fitted for the place than -any other who could be found,—his honourable friend, M. Poinsinet, was -the individual to whom he alluded.</p> - -<p>‘Good heavens!’ cried the Count, ‘is it possible that the celebrated -Poinsinet would take such a place? I would give the world to see him!’ -And you may fancy how Poinsinet simpered and blushed when the -introduction immediately took place.</p> - -<p>The Count protested to him that the King would be charmed to know him; -and added, that one of his operas (for it must be told that our little -friend was a vaudeville-maker by trade) had been acted seven-and-twenty -times at the theatre at Potsdam. His Excellency then detailed to him all -the honours and privileges which the governor of the Prince Royal might -expect; and all the guests encouraged the little man’s vanity, by asking -him for his protection and favour. In a short time our hero grew so -inflated with pride and vanity, that he was for patronising the -chamberlain himself, who proceeded to inform him that he was furnished -with all the necessary powers by his sovereign, who had specially -enjoined him to confer upon the future governor of his son the Royal -order of the Black Eagle.</p> - -<p>Poinsinet, delighted, was ordered to kneel down; and the Count produced -a large yellow riband, which he hung over his shoulder, and which was, -he declared, the grand cordon of the order. You must fancy Poinsinet’s -face, and excessive delight at this; for as for describing them, nobody -can. For four-and-twenty hours the happy chevalier paraded through Paris -with this flaring yellow riband; and he was not undeceived until his -friends had another trick in store for him.</p> - -<p>He dined one day in the company of a man who understood a little of the -noble art of conjuring, and performed some clever tricks on the cards. -Poinsinet’s organ of wonder was enormous;<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> he looked on with the gravity -and awe of a child, and thought the man’s tricks sheer miracles. It -wanted no more to set his companions to work.</p> - -<p>‘Who is this wonderful man?’ said he to his neighbour.</p> - -<p>‘Why,’ said the other, mysteriously, ‘one hardly knows who he is; or, at -least, one does not like to say to such an indiscreet fellow as you -are.’ Poinsinet at once swore to be secret. ‘Well, then,’ said his -friend, ‘you will hear that man—that wonderful man—called by a name -which is not his: his real name is Acosta; he is a Portuguese Jew, a -Rosicrucian, and Cabalist of the first order, and compelled to leave -Lisbon for fear of the Inquisition. He performs here, as you see, some -extraordinary things, occasionally; but the master of the house, who -loves him excessively, would not for the world that his name should be -made public.’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, bah!’ said Poinsinet, who affected the <i>bel esprit</i>; ‘you don’t -mean to say that you believe in magic, and cabalas, and such trash?’</p> - -<p>‘Do I not? You shall judge for yourself.’ And, accordingly, Poinsinet -was presented to the magician, who pretended to take a vast liking for -him, and declared that he saw in him certain marks which would -infallibly lead him to great eminence in the magic art, if he chose to -study it.</p> - -<p>Dinner was served, and Poinsinet placed by the side of the -miracle-worker, who became very confidential with him, and promised -him—ay, before dinner was over—a remarkable instance of his power. -Nobody, on this occasion, ventured to cut a single joke against poor -Poinsinet; nor could he fancy that any trick was intended against him, -for the demeanour of the society towards him was perfectly grave and -respectful, and the conversation serious. On a sudden, however, somebody -exclaimed, ‘Where is Poinsinet? Did any one see him leave the room?’</p> - -<p>All the company exclaimed how singular the disappearance was; and -Poinsinet himself, growing alarmed, turned round to his neighbour, and -was about to explain.</p> - -<p>‘Hush!’ said the magician, in a whisper; ‘I told you that you should see -what I could do. <i>I have made you invisible</i>; be quiet, and you shall -see some more tricks that I shall play with these fellows.’</p> - -<p>Poinsinet remained then silent, and listened to his neighbours, who -agreed, at last, that he was a quiet, orderly personage, and had left -the table early, being unwilling to drink too much. Presently they -ceased to talk about him, and resumed their conversation upon other -matters.</p> - -<p>At first it was very quiet and grave, but the master of the<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> house -brought back the talk to the subject of Poinsinet, and uttered all sorts -of abuse concerning him. He begged the gentleman, who had introduced -such a little scamp into his house, to bring him thither no more; -whereupon the other took up, warmly, Poinsinet’s defence; declared that -he was a man of the greatest merit, frequenting the best society, and -remarkable for his talents as well as his virtues.</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ said Poinsinet to the magician, quite charmed at what he heard, -‘however shall I thank you, my dear sir, for thus showing me who my true -friends are?’</p> - -<p>The magician promised him still further favours in prospect; and told -him to look out now, for he was about to throw all the company into a -temporary fit of madness, which, no doubt, would be very amusing.</p> - -<p>In consequence, all the company, who had heard every syllable of the -conversation, began to perform the most extraordinary antics, much to -the delight of Poinsinet. One asked a nonsensical question, and the -other delivered an answer not at all to the purpose. If a man asked for -a drink they poured him out a pepper-box or a napkin: they took a pinch -of snuff, and swore it was excellent wine: and vowed that the bread was -the most delicious mutton that ever was tasted. The little man was -delighted.</p> - -<p>‘Ah!’ said he, ‘these fellows are prettily punished for their rascally -backbiting of me!’</p> - -<p>‘Gentlemen,’ said the host, ‘I shall now give you some celebrated -champagne,’ and he poured out to each a glass of water.</p> - -<p>‘Good heavens!’ said one, spitting it out, with the most horrible -grimace, ‘where did you get this detestable claret?’</p> - -<p>‘Ah, faugh!’ said a second, ‘I never tasted such vile corked Burgundy in -all my days!’ and he threw the glass of water into Poinsinet’s face, as -did half a dozen of the other guests, drenching the poor wretch to the -skin. To complete this pleasant illusion, two of the guests fell to -boxing across Poinsinet, who received a number of the blows, and -received them with the patience of a fakir, feeling himself more -flattered by the precious privilege of beholding this scene invisible, -than hurt by the blows and buffets which the mad company bestowed upon -him.</p> - -<p>The fame of this adventure spread quickly over Paris, and all the world -longed to have at their houses the representation of <i>Poinsinet the -Invisible</i>. The servants and the whole company used to be put up to the -trick; and Poinsinet, who believed in his invisibility as much as he did -in his existence, went about with his friend and protector the magician. -People, of course, never pretended to see him, and would very often not -talk of him at all for<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a> some time, but hold sober conversation about -anything else in the world. When dinner was served, of course there was -no cover laid for Poinsinet, who carried about a little stool, on which -he sate by the side of the magician, and always ate off his plate. -Everybody was astonished at the magician’s appetite and at the quantity -of wine he drank; as for little Poinsinet, he never once suspected any -trick, and had such a confidence in his magician, that, I do believe, if -the latter had told him to fling himself out of window, he would have -done so, without the least trepidation.</p> - -<p>Among other mystifications in which the Portuguese enchanter plunged -him, was one which used to afford always a good deal of amusement. He -informed Poinsinet, with great mystery, that <i>he was not himself</i>; he -was not, that is to say, that ugly deformed little monster, called -Poinsinet; but that his birth was most illustrious, and his real name -<i>Polycarte</i>. He was, in fact, the son of a celebrated magician; but -other magicians, enemies of his father, had changed him in his cradle, -altering his features into their present hideous shape, in order that a -silly old fellow, called Poinsinet, might take him to be his own son, -which little monster the magician had likewise spirited away.</p> - -<p>The poor wretch was sadly cast down at this; for he tried to fancy that -his person was agreeable to the ladies, of whom he was one of the -warmest little admirers possible; and to console him somewhat, the -magician told him that his real shape was exquisitely beautiful, and as -soon as he should appear in it, all the beauties in Paris would be at -his feet. But how to regain it? ‘Oh, for one minute of that beauty!’ -cried the little man; ‘what would he not give to appear under that -enchanting form!’ The magician here-upon waved his stick over his head, -pronounced some awful magical words, and twisted him round three times; -at the third twist, the men in company seemed struck with astonishment -and envy, the ladies clasped their hands, and some of them kissed his. -Everybody declared his beauty to be supernatural.</p> - -<p>Poinsinet, enchanted, rushed to a glass. ‘Fool!’ said the magician; ‘do -you suppose that <i>you</i> can see the change? My power to render you -invisible, beautiful, or ten times more hideous even than you are, -extends only to others, not to you. You may look a thousand times in the -glass, and you will only see those deformed limbs and disgusting -features with which devilish malice has disguised you.’ Poor little -Poinsinet looked, and came back in tears. ‘But,’ resumed the -magician,—‘ha, ha, ha!—<i>I</i> know <i>a</i> way in which to disappoint the -machinations of these fiendish magi.’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, my benefactor!—my great master!—for heaven’s sake tell it!’ -gasped Poinsinet.<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a></p> - -<p>‘Look you—it is this. A prey to enchantment and demoniac art all your -life long, you have lived until your present age perfectly satisfied; -nay, absolutely vain of a person the most singularly hideous that ever -walked the earth!’</p> - -<p>‘<i>Is</i> it?’ whispered Poinsinet. ‘Indeed, and indeed, I didn’t think it -so bad!’</p> - -<p>‘He acknowledges it! he acknowledges it!’ roared the magician. ‘Wretch, -dotard, owl, mole, miserable buzzard! I have no reason to tell thee now -that thy form is monstrous, that children cry, that cowards turn pale, -that teeming matrons shudder to behold it. It is not thy fault that thou -art thus ungainly: but wherefore so blind? wherefore so conceited of -thyself? I tell thee, Poinsinet, that over every fresh instance of thy -vanity the hostile enchanters rejoice and triumph. As long as thou art -blindly satisfied with thyself; as long as thou pretendest, in thy -present odious shape, to win the love of aught above a negress; nay, -further still, until thou hast learned to regard that face, as others -do, with the most intolerable horror and disgust, to abuse it when thou -seest it, to despise it, in short, and treat that miserable disguise in -which the enchanters have wrapped thee with the strongest hatred and -scorn, so long art thou destined to wear it.’</p> - -<p>Such speeches as these, continually repeated, caused Poinsinet to be -fully convinced of his ugliness; he used to go about in companies, and -take every opportunity of inveighing against himself; he made verses and -epigrams against himself; he talked about ‘that dwarf, Poinsinet;’ ‘that -buffoon, Poinsinet;’ ‘that conceited, hump-backed Poinsinet;’ and he -would spend hours before the glass, abusing his own face as he saw it -reflected there, and vowing that he grew handsomer at every fresh -epithet that he uttered.</p> - -<p>Of course the wags, from time to time, used to give him every possible -encouragement, and declared that, since this exercise, his person was -amazingly improved. The ladies, too, began to be so excessively fond of -him, that the little fellow was obliged to caution them at last—for the -good, as he said, of society; he recommended them to draw lots, for he -could not gratify them all; but promised when his metamorphosis was -complete, that the one chosen should become the happy Mrs. Poinsinet; -or, to speak more correctly, Mrs. Polycarte.</p> - -<p>I am sorry to say, however, that, on the score of gallantry, Poinsinet -was never quite convinced of the hideousness of his appearance. He had a -number of adventures, accordingly, with the ladies, but, strange to say, -the husbands or fathers were always interrupting him. On one occasion he -was made to pass the night in a slipper-bath full of water; where, -although he had all his<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a> clothes on, he declared that he nearly caught -his death of cold. Another night, in revenge, the poor fellow</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">‘——dans le simple appareil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’une beauté, qu’on vient d’arracher au sommeil,’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">spent a number of hours contemplating the beauty of the moon on the -tiles. These adventures are pretty numerous in the memoirs of M. -Poinsinet; but the fact is, that people in France were a great deal more -philosophical in those days than the English are now, so that -Poinsinet’s loves must be passed over, as not being to our taste. His -magician was a great diver, and told Poinsinet the most wonderful tales -of his two minutes’ absence under water. These two minutes, he said, -lasted through a year, at least, which he spent in the company of a -naiad, more beautiful than Venus, in a palace more splendid than even -Versailles. Fired by the description, Poinsinet used to dip, and dip, -but he never was known to make any mermaid acquaintances, although he -fully believed that one day he should find such.</p> - -<p>The invisible joke was brought to an end by Poinsinet’s too great -reliance on it; for being, as we have said, of a very tender and -sanguine disposition, he one day fell in love with a lady in whose -company he dined, and whom he actually proposed to embrace; but the fair -lady, in the hurry of the moment, forgot to act up to the joke; and -instead of receiving Poinsinet’s salute with calmness, grew indignant, -called him an impudent little scoundrel, and lent him a sound box on the -ear. With this slap the invisibility of Poinsinet disappeared, the -gnomes and genii left him, and he settled down into common life again, -and was hoaxed only by vulgar means.</p> - -<p>A vast number of pages might be filled with narratives of the tricks -that were played upon him; but they resemble each other a good deal, as -may be imagined, and the chief point remarkable about them is the -wondrous faith of Poinsinet. After being introduced to the Prussian -ambassador at the Tuileries, he was presented to the Turkish envoy at -the Place Vendôme, who received him in state, surrounded by the officers -of his establishment, all dressed in the smartest dresses that the -wardrobe of the Opéra Comique could furnish.</p> - -<p>As the greatest honour that could be done to him, Poinsinet was invited -to eat, and a tray was produced, on which was a delicate dish prepared -in the Turkish manner. This consisted of a reasonable quantity of -mustard, salt, cinnamon and ginger, nutmegs and cloves, with a couple of -tablespoonfuls of cayenne pepper, to give the whole a flavour; and -Poinsinet’s countenance may be<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> imagined when he introduced into his -mouth a quantity of this exquisite compound.</p> - -<p>‘The best of the joke was,’ says the author who records so many of the -pitiless tricks practised upon poor Poinsinet, ‘that the little man used -to laugh at them afterwards himself with perfect good-humour; and lived -in the daily hope that, from being the sufferer, he should become the -agent in these hoaxes, and do to others as he had been done by.’ -Passing, therefore, one day, on the Pont Neuf, with a friend, who had -been one of the greatest performers, the latter said to him, ‘Poinsinet, -my good fellow, thou hast suffered enough, and thy sufferings have made -thee so wise and cunning, that thou art worthy of entering among the -initiated, and hoaxing in thy turn.’ Poinsinet was charmed; he asked -when he should be initiated, and how? It was told him that a moment -would suffice, and that the ceremony might be performed on the spot. At -this news, and according to order, Poinsinet flung himself straightway -on his knees in the kennel; and the other, drawing his sword, solemnly -initiated him into the sacred order of jokers. From that day the little -man believed himself received into the society; and to this having -brought him, let us bid him a respectful adieu.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p175_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p175_sml.jpg" width="158" height="123" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_DEVILS_WAGER" id="THE_DEVILS_WAGER"></a>THE DEVIL’S WAGER</h2> - -<p class="nind">I<small>T</small> was the hour of the night when there be none stirring save churchyard -ghosts—when all doors are closed except the gates of graves, and all -eyes shut but the eyes of wicked men.<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a></p> - -<p>When there is no sound on the earth except the ticking of the -grasshopper, or the croaking of obscene frogs in the poole.</p> - -<p>And no light except that of the blinking starres, and the wicked and -devilish wills-o’-the-wisp, as they gambol among the marshes, and lead -good men astraye.</p> - -<p>When there is nothing moving in heaven except the owle, as he flappeth -along lazily; or the magician, as he rides on his infernal broomsticke, -whistling through the aire like the arrowes of a Yorkshire archere.</p> - -<p>It was at this hour (namely, at twelve o’clock of the night) that two -beings went winging through the black clouds, and holding converse with -each other.</p> - -<p>Now the first was Mercurius, the messenger, not of gods (as the heathens -feigned), but of dæmons; and the second, with whom he held company, was -the soul of Sir Roger de Rollo, the brave knight. Sir Roger was Count of -Chauchigny, in Champagne; Seigneur of Santerre, Villacerf and <i>aultre -lieux</i>. But the great die as well as the humble; and nothing remained of -brave Roger now but his coffin and his deathless soul.</p> - -<p>And Mercurius, in order to keep fast the soul, his companion, had bound -him round the neck with his tail; which, when the soul was stubborn, he -would draw so tight as to strangle him well-nigh, sticking into him the -barbed point thereof; whereat the poor soul, Sir Rollo, would groan and -roar lustily.</p> - -<p>Now they two had come together from the gates of purgatorie, being bound -to those regions of fire and flame where poor sinners fry and roast <i>in -sæcula sæculorum</i>.</p> - -<p>‘It is hard,’ said the poor Sir Rollo, as they went gliding through the -clouds, ‘that I should thus be condemned for ever, and all for want of a -single ave.’</p> - -<p>‘How, Sir Soul?’ said the dæmon. ‘You were on earth so wicked, that not -one, or a million of aves, could suffice to keep from hell-flame a -creature like thee; but cheer up and be merry; thou wilt be but a -subject of our lord the Devil, as I am; and, perhaps, thou wilt be -advanced to posts of honour, as am I also:’ and to show his authoritie, -he lashed with his tail the ribbes of the wretched Rollo.</p> - -<p>‘Nevertheless, sinner as I am, one more ave would have saved me; for my -sister, who was Abbess of St. Mary of Chauchigny, did so prevail, by her -prayer and good works, for my lost and wretched soul, that every day I -felt the pains of purgatory decrease: the pitchforks which, on my first -entry, had never ceased to vex and torment my poor carcass, were now not -applied above once a week; the roasting had ceased, the boiling had -discontinued;<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> only a certain warmth was kept up, to remind me of my -situation.’</p> - -<p>‘A gentle stewe,’ said the dæmon.</p> - -<p>‘Yea, truly, I was but in a stew, and all from the effects of the -prayers of my blessed sister. But yesterday, he who watched me in -purgatory told me, that yet another prayer from my sister, and my bonds -should be unloosed, and I, who am now a devil, should have been a -blessed angel.’</p> - -<p>‘And the other ave?’ said the dæmon.</p> - -<p>‘She died, sir—my sister died—death choked her in the middle of the -prayer.’ And hereat the wretched spirit began to weepe and whine -piteously; his salt tears falling over his beard, and scalding the tail -of Mercurius the devil.</p> - -<p>‘It is, in truth, a hard case,’ said the dæmon; ‘but I know of no remedy -save patience, and for that you will have an excellent opportunity in -your lodgings below.’</p> - -<p>‘But I have relations,’ said the earl; ‘my kinsman Randal, who has -inherited my lands, will he not say a prayer for his uncle?’</p> - -<p>‘Thou didst hate and oppress him when living.’</p> - -<p>‘It is true; but an ave is not much; his sister, my niece, Matilda——’</p> - -<p>‘You shut her in a convent, and hanged her lover.’</p> - -<p>‘Had I not reason? besides, has she not others?’</p> - -<p>‘A dozen, without doubt.’</p> - -<p>‘And my brother, the prior?’</p> - -<p>‘A liege subject of my lord the Devil; he never opens his mouth except -to utter an oath, or to swallow a cup of wine.’</p> - -<p>‘And yet, if but one of these would but say an ave for me, I should be -saved.’</p> - -<p>‘Aves with them are raræ aves,’ replied Mercurius, wagging his tail -right waggishly; ‘and, what is more, I will lay thee any wager that not -one of these will say a prayer to save thee.’</p> - -<p>‘I would wager willingly,’ responded he of Chauchigny; ‘but what has a -poor soul like me to stake?’</p> - -<p>‘Every evening, after the day’s roasting, my lord Satan giveth a cup of -cold water to his servants; I will bet thee thy water for a year, that -none of the three will pray for thee.’</p> - -<p>‘Done!’ said Rollo.</p> - -<p>‘Done!’ said the dæmon; ‘and here, if I mistake not, is thy castle of -Chauchigny.’</p> - -<p>Indeed, it was true. The soul, on looking down, perceived the tall -towers, the courts, the stables, and the fair gardens of the castle. -Although it was past midnight, there was a blaze of light<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> in the -banqueting-hall, and a lamp burning in the open window of the Lady -Matilda.</p> - -<p>‘With whom shall we begin?’ said the dæmon: ‘with the baron or the -lady?’</p> - -<p>‘With the lady, if you will.’</p> - -<p>‘Be it so, her window is open, let us enter.’</p> - -<p>So they descended, and entered silently into Matilda’s chamber.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The young lady’s eyes were fixed so intently on a little clock, that it -was no wonder that she did not perceive the entrance of her two -visitors. Her fair cheek rested on her white arm, and her white arm on -the cushion of a great chair, in which she sat pleasantly supported by -sweet thoughts and swan’s down; a lute was at her side, and a book of -prayers lay under the table (for piety is always modest). Like the -amorous Alexander, she sighed and looked (at the clock)—and sighed for -ten minutes or more, when she softly breathed the word ‘Edward!’</p> - -<p>At this the soul of the baron was wroth. ‘The jade is at her old -pranks,’ said he to the devil; and then addressing Matilda: ‘I pray -thee, sweet niece, turn thy thoughts for a moment from that villainous -page, Edward, and give them to thine affectionate uncle.’</p> - -<p>When she heard the voice, and saw the awful apparition of her uncle (for -a year’s sojourn in purgatory had not increased the comeliness of his -appearance), she started, screamed, and of course fainted.</p> - -<p>But the devil Mercurius soon restored her to herself. ‘What’s o’clock?’ -said she, as soon as she had recovered from her fit: ‘is he come?’</p> - -<p>‘Not thy lover, Maude, but thine uncle—that is, his soul. For the love -of heaven, listen to me: I have been frying in purgatory for a year -past, and should have been in heaven but for the want of a single ave.’</p> - -<p>‘I will say it for thee to-morrow, uncle.’</p> - -<p>‘To-night, or never.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, to-night be it:’ and she requested the devil Mercurius to give -her the prayer-book from under the table; but he had no sooner touched -the holy book than he dropped it with a shriek and a yell. ‘It was -hotter,’ he said, ‘than his master Sir Lucifer’s own particular -pitchfork.’ And the lady was forced to begin her ave without the aid of -her missal.</p> - -<p>At the commencement of her devotions the dæmon retired, and carried with -him the anxious soul of poor Sir Roger de Rollo.</p> - -<p>The lady knelt down—she sighed deeply; she looked again at the clock, -and began—<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a></p> - -<p>‘Ave Maria——’</p> - -<p>When a lute was heard under the window, and a sweet voice singing—</p> - -<p>‘Hark!’ said Matilda.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Now the toils of day are over,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And the sun hath sunk to rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Seeking, like a fiery lover,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The bosom of the blushing West—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">The faithful night keeps watch and ward,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Raising the moon, her silver shield,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And summoning the stars to guard<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘For mercy’s sake!’ said Sir Rollo, ‘the ave first, and next the song.’</p> - -<p>So Matilda again dutifully betook her to her devotions, and began—</p> - -<p>‘Ave Maria, gratia plena!’ but the music began again, and the prayer -ceased of course.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The faithful night! Now all things lie<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Hid by her mantle dark and dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In pious hope I hither hie,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And humbly chaunt mine ev’ning hymn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine!<br /></span> -<span class="i3">(For never holy pilgrim kneel’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Or wept at feet more pure than thine)<br /></span> -<span class="i3">My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘Virgin love!’ said the baron. ‘Upon my soul, this is too bad!’ and he -thought of the lady’s lover whom he had caused to be hanged.</p> - -<p>But <i>she</i> only thought of him who stood singing at her window.</p> - -<p>‘Niece Matilda!’ cried Sir Roger agonisedly, ‘wilt thou listen to the -lies of an impudent page, whilst thine uncle is waiting but a dozen -words to make him happy?’</p> - -<p>At this Matilda grew angry: ‘Edward is neither impudent nor a liar, Sir -Uncle, and I will listen to the end of the song.’</p> - -<p>‘Come away,’ said Mercurius; ‘he hath yet got wield, field, sealed, -congealed, and a dozen other rhymes beside; and after the song will come -the supper.’</p> - -<p>So the poor soul was obliged to go; while the lady listened, and the -page sang away till morning.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>‘My virtues have been my ruin,’ said poor Sir Rollo, as he and Mercurius -slunk silently out of the window. ‘Had I hanged that knave Edward, as I -did the page his predecessor, my niece would<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> have sung mine ave, and I -should have been by this time an angel in heaven.’</p> - -<p>‘He is reserved for wiser purposes,’ responded the devil: ‘he will -assassinate your successor, the lady Mathilde’s brother; and, in -consequence, will be hanged. In the love of the lady he will be -succeeded by a gardener, who will be replaced by a monk, who will give -way to an ostler, who will be deposed by a Jew pedlar, who shall, -finally, yield to a noble earl, the future husband of the fair Mathilde. -So that, you see, instead of having one poor soul a-frying, we may now -look forward to a goodly harvest for our lord the Devil.’</p> - -<p>The soul of the baron began to think that his companion knew too much -for one who would make fair bets; but there was no help for it; he would -not, and could not, cry off; and he prayed inwardly that the brother -might be found more pious than the sister.</p> - -<p>But there seemed little chance of this. As they crossed the court, -lackeys, with smoking dishes and full jugs, passed and repassed -continually, although it was long past midnight. On entering the hall, -they found Sir Randal at the head of a vast table, surrounded by a -fiercer and more motley collection of individuals than had congregated -there even in the time of Sir Rollo. The lord of the castle had -signified that ‘it was his royal pleasure to be drunk,’ and the -gentlemen of his train had obsequiously followed their master. Mercurius -was delighted with the scene, and relaxed his usually rigid countenance -into a bland and benevolent smile, which became him wonderfully.</p> - -<p>The entrance of Sir Roger, who had been dead about a year, and a person -with hoofs, horns, and a tail, rather disturbed the hilarity of the -company. Sir Randal dropped his cup of wine; and Father Peter, the -confessor, incontinently paused in the midst of a profane song, with -which he was amusing the society.</p> - -<p>‘Holy Mother!’ cried he, ‘it is Sir Roger.’</p> - -<p>‘Alive!’ screamed Sir Randal.</p> - -<p>‘No, my lord,’ Mercurius said; ‘Sir Roger is dead, but cometh on a -matter of business; and I have the honour to act as his counsellor and -attendant.’</p> - -<p>‘Nephew,’ said Sir Roger, ‘the dæmon saith justly; I come on a trifling -affair, in which thy service is essential.’</p> - -<p>‘I will do anything, uncle, in my power.’</p> - -<p>‘Thou canst give me life, if thou wilt.’ But Sir Randal looked very -blank at this proposition. ‘I mean life spiritual, Randal,’ said Sir -Roger; and thereupon he explained to him the nature of the wager.</p> - -<p>Whilst he was telling his story, his companion Mercurius was<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a> playing -all sorts of antics in the hall; and, by his wit and fun, became so -popular with this godless crew, that they lost all the fear which his -first appearance had given them. The friar was wonderfully taken with -him, and used his utmost eloquence and endeavours to convert the devil; -the knights stopped drinking to listen to the argument; the men-at-arms -forbore brawling; and the wicked little pages crowded round the two -strange disputants, to hear their edifying discourse. The ghostly man, -however, had little chance in the controversy, and certainly little -learning to carry it on. Sir Randal interrupted him. ‘Father Peter,’ -said he, ‘our kinsman is condemned for ever, for want of a single ave: -wilt thou say it for him?’ ‘Willingly, my lord,’ said the monk, ‘with my -book;’ and accordingly he produced his missal to read, without which aid -it appeared that the holy father could not manage the desired prayer. -But the crafty Mercurius had, by his devilish art, inserted a song in -the place of the ave, so that Father Peter, instead of chaunting an -hymn, sang the following irreverent ditty:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Some love the matin-chimes, which tell<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The hour of prayer to sinner:<br /></span> -<span class="i1">But better far’s the midday bell,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Which speaks the hour of dinner;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For when I see a smoking fish,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Or capon drown’d in gravy,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Or noble haunch on silver dish,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Full glad I sing mine ave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">My pulpit is an alehouse bench,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Whereon I sit so jolly;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">A smiling rosy country wench<br /></span> -<span class="i3">My saint and patron holy.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I kiss her cheek so red and sleek,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">I press her ringlets wavy,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And in her willing ear I speak<br /></span> -<span class="i3">A most religious ave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">And if I’m blind, yet Heaven is kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And holy saints forgiving;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For sure he leads a right good life<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Who thus admires good living.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Above, they say, our flesh is air,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Our blood celestial ichor:<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Oh, grant! ‘mid all the changes there,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">They may not change our liquor!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p182_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p182_sml.jpg" width="203" height="337" alt="THE CHAPLAIN PUZZLED" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE CHAPLAIN PUZZLED</span> -</p> - -<p>And with this pious wish the holy confessor tumbled under the table in -an agony of devout drunkenness; whilst the knights, the men-at-arms, and -the wicked little pages rang out the last verse with a most melodious -and emphatic glee. ‘I am sorry, fair uncle,’ hiccupped Sir Randal, -‘that, in the matter of the ave, we<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> could not oblige thee in a more -orthodox manner; but the holy father has failed, and there is not -another man in the hall who hath an idea of a prayer.’</p> - -<p>‘It is my own fault,’ said Sir Rollo; ‘for I hanged the last confessor.’ -And he wished his nephew a surly good-night, as he prepared to quit the -room.</p> - -<p>‘Au revoir, gentlemen,’ said the devil Mercurius; and once more fixed -his tail round the neck of his disappointed companion.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The spirit of poor Rollo was sadly cast down; the devil, on the -contrary, was in high good-humour. He wagged his tail with the most -satisfied air in the world, and cut a hundred jokes at the expense of -his poor associate. On they sped, cleaving swiftly through the cold -night winds, frightening the birds that were roosting in the woods, and -the owls who were watching in the towers.</p> - -<p>In the twinkling of an eye, as it is known, devils can fly hundreds of -miles: so that almost the same beat of the clock which left these two in -Champagne, found them hovering over Paris. They dropped into the court -of the Lazarist Convent, and winded their way, through passage and -cloister, until they reached the door of the prior’s cell.</p> - -<p>Now the prior, Rollo’s brother, was a wicked and malignant sorcerer; his -time was spent in conjuring devils and doing wicked deeds, instead of -fasting, scourging, and singing holy psalms: this Mercurius knew; and -he, therefore, was fully at ease as to the final result of his wager -with poor Sir Roger.</p> - -<p>‘You seem to be well acquainted with the road,’ said the knight.</p> - -<p>‘I have reason,’ answered Mercurius, ‘having, for a long period, had the -acquaintance of his reverence, your brother; but you have little chance -with him.’</p> - -<p>‘And why?’ said Sir Rollo.</p> - -<p>‘He is under a bond to my master never to say a prayer, or else his soul -and his body are forfeited at once.’</p> - -<p>‘Why, thou false and traitorous devil!’ said the enraged knight; ‘and -thou knewest this when we made our wager?’</p> - -<p>‘Undoubtedly: do you suppose I would have done so had there been any -chance of losing?’</p> - -<p>And with this they arrived at Father Ignatius’s door.</p> - -<p>‘Thy cursed presence threw a spell on my niece, and stopped the tongue -of my nephew’s chaplain; I do believe that had I seen either of them -alone, my wager had been won.’</p> - -<p>‘Certainly; therefore I took good care to go with thee; however,<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> thou -mayest see the prior alone, if thou wilt; and lo! his door is open. I -will stand without for five minutes, when it will be time to commence -our journey.’</p> - -<p>It was the poor baron’s last chance; and he entered his brother’s room -more for the five minutes’ respite than from any hope of success.</p> - -<p>Father Ignatius, the prior, was absorbed in magic calculations: he stood -in the middle of a circle of skulls, with no garment except his long -white beard, which reached to his knees; he was waving a silver rod, and -muttering imprecations in some horrible tongue.</p> - -<p>But Sir Rollo came forward and interrupted his incantation. ‘I am,’ said -he, ‘the shade of thy brother, Roger de Rollo; and have come, from pure -brotherly love, to warn thee of thy fate.’</p> - -<p>‘Whence camest thou?’</p> - -<p>‘From the abode of the blessed in Paradise,’ replied Sir Roger, who was -inspired with a sudden thought; ‘it was but five minutes ago that the -Patron Saint of thy church told me of thy danger, and of thy wicked -compact with the fiend. “Go,” said he, “to thy miserable brother, and -tell him that there is but one way by which he may escape from paying -the awful forfeit of his bond.’”</p> - -<p>‘And how may that be?’ said the prior; ‘the false fiend hath deceived -me; I have given him my soul, but have received no worldly benefit in -return. Brother! dear brother! how may I escape?’</p> - -<p>‘I will tell thee. As soon as I heard the voice of blessed St. Mary -Lazarus’ (the worthy earl had, at a pinch, coined the name of a saint), -‘I left the clouds, where, with other angels, I was seated, and sped -hither to save thee. “Thy brother,” said the Saint, “hath but one day -more to live, when he will become for all eternity the subject of Satan; -if he would escape, he must boldly break his bond, by saying an ave.”’</p> - -<p>‘It is the express condition of the agreement,’ said the unhappy monk, -‘I must say no prayer, or that instant I become Satan’s, body and soul.’</p> - -<p>‘It is the express condition of the Saint,’ answered Roger fiercely: -‘pray, brother, pray, or thou art lost for ever.’</p> - -<p>So the foolish monk knelt down, and devoutly sung out an ave, ‘Amen!’ -said Sir Roger devoutly.</p> - -<p>‘Amen!’ said Mercurius, as, suddenly coming behind, he seized Ignatius -by his long beard, and flew up with him to the top of the -church-steeple.</p> - -<p>The monk roared, and screamed, and swore against his brother; but it was -of no avail: Sir Roger smiled kindly on him, and said, ‘Do not fret, -brother; it must have come to this in a year or two.<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>’</p> - -<p>And he flew alongside of Mercurius to the steeple-top: <i>but this time -the devil had not his tail round his neck</i>. ‘I will let thee off thy -bet,’ said he to the dæmon; for he could afford, now, to be generous.</p> - -<p>‘I believe, my lord,’ said the dæmon politely, ‘that our ways separate -here.’ Sir Roger sailed gaily upwards; while Mercurius having bound the -miserable monk faster than ever, he sunk downwards to earth, and perhaps -lower. Ignatius was heard roaring and screaming as the devil dashed him -against the iron spikes and buttresses of the church.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The moral of this story will be given in the second edition.</p> - -<h2><a name="MADAME_SAND_AND_THE_NEW_APOCALYPSE" id="MADAME_SAND_AND_THE_NEW_APOCALYPSE"></a>MADAME SAND AND THE NEW APOCALYPSE</h2> - -<p class="nind">I <small>DON’T</small> know an impression more curious than that which is formed in a -foreigner’s mind, who has been absent from this place for two or three -years, returns to it, and beholds the change which has taken place, in -the meantime, in French fashions and ways of thinking. Two years ago, -for instance, when I left the capital, I left the young gentlemen of -France with their hair brushed <i>en toupet</i> in front, and the toes of -their boots round; now the boot-toes are pointed, and the hair, combed -flat and parted in the middle, falls in ringlets on the fashionable -shoulders; and, in like manner, with books as with boots, the fashion -has changed considerably, and it is not a little curious to contrast the -old modes with the new. Absurd as was the literary dandyism of those -days, it is not a whit less absurd now: only the manner is changed, and -our versatile Frenchmen have passed from one caricature to another.</p> - -<p>The Revolution may be called a caricature of freedom, as the Empire was -of glory; and what they borrow from foreigners undergoes the same -process. They take top-boots and macintoshes from across the water, and -caricature our fashions; they read a little, very little, Shakespeare, -and caricature our poetry: and while in David’s time art and religion -were only a caricature of heathenism, now, on the contrary, these two -commodities are imported from Germany; and, distorted caricatures -originally, are still further distorted on passing the frontier.</p> - -<p>I trust in heaven that German art and religion will take no hold in our -country (where there is a fund of roast-beef that will<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a> expel any such -humbug in the end); but these sprightly Frenchmen have relished the -mystical doctrines mightily; and having watched the Germans, with their -sanctified looks, and quaint imitations of the old times, and mysterious -transcendental talk, are aping many of their fashions as well and -solemnly as they can; not very solemnly, God wot; for I think one should -always prepare to grin when a Frenchman looks particularly grave, being -sure that there is something false and ridiculous lurking under the -owl-like solemnity.</p> - -<p>When last in Paris, we were in the midst of what was called a Catholic -reaction. Artists talked of faith in poems and pictures; churches were -built here and there; old missals were copied and purchased; and -numberless portraits of saints, with as much gilding about them as ever -was used in the fifteenth century, appeared in churches, ladies’ -boudoirs, and picture-shops. One or two fashionable preachers rose, and -were eagerly followed; the very youth of the schools gave up their pipes -and billiards for some time, and flocked in crowds to Notre-Dame, to sit -under the feet of Lacordaire. I went to visit the church of Notre Dame -de Lorette yesterday, which was finished in the heat of this Catholic -rage, and was not a little struck by the similarity of the place to the -worship celebrated in it, and the admirable manner in which the -architect has caused his work to express the public feeling of the -moment. It is a pretty little bijou of a church: it is supported by sham -marble pillars; it has a gaudy ceiling of blue and gold, which will look -very well for some time; and is filled with gaudy pictures and carvings, -in the very pink of the mode. The congregation did not offer a bad -illustration of the present state of Catholic reaction. Two or three -stray people were at prayers; there was no service; a few countrymen and -idlers were staring about at the pictures; and the Swiss, the paid -guardian of the place, was comfortably and appropriately asleep on his -bench at the door. I am inclined to think the famous reaction is over: -the students have taken to their Sunday pipes and billiards again; and -one or two <i>cafés</i> have been established, within the last year, that are -ten times handsomer than Notre Dame de Lorette.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p187_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p187_sml.jpg" width="217" height="336" alt="FRENCH CATHOLICISM (Sketched in the Church of N. D. de -Lorette)" title="FRENCH CATHOLICISM (Sketched in the Church of N. D. de -Lorette)" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">FRENCH CATHOLICISM<br /> -(Sketched in the Church of N. D. de Lorette)</span> -</p> - -<p>However, if the immortal Görres and the German mystics have had their -day, there is the immortal Göthe and the Pantheists; and I incline to -think that the fashion has set very strongly in their favour. Voltaire -and the Encyclopædians are voted, now, <i>barbares</i> and there is no term -of reprobation strong enough for heartless Humes and Helvetiuses, who -lived but to destroy, and who only thought to doubt. Wretched as -Voltaire’s sneers and<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> puns are, I think there is something more manly -and earnest even in them than in the present muddy French -transcendentalism. Pantheism is the word now; one and all have begun to -<i>éprouver</i> the <i>besoin</i> of a religious sentiment; and we are deluged -with a host of gods accordingly. Monsieur de Balzac feels himself to be -inspired; Victor Hugo is a god; Madame Sand is a god; that tawdry man of -genius, Jules Janin, who writes theatrical reviews for the <i>Débats</i>, has -divine intimations; and there is scarce a beggarly beardless scribbler -of poems and prose but tells you, in his preface, of the <i>sainteté</i> of -the <i>sacerdoce littéraire</i>; or a dirty student, sucking tobacco and -beer, and reeling home with a grisette from the Chaumière, who is not -convinced of the necessity of a new ‘Messianism,’ and will hiccup, to -such as will listen, chapters of his own drunken Apocalypse. Surely, the -negatives of the old days were far less dangerous than the assertions of -the present; and you may fancy what a religion that must be which has -such high priests.</p> - -<p>There is no reason to trouble the reader with details of the lives of -many of these prophets and expounders of new revelations. Madame Sand, -for instance, I do not know personally, and can only speak of her from -report. True or false, the history, at any rate, is not very edifying; -and so may be passed over: but, as a certain great philosopher told us, -in very humble and simple words, that we are not to expect to gather -grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles, we may, at least, demand, in -all persons assuming the character of moralist or philosopher—order, -soberness, and regularity of life; for we are apt to distrust the -intellect that we fancy can be swayed by circumstance or passion; and we -know how circumstance and passion <i>will</i> sway the intellect; how -mortified vanity will form excuses for itself; and how temper turns -angrily upon conscience, that reproves it. How often have we called our -judge our enemy, because he has given sentence against us!—How often -have we called the right wrong, because the right condemns us! And in -the lives of many of the bitter foes of the Christian doctrine, can we -find no personal reason for their hostility? The men in Athens said it -was out of regard for religion that they murdered Socrates; but we have -had time, since then, to reconsider the verdict; and Socrates’s -character is pretty pure now, in spite of the sentence and the jury of -those days.</p> - -<p>The Parisian philosophers will attempt to explain to you the changes -through which Madame Sand’s mind has passed,—the initiatory trials, -labours, and sufferings which she has had to go through,—before she -reached her present happy state of mental illumination. She teaches her -wisdom in parables, that are, mostly,<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a> a couple of volumes long; and -began, first, by an eloquent attack on marriage, in the charming novel -of <i>Indiana</i>. ‘Pity,’ cried she, ‘for the poor woman who, united to a -being whose brute force makes him her superior, should venture to break -the bondage which is imposed on her, and allow her heart to be free.’</p> - -<p>In support of this claim of pity, she writes two volumes of the most -exquisite prose. What a tender suffering creature is Indiana; how little -her husband appreciates that gentleness which he is crushing by his -tyranny and brutal scorn; how natural it is that, in the absence of his -sympathy, she, poor clinging confiding creature, should seek elsewhere -for shelter; how cautious should we be, to call criminal—to visit with -too heavy a censure—an act which is one of the natural impulses of a -tender heart, that seeks but for a worthy object of love! But why -attempt to tell the tale of beautiful Indiana? Madame Sand has written -it so well, that not the hardest-hearted husband in Christendom can fail -to be touched by her sorrows, though he may refuse to listen to her -argument. Let us grant, for argument’s sake, that the laws of marriage, -especially the French laws of marriage, press very cruelly upon -unfortunate women.</p> - -<p>But if one wants to have a question of this, or any nature, honestly -argued, it is better, surely, to apply to an indifferent person for an -umpire. For instance, the stealing of pocket-handkerchiefs or -snuff-boxes may or may not be vicious; but if we, who have not the wit, -or will not take the trouble to decide the question ourselves, want to -hear the real rights of the matter, we should not, surely, apply to a -pickpocket to know what he thought on the point. It might naturally be -presumed that he would be rather a prejudiced person—particularly as -his reasoning, if successful, might get him <i>out of gaol</i>. This is a -homely illustration, no doubt; all we would urge by it is, that Madame -Sand having, according to the French newspapers, had a stern husband, -and also having, according to the newspapers, sought ‘sympathy’ -elsewhere, her arguments may be considered to be somewhat partial, and -received with some little caution.</p> - -<p>And tell us who have been the social reformers?—the haters, that is, of -the present system, according to which we live, love, marry, have -children, educate them, and endow them—<i>are they pure themselves</i>? I do -believe not one; and directly a man begins to quarrel with the world and -its ways, and to lift up, as he calls it, the voice of his despair, and -preach passionately to mankind about this tyranny of faith, customs, -laws; if we examine what the personal character of the preacher is, we -begin pretty clearly to understand the value of the doctrine. Any one -can see why<a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a> Rousseau should be such a whimpering reformer, and Byron -such a free-and-easy misanthropist, and why our accomplished Madame -Sand, who has a genius and eloquence inferior to neither, should take -the present condition of mankind (French-kind) so much to heart, and -labour so hotly to set it right.</p> - -<p>After <i>Indiana</i> (which, we presume, contains the lady’s notions upon -wives and husbands) came <i>Valentine</i>, which may be said to exhibit her -doctrine, in regard of young men and maidens, to whom the author would -accord, as we fancy, the same tender licence. <i>Valentine</i> was followed -by <i>Lelia</i>, a wonderful book indeed, gorgeous in eloquence, and rich in -magnificent poetry; a regular topsyturvyfication of morality, a thieves’ -and prostitutes’ apotheosis. This book has received some late -enlargements and emendations by the writer; it contains her notions on -morals, which, as we have said, are so peculiar, that, alas! they can -only be mentioned here, not particularised: but of <i>Spiridion</i> we may -write a few pages, as it is her religious manifesto.</p> - -<p>In this work, the lady asserts her Pantheistical doctrine, and openly -attacks the received Christian creed. She declares it to be useless now, -and unfitted to the exigencies and the degree of culture of the actual -world; and, though it would be hardly worth while to combat her opinions -in due form, it is, at least, worth while to notice them, not merely -from the extraordinary eloquence and genius of the woman herself, but -because they express the opinions of a great number of people besides: -for she not only produces her own thoughts, but imitates those of others -very eagerly; and one finds in her writings so much similarity with -others, or, in others, so much resemblance to her, that the book before -us may pass for the expressions of the sentiments of a certain French -party.</p> - -<p>‘Dieu est mort,’ says another writer of the same class, and of great -genius too.—‘Dieu est mort,’ writes Mr. Henry Heine, speaking of the -Christian God; and he adds, in a daring figure of -speech,—‘N’entendez-vous pas sonner la clochette?—on porte les -sacrements à un Dieu qui se meurt!’ Another of the Pantheist poetical -philosophers, Mr. Edgar Quinet, has a poem, in which Christ and the -Virgin Mary are made to die similarly, and the former is classed with -Prometheus. This book of <i>Spiridion</i> is a continuation of the theme, and -perhaps you will listen to some of the author’s expositions of it.</p> - -<p>It must be confessed that the controversialists of the present day have -an eminent advantage over their predecessors in the days of folios: it -required some learning then to write a book, and some time, at least, -for the very labour of writing out a thousand such vast pages would -demand a considerable period. But now, in the<a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a> age of duodecimos, the -system is reformed altogether: a male or female controversialist draws -upon his imagination, and not his learning; makes a story instead of an -argument, and, in the course of 150 pages (where the preacher has it all -his own way) will prove or disprove you anything. And, to our shame be -it said, we Protestants have set the example of this kind of -proselytism—those detestable mixtures of truth, lies, false sentiment, -false reasoning, bad grammar, correct and genuine philanthropy and -piety—I mean our religious tracts, which any woman or man, be he ever -so silly, can take upon himself to write, and sell for a penny, as if -religious instruction were the easiest thing in the world. We, I say, -have set the example in this kind of composition, and all the sects of -the earth will, doubtless, speedily follow it. I can point you out -blasphemies in famous pious tracts that are as dreadful as those above -mentioned; but this is no place for such discussions, and we had better -return to Madame Sand. As Mrs. Sherwood expounds, by means of many -touching histories and anecdotes of little boys and girls, her notions -of Church history, Church catechism, Church doctrine;—as the author of -<i>Father Clement, a Roman Catholic Story</i>, demolishes the stately -structure of eighteen centuries, the mighty and beautiful Roman Catholic -faith, in whose bosom repose so many saints and sages;—by the means of -a three-and-sixpenny duodecimo volume, which tumbles over the vast -fabric, as David’s pebble-stone did Goliath;—as, again, the Roman -Catholic author of <i>Geraldine</i> falls foul of Luther and Calvin, and -drowns the awful echoes of their tremendous protest by the sounds of her -little half-crown trumpet: in like manner, by means of pretty -sentimental tales, and cheap apologues, Mrs. Sand proclaims <i>her</i> -truth—that we need a new Messiah, and that the Christian religion is no -more! O awful, awful name of God! Light unbearable! Mystery -unfathomable! Vastness immeasurable!—Who are these who come forward to -explain the mystery, and gaze unblinking into the depths of the light, -and measure the immeasurable vastness to a hair? O name, that God’s -people of old did fear to utter! O light, that God’s prophet would have -perished had he seen! Who are these that are now so familiar with -it?—Women, truly; for the most part weak women—weak in intellect, weak -mayhap in spelling and grammar, but marvellously strong in -faith:—women, who step down to the people with stately step and voice -of authority, and deliver their twopenny tablets as if there were some -Divine authority for the wretched nonsense recorded there!</p> - -<p>With regard to the spelling and grammar, our Parisian Pythoness stands, -in the goodly fellowship, remarkable. Her style is a noble, and, as far -as a foreigner can judge, a strange tongue,<a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a> beautifully rich and pure. -She has a very exuberant imagination, and, with it, a very chaste style -of expression. She never scarcely indulges in declamation, as other -modern prophets do, and yet her sentences are exquisitely melodious and -full. She seldom runs a thought to death (after the manner of some -prophets, who, when they catch a little one, toy with it until they kill -it), but she leaves you at the end of one of her brief, rich, melancholy -sentences, with plenty of food for future cogitation. I can’t express to -you the charm of them; they seem to me like the sound of country -bells—provoking I don’t know what vein of musing and meditation, and -falling sweetly and sadly on the ear.</p> - -<p>This wonderful power of language must have been felt by most people who -read Madame Sand’s first books, <i>Valentine</i> and <i>Indiana</i>: in -<i>Spiridion</i> it is greater, I think, than ever; and for those who are not -afraid of the matter of the novel, the manner will be found most -delightful. The author’s intention, I presume, is to describe, in a -parable, her notions of the downfall of the Catholic Church; and, -indeed, of the whole Christian scheme: and she places her hero in a -monastery in Italy, where, among the characters about him, and the -events which occur, the particular tenets of Madame Dudevant’s doctrine -are not inaptly laid down. Innocent, faithful, tender-hearted, a young -monk, by name Angel, finds himself, when he has pronounced his vows, an -object of aversion and hatred to the godly men whose lives he so much -respects, and whose love he would make any sacrifice to win. After -enduring much, he flings himself at the feet of his confessor, and begs -for his sympathy and counsel; but the confessor spurns him away, and -accuses him, fiercely, of some unknown and terrible crime—bids him -never return to the confessional until contrition has touched his heart, -and the stains which sully his spirit are, by sincere repentance, washed -away.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Thus speaking,’ says Angel, ‘Father Hegesippus tore away his robe, -which I was holding in my supplicating hands. In a sort of wildness -I still grasped it tighter; he pushed me fiercely from him, and I -fell with my face towards the ground. He quitted me, closing -violently after him the door of the sacristy, in which this scene -had passed. I was left alone in the darkness. Either from the -violence of my fall, or the excess of my grief, a vein had burst in -my throat, and a hæmorrhage ensued. I had not the force to rise; I -felt my senses rapidly sinking, and, presently, I lay stretched on -the pavement, unconscious, and bathed in my blood.’</p></div> - -<p>Now the wonderful part of the story begins.<a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a></p> - -<p>‘I know not how much time I passed in this way. As I came to myself I -felt an agreeable coolness. It seemed as if some harmonious air was -playing round about me, stirring gently in my hair, and drying the drops -of perspiration on my brow. It seemed to approach, and then again to -withdraw, breathing now softly and sweetly in the distance, and now -returning, as if to give me strength and courage to rise.</p> - -<p>‘I would not, however, do so as yet; for I felt myself, as I lay, under -the influence of a pleasure quite new to me; and listened, in a kind of -peaceful aberration, to the gentle murmurs of the summer wind, as it -breathed on me through the closed window-blinds above me. Then I fancied -I heard a voice that spoke to me from the end of the sacristy: it -whispered so low that I could not catch the words. I remained -motionless, and gave it my whole attention. At last I heard, distinctly, -the following sentence:—<i>Spirit of Truth, raise up these victims of -ignorance and imposture</i>.” “Father Hegesippus,” said I, in a weak voice, -“is that you who are returning to me?” But no one answered. I lifted -myself on my hands and knees, I listened again, but I heard nothing. I -got up completely, and looked about me: I had fallen so near to the only -door in this little room, that none, after the departure of the -confessor, could have entered it without passing over me; besides, the -door was shut, and only opened from the inside by a strong lock of the -ancient shape. I touched it and assured myself that it was closed. I was -seized with terror, and, for some moments, did not dare to move. Leaning -against the door, I looked round, and endeavoured to see into the gloom -in which the angles of the room were enveloped. A pale light, which came -from an upper window, half closed, was to be seen trembling in the midst -of the apartment. The wind beat the shutter to and fro, and enlarged or -diminished the space through which the light issued. The objects which -were in this half light—the praying-desk, surmounted by its skull—a -few books lying on the benches—a surplice hanging against the -wall—seemed to move with the shadow of the foliage that the air -agitated behind the window. When I thought I was alone, I felt ashamed -of my former timidity; I made the sign of the cross, and was about to -move forward in order to open the shutter altogether, but a deep sigh -came from the praying-desk, and kept me nailed to my place. And yet I -saw the desk distinctly enough to be sure that no person was near it. -Then I had an idea which gave me courage. Some person, I thought, is -behind the shutter, and has been saying his prayers outside without -thinking of me. But who would be so bold as to express such wishes and -utter such a prayer as I had just heard?<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a></p> - -<p>‘Curiosity, the only passion and amusement permitted in a cloister, now -entirely possessed me, and I advanced towards the window. But I had not -made a step when a black shadow, as it seemed to me, detaching itself -from the praying-desk, traversed the room, directing itself towards the -window, and passed swiftly by me. The movement was so rapid that I had -not time to avoid what seemed a body advancing towards me, and my fright -was so great, that I thought I should faint a second time. But I felt -nothing, and, as if the shadow had passed through me, I saw it suddenly -disappear to my left.</p> - -<p>‘I rushed to the window, I pushed back the blind with precipitation, and -looked round the sacristy: I was there, entirely alone. I looked into -the garden: it was deserted, and the midday wind was wandering among the -flowers. I took courage, I examined all the corners of the room; I -looked behind the praying-desk, which was very large, and I shook all -the sacerdotal vestments which were hanging on the walls; everything was -in its natural condition, and could give me no explanation of what had -just occurred. The sight of all the blood I had lost led me to fancy -that my brain had, probably, been weakened by the hæmorrhage, and that I -had been a prey to some delusion. I retired to my cell, and remained -shut up there until the next day.’</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>I don’t know whether the reader has been as much struck with the above -mysterious scene as the writer has; but the fancy of it strikes me as -very fine; and the natural <i>supernaturalness</i> is kept up in the best -style. The shutter swaying to and fro, the fitful <i>light appearing</i> over -the furniture of the room, and giving it an air of strange motion—the -awful shadow which passed through the body of the timid young -novice—are surely very finely painted. ‘I rushed to the shutter, and -flung it back: there was no one in the sacristy. I looked into the -garden: it was deserted, and the midday wind was roaming among the -flowers.’ The dreariness is wonderfully described: only the poor pale -boy looking eagerly out from the window of the sacristy, and the hot -midday wind walking in the solitary garden. How skilfully is each of -these little strokes dashed in, and how well do all together combine to -make a picture! But we must have a little more about Spiridion’s -wonderful visitant.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>‘As I entered into the garden, I stepped a little on one side, to make -way for a person whom I saw before me. He was a young man of surprising -beauty, and attired in a foreign costume. Although dressed in the large -black robe which the superiors of our<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a> order wear, he had, underneath, a -short jacket of fine cloth, fastened round the waist by a leathern belt, -and a buckle of silver, after the manner of the old German students. -Like them, he wore, instead of the sandals of our monks, short tight -boots; and over the collar of his shirt, which fell on his shoulders, -and was as white as snow, hung, in rich golden curls, the most beautiful -hair I ever saw. He was tall, and his elegant posture seemed to reveal -to me that he was in the habit of commanding. With much respect, and yet -uncertain, I half saluted him. He did not return my salute; but he -smiled on me with so benevolent an air, and, at the same time, his eyes, -severe and blue, looked towards me with an expression of such -compassionate tenderness, that his features have never since then passed -away from my recollection. I stopped, hoping he would speak to me, and -persuading myself, from the majesty of his aspect, that he had the power -to protect me; but the monk, who was walking behind me, and who did not -seem to remark him in the least, forced him brutally to step aside from -the walk, and pushed me so rudely as almost to cause me to fall. Not -wishing to engage in a quarrel with this coarse monk, I moved away; but, -after having taken a few steps in the garden, I looked back, and saw the -unknown still gazing on me with looks of the tenderest solicitude. The -sun shone full upon him, and made his hair look radiant. He sighed and -lifted his fine eyes to heaven, as if to invoke its justice in my -favour, and to call it to bear witness to my misery; he turned slowly -towards the sanctuary, entered into the choir, and was lost, presently, -in the shade. I longed to return, in spite of the monk, to follow this -noble stranger, and to tell him my afflictions; but who was he that I -imagined he would listen to them, and cause them to cease? I felt, even -while his softness drew me towards him, that he still inspired me with a -kind of fear; for I saw in his physiognomy as much austerity as -sweetness.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Who was he?—we shall see that. He was somebody very mysterious indeed: -but our author has taken care, after the manner of her sex, to make a -very pretty fellow of him, and to dress him in the most becoming -costumes possible.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The individual in tight boots and a rolling collar, with the copious -golden locks, and the solemn blue eyes, who had just gazed on Spiridion, -and inspired him with such a feeling of tender awe, is a much more -important personage than the reader might suppose at first sight. This -beautiful, mysterious, dandy ghost, whose costume, with a true woman’s -coquetry, Madame Dudevant has so rejoiced to describe—is her religious -type, a mystical representation of Faith<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a> struggling up towards Truth, -through superstition, doubt, fear, reason,—in tight inexpressibles, -with ‘a belt such as is worn by the old German students.’ You will -pardon me for treating such an awful person as this somewhat lightly; -but there is always, I think, such a dash of the ridiculous in the -French sublime, that the critic should try and do justice to both, or he -may fail in giving a fair account of either. This character of -Hebronius, the type of Mrs. Sand’s convictions—if convictions they may -be called—or, at least, the allegory under which her doubts are -represented, is, in parts, very finely drawn; contains many passages of -truth, very deep and touching, by the side of others so entirely absurd -and unreasonable, that the reader’s feelings are continually swaying -between admiration and something very like contempt—always in a kind of -wonder at the strange mixture before him. But let us hear Madame Sand:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Peter Hebronius,’ says our author, ‘was not originally so named. -His real name was Samuel. He was a Jew, and born in a little -village in the neighbourhood of Innspruck. His family, which -possessed a considerable fortune, left him, in his early youth, -completely free to his own pursuits. From infancy he had shown that -these were serious. He loved to be alone; and passed his days, and -sometimes his nights, wandering among the mountains and valleys in -the neighbourhood of his birthplace. He would often sit by the -brink of torrents, listening to the voice of their waters, and -endeavouring to penetrate the meaning which Nature had hidden in -those sounds. As he advanced in years his inquiries became more -curious and more grave. It was necessary that he should receive a -solid education, and his parents sent him to study in the German -universities. Luther had been dead only a century, and his words -and his memory still lived in the enthusiasm of his disciples. The -new faith was strengthening the conquests it had made; the -Reformers were as ardent as in the first days, but their ardour was -more enlightened and more measured. Proselytism was still carried -on with zeal, and new converts were made every day. In listening to -the morality and to the dogmas which Lutheranism had taken from -Catholicism, Samuel was filled with admiration. His bold and -sincere spirit instantly compared the doctrines which were now -submitted to him, with those in the belief of which he had been -bred; and enlightened by the comparison, was not slow to -acknowledge the inferiority of Judaism. He said to himself, that a -religion made for a single people, to the exclusion of all -others—which only offered a barbarous justice for rule of -conduct—which neither rendered the present intelligible nor<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> -satisfactory, and left the future uncertain—could not be that of -noble souls and lofty intellects; and that he could not be the God -of truth who had dictated, in the midst of thunder, his vacillating -will, and had called to the performance of his narrow wishes the -slaves of a vulgar terror. Always conversant with himself, Samuel, -who had spoken what he thought, now performed what he had spoken; -and, a year after his arrival in Germany, solemnly abjured Judaism, -and entered into the bosom of the Reformed Church. As he did not -wish to do things by halves, and desired as much as was in him to -put off the old man and lead a new life, he changed his name of -Samuel to that of Peter. Some time passed, during which he -strengthened and instructed himself in his new religion. Very soon -he arrived at the point of searching for objections to refute, and -adversaries to overthrow. Bold and enterprising, he went at once to -the strongest, and Bossuet was the first Catholic author that he -set himself to read. He commenced with a kind of disdain; believing -that the faith which he had just embraced contained the pure truth, -he despised all the attacks which could be made against it, and -laughed already at the irresistible arguments which he was to find -in the works of the Eagle of Meaux. But his mistrust and irony soon -gave place to wonder first, and then to admiration; he thought that -the cause pleaded by such an advocate must, at least, be -respectable; and, by a natural transition, came to think that great -geniuses would only devote themselves to that which was great. He -then studied Catholicism with the same ardour and impartiality -which he had bestowed on Lutheranism. He went into France to gain -instruction from the professors of the Mother Church as he had from -the doctors of the Reformed creed in Germany. He saw Arnauld, -Fénelon, that second Gregory of Nazianzen, and Bossuet himself. -Guided by these masters, whose virtues made him appreciate their -talents the more, he rapidly penetrated to the depth of the -mysteries of the Catholic doctrine and morality. He found, in this -religion, all that had for him constituted the grandeur and beauty -of Protestantism—the dogmas of the Unity and Eternity of God, -which the two religions had borrowed from Judaism; and, what seemed -the natural consequence of the last doctrine—a doctrine, however, -to which the Jews had not arrived—the doctrine of the immortality -of the soul; free-will in this life; in the next, recompense for -the good, and punishment for the evil. He found, more pure, -perhaps, and more elevated in Catholicism than in Protestantism, -that sublime morality which preaches equality to man, fraternity, -love, charity, renouncement of self, devotion to your neighbour; -Catholicism, in a word, seemed<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> to possess that vast formula, and -that vigorous unity, which Lutheranism wanted. The latter had, -indeed, in its favour, the liberty of inquiry, which is also a want -of the human mind; and had proclaimed the authority of individual -reason: but it had so lost that which is the necessary basis and -vital condition of all revealed religion—the principle of -infallibility; because nothing can live except in virtue of the -laws that presided at its birth; and, in consequence, one -revelation cannot be continued and confirmed without another. Now, -infallibility is nothing but revelation continued by God, or the -Word, in the person of His vicars.</p></div> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>‘At last, after much reflection, Hebronius acknowledged himself entirely -and sincerely convinced, and received baptism from the hands of Bossuet. -He added the name of Spiridion to that of Peter, to signify that he had -been twice enlightened by the Spirit. Resolved thenceforward to -consecrate his life to the worship of the new God who had called him to -Him, and to the study of His doctrines, he passed into Italy, and, with -the aid of a large fortune, which one of his uncles, a Catholic like -himself, had left to him, he built this convent, where we now are.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>A friend of mine, who has just come from Italy, says that he has there -left Messrs. Sp——r, P——l, and W. Dr——d, who were the lights of -the great church in Newman Street, who were themselves apostles, and -declared and believed that every word of nonsense which fell from their -lips was a direct spiritual intervention. These gentlemen have become -Puseyites already, and are, my friend states, in the highway to -Catholicism. Madame Sand herself was a Catholic some time since: having -been converted to that faith along with M. N——, of the Academy of -Music; Mr. L——, the pianoforte player; and one or two other chosen -individuals, by the famous Abbé de la M——. Abbé de la M—— (so told -me, in the diligence, a priest, who read his breviary and gossiped -alternately very curiously and pleasantly) is himself an <i>âme perdue</i>: -the man spoke of his brother clergyman with actual horror; and it -certainly appears that the Abbé’s works of conversion have not -prospered; for Madame Sand, having brought her hero (and herself, as we -may presume) to the point of Catholicism, proceeds directly to dispose -of that as she has done of Judaism and Protestantism, and will not -leave, of the whole fabric of Christianity, a single stone standing.</p> - -<p>I think the fate of our English Newman Street apostles, and of M. de la -M——, the mad priest, and his congregation of mad converts, should be a -warning to such of us as are inclined to<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> dabble in religious -speculations; for in them, as in all others, our flighty brains soon -lose themselves, and we find our reason speedily lying prostrate at the -mercy of our passions; and I think that Madame Sand’s novel of -<i>Spiridion</i> may do a vast deal of good, and bears a good moral with it; -though not such an one, perhaps, as our fair philosopher intended. For -anything he learned, Samuel-Peter-Spiridion-Hebronius might have -remained a Jew from the beginning to the end. Wherefore be in such a -hurry to set up new faiths? Wherefore, Madame Sand, try and be so -preternaturally wise? Wherefore be so eager to jump out of one religion -for the purpose of jumping into another? See what good this -philosophical friskiness has done you, and on what sort of ground you -are come at last. You are so wonderfully sagacious, that you flounder in -mud at every step; so amazingly clear-sighted, that your eyes cannot see -an inch before you, having put out, with that extinguishing genius of -yours, every one of the lights that are sufficient for the conduct of -common men. And for what? Let our friend Spiridion speak for himself. -After setting up his convent, and filling it with monks, who entertain -an immense respect for his wealth and genius, Father Hebronius, -unanimously elected prior, gives himself up to further studies, and -leaves his monks to themselves. Industrious and sober as they were, -originally, they grow quickly intemperate and idle; and Hebronius, who -does not appear among his flock until he has freed himself of the -Catholic religion, as he has of the Jewish and the Protestant, sees, -with dismay, the evil condition of his disciples, and regrets, too late, -the precipitancy by which he renounced, then and for ever, Christianity.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘But as he had no new religion to adopt in its place, and as, grown -more prudent and calm, he did not wish to accuse himself -unnecessarily, once more, of inconstancy and apostasy, he still -maintained all the exterior forms of the worship which inwardly he -had abjured. But it was not enough for him to have quitted error, -it was necessary to discover truth. But Hebronius had well look -round to discover it; he could not find anything that resembled it. -Then commenced for him a series of sufferings, unknown and -terrible. Placed face to face with doubt, this sincere and -religious spirit was frightened at its own solitude; and as it had -no other desire nor aim on earth than truth, and nothing else here -below interested it, he lived absorbed in his own sad -contemplations, looking ceaselessly into the vague that surrounded -him like an ocean without bounds, and seeing the horizon retreat -and retreat as ever he wished to near it. Lost in this immense<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a> -uncertainty, he felt as if attacked by vertigo, and his thoughts -whirled within his brain. Then, fatigued with his vain toils and -hopeless endeavours, he would sink down depressed, unmanned, -life-wearied, only living in the sensation of that silent grief -which he felt and could not comprehend.’</p></div> - -<p>It is a pity that this hapless Spiridion, so eager in his passage from -one creed to another, and so loud in his profession of the truth, -wherever he fancied that he had found it, had not waited a little, -before he avowed himself either Catholic or Protestant, and implicated -others in errors and follies which might, at least, have been confined -to his own bosom, and there have lain comparatively harmless. In what a -pretty state, for instance, will Messrs. Dr——d and P——l have left -their Newman Street congregation, who are still plunged in their old -superstitions, from which their spiritual pastors and masters have been -set free! In what a state, too, do Mrs. Sand and her brother and sister -philosophers, Templars, Saint-Simonians, Founierites, Lerouxites, or -whatever the sect may be, leave the unfortunate people who have listened -to their doctrines, and who have not the opportunity, or the fiery -versatility of belief, which carries their teachers from one creed to -another, leaving only exploded lies and useless recantations behind -them! I wish the State would make a law that one individual should not -be allowed to preach more than one doctrine in his life; or, at any -rate, should be soundly corrected for every change of creed. How many -charlatans would have been silenced,—how much conceit would have been -kept within bounds,—how many fools, who are dazzled by fine sentences, -and made drunk by declamation, would have remained quiet and sober, in -that quiet and sober way of faith which their fathers held before them! -However, the reader will be glad to learn that, after all his doubts and -sorrows, Spiridion does discover the truth (<i>the</i> truth, what a wise -Spiridion!), and some discretion with it; for, having found among his -monks, who are dissolute, superstitious—and all hate him—one only -being, Fulgentius, who is loving, candid, and pious, he says to him:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘If you were like myself, if the first want of your nature were, -like mine, to know, I would, without hesitation, lay bare to you my -entire thoughts. I would make you drink the cup of truth, which I -myself have filled with so many tears, at the risk of intoxicating -you with the draught. But it is not so, alas! you are made to love -rather than to know, and your heart is stronger than your -intellect. You are attached to Catholicism—I believe<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> so, at -least—by bonds of sentiment which you could not break without -pain, and which if you were to break, the truth which I could lay -bare to you in return would not repay you for what you had -sacrificed. Instead of exalting, it would crush you, very likely. -It is a food too strong for ordinary men, and which, when it does -not revivify, smothers. I will not, then, reveal to you this -doctrine, which is the triumph of my life, and the consolation of -my last days; because it might, perhaps, be for you only a cause of -mourning and despair.... Of all the works which my long studies -have produced, there is one alone which I have not given to the -flames; for it alone is complete. In that you will find me entire, -and there <span class="smcap">LIES THE TRUTH</span>. And, as the sage has said you must not -bury your treasures in a well, I will not confide mine to the -brutal stupidity of these monks. But as this volume should only -pass into hands worthy to touch it, and be laid open for eyes that -are capable of comprehending its mysteries, I shall exact from the -reader one condition, which, at the same time, shall be a proof: I -shall carry it with me to the tomb, in order that he who one day -shall read it, may have courage enough to brave the vain terrors of -the grave, in searching for it amid the dust of my sepulchre. As -soon as I am dead, therefore, place this writing on my breast.... -Ah! when the time comes for reading it, I think my withered heart -will spring up again, as the frozen grass at the return of the sun, -and that, from the midst of its infinite transformations, my spirit -will enter into immediate communication with thine!’</p></div> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Does not the reader long to be at this precious manuscript, which -contains <span class="smcap">THE TRUTH</span>; and ought he not to be very much obliged to Mrs. -Sand for being so good as to print it for him? We leave all the story -aside: how Fulgentius had not the spirit to read the manuscript, but -left the secret to Alexis; how Alexis, a stern, old, philosophical, -unbelieving monk as ever was, tried in vain to lift the gravestone, but -was taken with fever, and obliged to forgo the discovery; and how, -finally, Angel, his disciple, a youth amiable and innocent as his name, -was the destined person who brought the long-buried treasure to light. -Trembling and delighted, the pair read this tremendous <span class="smcap">manuscript of -Spiridion</span>.</p> - -<p>Will it be believed, that of all the dull, vague, windy documents that -mortal ever set eyes on, this is the dullest? If this be absolute truth, -<i>à quoi bon</i> search for it, since we have long, long had the jewel in -our possession, or since, at least, it has been held up as such by every -sham philosopher who has had a mind to pass off his wares on the public? -Hear Spiridion:—<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘How much have I wept, how much have I suffered, how much have I -prayed, how much have I laboured, before I understood the cause and -the aim of my passage on this earth! After many incertitudes, after -much remorse, after many scruples, <i>I have comprehended that I was -a martyr</i>!—But why my martyrdom? said I; what crime did I commit -before I was born, thus to be condemned to labour and groaning, -from the hour when I first saw the day up to that when I am about -to enter into the night of the tomb?</p> - -<p>‘At last, by dint of imploring God—by dint of inquiry into the -history of man, a ray of the truth has descended on my brow, and -the shadows of the past have melted from before my eyes. I have -lifted a corner of the curtain: I have seen enough to know that my -life, like that of the rest of the human race, has been a series of -necessary errors, yet, to speak more correctly, of incomplete -truths, conducting, more or less slowly and directly, to absolute -truth and ideal perfection. But when will they rise on the face of -the earth—when will they issue from the bosom of the -Divinity—those generations who shall salute the august countenance -of Truth, and proclaim the reign of the ideal on earth? I see well -how humanity marches, but I neither can see its cradle nor its -apotheosis. Man seems to me a transitory race, between the beast -and the angel; but I know not how many centuries have been -required, that he might pass from the <i>state of brute to the state -of man</i>, and <i>I cannot tell how many ages are necessary that he may -pass from the state of man to the state of angel</i>!</p> - -<p>‘Yet I hope, and I feel within me, at the approach of death, that -which warns me that great destinies await humanity. In this life -all is over for me. Much have I striven to advance but little: I -have laboured without ceasing, and have done almost nothing. Yet, -after pains immeasurable, I die content, for I know that I have -done all I could, and am sure that the little I have done will not -be lost.</p> - -<p>‘What, then, have I done? this wilt thou demand of me, man of a -future age, who will seek for truth in the testaments of the past. -Thou who wilt be no more Catholic—no more Christian, thou wilt ask -of the poor monk, lying in the dust, an account of his life and -death. Thou wouldst know wherefore were his vows, why his -austerities, his labours, his retreat, his prayers?</p> - -<p>‘You who turn back to me, in order that I may guide you on your -road, and that you may arrive more quickly at the goal which it has -not been my lot to attain, pause, yet, for a moment, and look upon -the past history of humanity. You will see that its fate has been -ever to choose between the least of two evils, and<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> ever to commit -great faults in order to avoid others still greater. You will see -... on one side, the heathen mythology, that debased the spirit in -its efforts to deify the flesh; the austere Christian principle, -that debased the flesh too much, in order to raise the worship of -the spirit. You will see, afterwards, how the religion of Christ -embodies itself in a Church, and raises itself a generous -democratic power against the tyranny of princes. Later still, you -will see how that power has attained its end, and passed beyond it. -You will see it, having chained and conquered princes, league -itself with them, in order to oppress the people, and seize on -temporal power. Schism, then, raises up against it the standard of -revolt, and preaches the bold and legitimate principle of liberty -of conscience: but, also, you will see how this liberty of -conscience brings religious anarchy in its train; or, worse still, -religious indifference and disgust. And if your soul, shattered in -the tempestuous changes which you behold humanity undergoing, would -strike out for itself a passage through the rocks, amidst which, -like a frail bark, lies tossing trembling truth, you will be -embarrassed to choose between the new philosophers—who, in -preaching tolerance, destroy religious and social unity—and the -last Christians, who, to preserve society, that is, religion and -philosophy, are obliged to brave the principle of toleration. Man -of truth! to whom I address, at once, my instruction and my -justification, at the time when you shall live, the science of -truth no doubt will have advanced a step. Think, then, of all your -fathers have suffered, as, bending beneath the weight of their -ignorance and uncertainty, they have traversed the desert across -which, with so much pain, they have conducted thee! And if the -pride of thy young learning shall make thee contemplate the petty -strifes in which our life has been consumed, pause and tremble as -you think of that which is still unknown to yourself, and of the -judgment that your descendants will pass on you. Think of this, and -learn to respect all those who, seeking their way in all sincerity, -have wandered from the path, frightened by the storm, and sorely -tried by the severe hand of the All-Powerful. Think of this, and -prostrate yourself; for all these, even the most mistaken among -them, are saints and martyrs.</p> - -<p>‘Without their conquests and their defeats, thou wert in darkness -still. Yes, their failures, their errors even, have a right to your -respect; for man is weak.... Weep, then, for us obscure -travellers—unknown victims, who, by our mortal sufferings and -unheard-of labours, have prepared the way before you. Pity me, who, -having passionately loved justice, and perseveringly sought for -truth, only opened my eyes to shut them again for ever, and<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> saw -that I had been in vain endeavouring to support a ruin, to take -refuge in a vault of which the foundations were worn away.’</p></div> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>The rest of the book of Spiridion is made up of a history of the rise, -progress, and (what our philosopher is pleased to call) decay of -Christianity—of an assertion, that the ‘doctrine of Christ is -incomplete;’ that ‘Christ may, nevertheless, take his place in the -Panthéon of divine men!’ and of a long, disgusting, absurd, and impious -vision, in which the Saviour, Moses, David, and Elijah are represented, -and in which Christ is made to say: ‘<i>We are all Messiahs</i>, when we wish -to bring the reign of truth upon earth; we are all Christs, when we -suffer for it!’</p> - -<p>And this is the ultimatum, the supreme secret, the absolute truth! and -it has been published by Mrs. Sand, for so many napoleons per sheet, in -the <i>Revue des Deux Mondes</i>; and the Deux Mondes are to abide by it for -the future! After having attained it, are we a whit wiser? ‘Man is -between an angel and a beast: I don’t know how long it is since he was a -brute—I can’t say how long it will be before he is an angel.’ Think of -people living by their wits, and living by such a wit as this! Think of -the state of mental debauch and disease which must have been passed -through, ere such words could be written, and could be popular!</p> - -<p>When a man leaves our dismal, smoky London atmosphere, and breathes, -instead of coal-smoke and yellow fog, this bright, clear French air, he -is quite intoxicated by it at first, and feels a glow in his blood, and -a joy in his spirits, which scarcely thrice in a year, and then only at -a distance from London, he can attain in England. Is the intoxication, I -wonder, permanent among the natives? and may we not account for the ten -thousand frantic freaks of these people by the peculiar influence of -French air and sun? The philosophers are from night to morning drunk, -the politicians are drunk, the literary men reel and stagger from one -absurdity to another, and bow shall we understand their vagaries? Let us -suppose, charitably, that Madame Sand had inhaled a more than ordinary -quantity of this laughing gas when she wrote for us this precious -manuscript of <i>Spiridion</i>. That great destinies are in prospect for the -human race we may fancy, without her ladyship’s word for it: but more -liberal than she, and having a little retrospective charity, as well as -that easy prospective benevolence which Mrs. Sand adopts, let us try and -think there is some hope for our fathers (who were nearer brutality than -ourselves, according to the Sandean creed), or else there is a very poor -chance for us, who, great philosophers as we are, are yet, alas! far -removed<a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a> from that angelic consummation which all must wish for so -devoutly. She cannot say—is it not extraordinary?—how many centuries -have been necessary before man could pass from the brutal state to his -present condition, or how many ages will be required ere we may pass -from the state of man to the state of angel! What the deuce is the use -of chronology or philosophy?—We were beasts, and we can’t tell when our -tails dropped off: we shall be angels; but when our wings are to begin -to sprout, who knows? In the meantime, O man of genius, follow our -counsel: lead an easy life, don’t stick at trifles: never mind about -<i>duty</i>, it is only made for slaves; if the world reproach you, reproach -the world in return, you have a good loud tongue in your head; if your -straitlaced morals injure your mental respiration, fling off the -old-fashioned stays, and leave your free limbs to rise and fall as -Nature pleases; and when you have grown pretty sick of your liberty, and -yet unfit to return to restraint, curse the world, and scorn it, and be -miserable, like my Lord Byron and other philosophers of his kidney; or -else mount a step higher, and, with conceit still more monstrous, and -mental vision still more wretchedly debauched and weak, begin suddenly -to find yourself afflicted with a maudlin compassion for the human race, -and a desire to set them right after your own fashion. There is the -quarrelsome stage of drunkenness, when a man can as yet walk and speak, -when he can call names, and fling plates and wine-glasses at his -neighbour’s head with a pretty good aim; after this comes the pathetic -stage, when the patient becomes wondrous philanthropic, and weeps -wildly, as he lies in the gutter, and fancies he is at home in -bed—where he ought to be: but this is an allegory.</p> - -<p>I don’t wish to carry this any further, or to say a word in defence of -the doctrine which Mrs. Dudevant has found ‘incomplete’;—here, at -least, is not the place for discussing its merits, any more than Mrs. -Sand’s book was the place for exposing, forsooth, its errors: our -business is only with the day and the new novels, and the clever or -silly people who write them. Oh! if they but knew their places, and -would keep to them, and drop their absurd philosophical jargon! Not all -the big words in the world can make Mrs. Sand talk like a philosopher: -when will she go back to her old trade, of which she was the very ablest -practitioner in France?</p> - -<p>I should have been glad to give some extracts from the dramatic and -descriptive parts of the novel, that cannot, in point of style and -beauty, be praised too highly. One must suffice,—it is the descent of -Alexis to seek that unlucky manuscript, <i>Spiridion</i>.<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘It seemed to me,’ he begins, ‘that the descent was eternal; and -that I was burying myself in the depths of Erebus: at last, I -reached a level place, and I heard a mournful voice deliver these -words, as it were, to the secret centre of the earth—<i>He will -mount that ascent no more!</i>”—Immediately I heard arise towards me, -from the depth of invisible abysses, a myriad of formidable voices -united in a strange chant—<i>Let us destroy him! Let him be -destroyed! What does he here among the dead? Let him be delivered -back to torture! Let him be given again to life!</i>”</p> - -<p>‘Then a feeble light began to pierce the darkness, and I perceived -that I stood on the lowest step of a staircase, vast as the foot of -a mountain. Behind me were thousands of steps of lurid iron; before -me, nothing but a void—an abyss, and ether; the blue gloom of -midnight beneath my feet, as above my head. I became delirious, and -quitting that staircase, which methought it was impossible for me -to reascend, I sprang forth into the void with an execration. But, -immediately, when I had uttered the curse, the void began to be -filled with forms and colours, and I presently perceived that I was -in a vast gallery, along which I advanced, trembling. There was -still darkness round me; but the hollows of the vaults gleamed with -a red light, and showed me the strange and hideous forms of their -building.... I did not distinguish the nearest objects; but those -towards which I advanced assumed an appearance more and more -ominous, and my terror increased with every step I took. The -enormous pillars which supported the vault, and the tracery thereof -itself, were figures of men, of supernatural stature, delivered to -tortures without a name. Some hung by their feet, and, locked in -the coils of monstrous serpents, clenched their teeth in the marble -of the pavement; others, fastened by their waists, were dragged -upwards, these by their feet, those by their heads, towards -capitals, where other figures stooped towards them, eager to -torment them. Other pillars, again, represented a struggling mass -of figures devouring one another; each of which only offered a -trunk severed to the knees or to the shoulders, the fierce heads -whereof retained life enough to seize and devour that which was -near them. There were some who, half hanging down, agonised -themselves by attempting, with their upper limbs, to flay the lower -moiety of their bodies, which drooped from the columns, or were -attached to the pedestals; and others, who, in their fight with -each other, were dragged along by morsels of flesh—grasping which, -they clung to each other with a countenance of unspeakable hate and -agony. Along, or rather in place of, the frieze, there were on -either side a range of unclean beings, wearing the human form,<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a> but -of a loathsome ugliness, busied in tearing human corpses to -pieces—in feasting upon their limbs and entrails. From the vault, -instead of bosses and pendants, hung the crushed and wounded forms -of children; as if, to escape these eaters of man’s flesh, they -would throw themselves downwards, and be dashed to pieces on the -pavement.... The silence and motionlessness of the whole added to -its awfulness. I became so faint with terror, that I stopped, and -would fain have returned. But at that moment I heard, from the -depths of the gloom through which I had passed, confused noises, -like those of a multitude on its march. And the sounds soon became -more distinct, and the clamour fiercer, and the steps came hurrying -on tumultuously—at every new burst nearer, more violent, more -threatening. I thought that I was pursued by this disorderly crowd; -and I strove to advance, hurrying into the midst of those dismal -sculptures. Then it seemed as if those figures began to heave—and -to sweat blood—and their beady eyes to move in their sockets. At -once I beheld that they were all looking upon me, that they were -all leaning towards me,—some with frightful derision, others with -furious aversion. Every arm was raised against me, and they made as -though they would crush me with the quivering limbs they had torn -one from the other.’</p></div> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>It is, indeed, a pity that the poor fellow gave himself the trouble to -go down into damp unwholesome graves, for the purpose of fetching up a -few trumpery sheets of manuscript; and if the public has been rather -tired with their contents, and is disposed to ask why Mrs. Sand’s -religious or irreligious notions are to be brought forward to people who -are quite satisfied with their own, we can only say that this lady is -the representative of a vast class of her countrymen, whom the wits and -philosophers of the eighteenth century have brought to this condition. -The leaves of the Diderot and Rousseau tree have produced this goodly -fruit: here it is, ripe, bursting, and ready to fall;—and how to fall? -Heaven send that it may drop easily, for all can see that the time is -come.<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CASE_OF_PEYTEL" id="THE_CASE_OF_PEYTEL"></a>THE CASE OF PEYTEL<br /><br /> -<small>IN A LETTER TO EDWARD BRIEFLESS, ESQUIRE, OF PUMP COURT, TEMPLE</small></h2> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Paris</span>: <i>November</i> 1839.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">My dear Briefless</span>—Two months since, when the act of accusation first -appeared, containing the sum of the charges against Sebastian Peytel, -all Paris was in a fervour on the subject. The man’s trial speedily -followed, and kept for three days the public interest wound up to a -painful point. He was found guilty of double murder at the beginning of -September; and, since that time, what with Maroto’s disaffection and -Turkish news, we have had leisure to forget Monsieur Peytel, and to -occupy ourselves with <span title="Greek: ti neon">τι νἑον</span>. Perhaps Monsieur de Balzac -helped to smother what little sparks of interest might still have -remained for the murderous notary. Balzac put forward a letter in his -favour, so very long, so very dull, so very pompous, promising so much, -and performing so little, that the Parisian public gave up Peytel and -his case altogether; nor was it until to-day that some small feeling was -raised concerning him, when the newspapers brought the account how -Peytel’s head had been cut off at Bourg.</p> - -<p>He had gone through the usual miserable ceremonies and delays which -attend what is called, in this country, the march of justice. He had -made his appeal to the Court of Cassation, which had taken time to -consider the verdict of the Provincial Court, and had confirmed it. He -had made his appeal for mercy; his poor sister coming up all the way -from Bourg (a sad journey, poor thing!) to have an interview with the -King, who had refused to see her. Last Monday morning, at nine o’clock, -an hour before Peytel’s breakfast, the Greffier of Assize Court, in -company with the Curé of Bourg, waited on him, and informed him that he -had only three hours to live. At twelve o’clock, Peytel’s head was off -his body; an executioner from Lyons had come over the night before, to -assist the professional throat-cutter of Bourg.</p> - -<p>I am not going to entertain you with any sentimental lamentations for -this scoundrel’s fate, or to declare my belief in his innocence, as -Monsieur de Balzac has done. As far as moral conviction can go, the -man’s guilt is pretty clearly brought home to him. But any man who has -read the ‘Causes Célèbres,’ knows that men have been convicted and -executed upon evidence ten times more powerful than that which was -brought against Peytel. His own account of<a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a> his horrible case may be -true; there is nothing adduced in the evidence which is strong enough to -overthrow it. It is a serious privilege, God knows, that society takes -upon itself, at any time, to deprive one of God’s creatures of -existence. But when the slightest doubt remains, what a tremendous risk -does it incur! In England, thank Heaven, the law is more wise and more -merciful: an English jury would never have taken a man’s blood upon such -testimony; an English judge and Crown advocate would never have acted as -these Frenchmen have done: the latter inflaming the public mind by -exaggerated appeals to their passions; the former seeking, in every way, -to draw confessions from the prisoner, to perplex and confound him, to -do away, by fierce cross-questioning and bitter remarks from the bench, -with any effect that his testimony might have on the jury. I don’t mean -to say that judges and lawyers have been more violent and inquisitorial -against the unhappy Peytel than against any one else; it is the fashion -of the country; a man is guilty until he proves himself to be innocent; -and to batter down his defence, if he have any, there are the lawyers, -with all their horrible ingenuity, and their captivating passionate -eloquence. It is hard thus to set the skilful and tried champions of the -law against men unused to this kind of combat; nay, give a man all the -legal aid that he can purchase or procure, still, by this plan, you take -him at a cruel unmanly disadvantage; he has to fight against the law, -clogged with the dreadful weight of his presupposed guilt. Thank God -that, in England, things are not managed so!</p> - -<p>However, I am not about to entertain you with ignorant disquisitions -about the law. Peytel’s case may, nevertheless, interest you, for the -tale is a very stirring and mysterious one; and you may see how easy a -thing it is for a man’s life to be talked away in France, if ever he -should happen to fall under the suspicion of a crime. The French ‘acte -d’accusation’ begins in the following manner:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Of all the events which in these latter times have afflicted the -department of the Ain, there is none which has caused a more -profound and lively sensation than the tragical death of the lady, -Félicité Alcazar, wife of Sebastian Benedict Peytel, notary, at -Belley. At the end of October 1838, Madame Peytel quitted that -town, with her husband, and their servant Louis Rey, in order to -pass a few days at Mâcon; at midnight, the inhabitants of Belley -were suddenly awakened by the arrival of Monsieur Peytel, by his -cries, and by the signs which he exhibited of the most lively -agitation: he implored the succours of all the physicians in the -town; knocked violently at their doors; rung at the bells of their -houses with a sort of frenzy, and announced that his wife, -stretched out,<a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a> and dying, in his carriage, had just been shot, on -the Lyons road, by his domestic, whose life Peytel himself had -taken.</p> - -<p>‘At this recital a number of persons assembled, and what a -spectacle was presented to their eyes!</p> - -<p>‘A young woman lay at the bottom of a carriage, deprived of life; -her whole body was wet, and seemed as if it had just been plunged -into the water. She appeared to be severely wounded in the face; -and her garments, which were raised up, in spite of the cold and -rainy weather, left the upper part of her knees almost entirely -exposed. At the sight of this half-naked and inanimate body, all -the spectators were affected. People said that the first duty to -pay to a dying woman, was, to preserve her from the cold, to cover -her. A physician examined the body; he declared that all remedies -were useless; that Madame Peytel was dead and cold.</p> - -<p>‘The entreaties of Peytel were redoubled; he demanded fresh -succours, and, giving no heed to the fatal assurance which had just -been given him, required that all the physicians in the place -should be sent for. A scene so strange and so melancholy; the -incoherent account given by Peytel of the murder of his wife; his -extraordinary movements; and the avowal which he continued to make, -that he had despatched the murderer, Rey, with strokes of his -hammer, excited the attention of Lieutenant Wolf, commandant of -gendarmes: that officer gave orders for the immediate arrest of -Peytel; but the latter threw himself into the arms of a friend, who -interceded for him, and begged the police not immediately to seize -upon his person.</p> - -<p>‘The corpse of Madame Peytel was transported to her apartment; the -bleeding body of the domestic was likewise brought from the road, -where it lay; and Peytel, asked to explain the circumstance, did -so.’</p></div> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Now, as there is little reason to tell the reader, when an English -counsel has to prosecute a prisoner, on the part of the Crown, for a -capital offence, he produces the articles of his accusation in the most -moderate terms, and especially warns the jury to give the accused person -the benefit of every possible doubt that the evidence may give, or may -leave. See how these things are managed in France, and how differently -the French counsel for the Crown sets about his work.</p> - -<p>He first prepares his act of accusation, the opening of which we have -just read; it is published six days before the trial, so that an -unimpassioned, unprejudiced jury has ample time to study it, and to form -its opinions accordingly, and to go into court with a happy, just -prepossession against the prisoner.</p> - -<p>Read the first part of the Peytel act of accusation; it is as<a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a> turgid -and declamatory as a bad romance; and as inflated as a newspaper -document by an unlimited penny-a-liner:—‘The department of the Ain is -in a dreadful state of excitement; the inhabitants of Belley come -trooping from their beds,—and what a sight do they behold:—a young -woman at the bottom of a carriage, <i>toute ruisselante</i>, just out of a -river; her garments, in spite of the cold and rain, raised, so as to -leave the upper part of her knee entirely exposed, at which all the -beholders were affected, and cried, that the <i>first duty</i> was to cover -her from the cold.’ This settles the case at once; the first duty of a -man is to cover the legs of the sufferer; the second to call for help. -The eloquent ‘Substitut du Procureur du Roi’ has prejudged the case, in -the course of a few sentences. He is putting his readers, among whom his -future jury is to be found, into a proper state of mind; he works on -them with pathetic description, just as a romance-writer would: the rain -pours in torrents: it is a dreary evening in November; the young -creature’s situation is neatly described; the distrust which entered -into the breast of the keen old officer of gendarmes strongly painted, -the suspicions which might, or might not, have been entertained by the -inhabitants, eloquently argued. How did the advocate know that the -people had such? did all the bystanders say aloud, ‘I suspect that this -is a case of murder by Monsieur Peytel, and that his story about the -domestic is all deception’? or did they go off to the mayor, and -register their suspicion? or was the advocate there to hear them? Not -he; but he paints you the whole scene as though it had existed, and -gives full accounts of suspicions as if they had been facts, positive, -patent, staring, that everybody could see and swear to.</p> - -<p>Having thus primed his audience, and prepared them for the testimony of -the accused party, ‘Now,’ says he, with a fine show of justice, ‘let us -hear Monsieur Peytel;’ and that worthy’s narrative is given as -follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘He said that he had left Mâcon on the 31st October, at eleven -o’clock in the morning, in order to return to Belley, with his wife -and servant. The latter drove, or led, an open car; he himself was -driving his wife in a four-wheeled carriage, drawn by one horse: -they reached Bourg at five o’clock in the evening; left it at -seven, to sleep at Pont d’Ain, where they did not arrive before -midnight. During the journey, Peytel thought he remarked that Rey -had slackened his horse’s pace. When they alighted at the inn, -Peytel bade him deposit in his chamber 7500 francs, which he -carried with him; but the domestic refused to do so, saying <a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>that -the inn gates were secure, and there was no danger. Peytel was, -therefore, obliged to carry his money upstairs himself. The next -day, the 1st November, they set out on their journey again, at nine -o’clock in the morning; Louis did not come, according to custom, to -take his master’s orders. They arrived at Tenay about three, -stopped there a couple of hours to dine, and it was eight o’clock -when they reached the bourg of Rossillon, where they waited half an -hour to bait the horses.</p> - -<p>‘As they left Rossillon, the weather became bad, and the rain began -to fall: Peytel told his domestic to get a covering for the -articles in the open chariot; but Rey refused to do so, adding, in -an ironical tone, that the weather was fine. For some days past, -Peytel had remarked that his servant was gloomy, and scarcely spoke -at all.</p> - -<p>‘After they had gone about five hundred paces beyond the bridge of -Andert, that crosses the river Furans, and ascended to the least -steep part of the hill of Darde, Peytel cried out to his servant, -who was seated in the car, to come down from it, and finish the -ascent on foot.</p> - -<p>‘At this moment a violent wind was blowing from the south, and the -rain was falling heavily: Peytel was seated back in the right -corner of the carriage, and his wife, who was close to him, was -asleep, with her head on his left shoulder. All of a sudden he -heard the report of a firearm (he had seen the light of it at some -paces’ distance), and Madame Peytel cried out, ‘My poor husband, -take your pistols;’ the horse was frightened, and began to trot. -Peytel immediately drew a pistol, and fired, from the interior of -the carriage, upon an individual whom he saw running by the side of -the road.</p> - -<p>‘Not knowing, as yet, that his wife had been hit, he jumped out on -one side of the carriage, while Madame Peytel descended from the -other; and he fired a second pistol at his domestic, Louis Rey, -whom he had just recognised. Redoubling his pace, he came up with -Rey, and struck him, from behind, a blow with the hammer. Rey -turned at this, and raised up his arm to strike his master with the -pistol which he had just discharged at him; but Peytel, more quick -than he, gave the domestic a blow with the hammer, which felled him -to the ground (he fell his face forwards), and then Peytel, -bestriding the body, despatched him, although the brigand asked for -mercy.</p> - -<p>‘He now began to think of his wife; and ran back, calling out her -name repeatedly, and seeking for her, in vain, on both sides of the -road. Arrived at the bridge of Andert, he recognised his wife, -stretched in a field, covered with water, which bordered the -Furans. This horrible discovery had so much the more astonished<a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a> -him, because he had no idea until now, that his wife had been -wounded: he endeavoured to draw her from the water; and it was only -after considerable exertions that he was enabled to do so, and to -place her, with her face towards the ground, on the side of the -road. Supposing that, here, she would be sheltered from any further -danger, and believing, as yet, that she was only wounded, he -determined to ask for help at a lone house, situated on the road -towards Rossillon; and at this instant he perceived, without at all -being able to explain how, that his horse had followed him back to -the spot, having turned back of its own accord, from the road to -Belley.</p> - -<p>‘The house at which he knocked was inhabited by two men, of the -name Thannet, father and son, who opened the door to him, and whom -he entreated to come to his aid, saying that his wife had just been -assassinated by his servant. The elder Thannet approached to, and -examined the body, and told Peytel that it was quite dead; he and -his son took up the corpse, and placed it in the bottom of the -carriage, which they all mounted themselves, and pursued their -route to Belley. In order to do so, they had to pass by Rey’s body, -on the road, which Peytel wished to crush under the wheels of his -carriage. It was to rob him of 7500 francs, said Peytel, that the -attack had been made.’</p></div> - -<p>Our friend, the Procureur’s Substitut, has dropped, here, the eloquent -and pathetic style altogether, and only gives the unlucky prisoner’s -narrative in the baldest and most unimaginative style. How is a jury to -listen to such a fellow? they ought to condemn him, if but for making -such an uninteresting statement. Why not have helped poor Peytel with -some of those rhetorical graces which have been so plentifully bestowed -in the opening part of the act of accusation? He might have said:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Monsieur Peytel is an eminent notary at Belley; he is a man -distinguished for his literary and scientific acquirements; he has -lived long in the best society of the capital; he had been but a -few months married to that young and unfortunate lady, whose loss -has plunged her bereaved husband into despair—almost into madness. -Some early differences had marked, it is true, the commencement of -their union; but these,—which, as can be proved by evidence, were -almost all the unhappy lady’s fault,—had happily ceased, to give -place to sentiments far more delightful and tender. Gentlemen, -Madame Peytel bore in her bosom a sweet pledge of future concord -between herself and her husband: in three brief months she was to -become a mother.<a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a></p> - -<p>‘In the exercise of his honourable profession,—in which, to -succeed, a man must not only have high talents, but undoubted -probity,—and, gentlemen, Monsieur Peytel <i>did</i> succeed—<i>did</i> -inspire respect and confidence, as you, his neighbours, well -know;—in the exercise, I say, of his high calling, Monsieur -Peytel, towards the end of October last, had occasion to make a -journey in the neighbourhood, and visit some of his many clients.</p> - -<p>‘He travelled in his own carriage, his young wife beside him. Does -this look like want of affection, gentlemen? or is it not a mark of -love—of love and paternal care on his part towards the being with -whom his lot in life was linked,—the mother of his coming -child,—the young girl, who had everything to gain from the union -with a man of his attainments of intellect, his kind temper, his -great experience, and his high position? In this manner they -travelled, side by side, lovingly together. Monsieur Peytel was not -a lawyer merely; but a man of letters and varied learning; of the -noble and sublime science of geology he was, especially, an ardent -devotee.’</p></div> - -<p>(Suppose, here, a short panegyric upon geology. Allude to the creation -of this mighty world, and then, naturally, to the Creator. Fancy the -conversations which Peytel, a religious man,<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> might have with his -young wife upon the subject.)</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Monsieur Peytel had lately taken into his service a man named -Louis Rey. Rey was a foundling, and had passed many years in a -regiment—a school, gentleman, where much besides bravery, alas! is -taught; nay, where the spirit which familiarises one with notions -of battle and death, I fear, may familiarise one with ideas, too, -of murder. Rey, a dashing reckless fellow, from the army, had -lately entered Peytel’s service; was treated by him with the most -singular kindness; accompanied him (having charge of another -vehicle) upon the journey before alluded to; and <i>knew that his -master carried with him a considerable sum of money</i>; for a man -like Rey an enormous sum, 7500 francs. At midnight on the 1st of -November, as Madame Peytel and her husband were returning home, an -attack was made upon their carriage. Remember, gentlemen, the hour -at which the attack was made; remember the sum of money that was in -the carriage; and remember that the Savoy frontier <i>is within a -league of the spot</i> where the desperate deed was done.’</p></div> - -<p>Now, my dear Briefless, ought not Monsieur Procureur, in common justice -to Peytel, after he had so eloquently proclaimed, <a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>not the facts, but -the suspicions, which weighed against that worthy, to have given a -similar florid account of the prisoner’s case? Instead of this, you will -remark, that it is the advocate’s endeavour to make Peytel’s statements -as uninteresting in style as possible; and then he demolishes them in -the following way:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Scarcely was Peytel’s statement known, but the common sense of the -public rose against it. Peytel had commenced his story upon the -bridge of Andert, over the cold body of his wife. On the 2nd -November he had developed it in detail, in the presence of the -physicians, in the presence of the assembled neighbours—of the -persons who, on the day previous only, were his friends. Finally, -he had completed it in his interrogatories, his conversations, his -writings, and letters to the magistrates; and everywhere these -words, repeated so often, were only received with a painful -incredulity. The fact was, that, besides the singular character -which Peytel’s appearance, attitude, and talk had worn ever since -the event, there was in his narrative an inexplicable enigma; its -contradictions and impossibilities were such, that calm persons -were revolted at it, and that even friendship itself refused to -believe it.’</p></div> - -<p>Thus Mr. Attorney speaks, not for himself alone, but for the whole -French public; whose opinions, of course, he knows. Peytel’s statement -is discredited <i>everywhere</i>; the statement which he had made over the -cold body of his wife—the monster! It is not enough simply to prove -that the man committed the murder, but to make the jury violently angry -against him, and cause them to shudder in the jury-box, as he exposes -the horrid details of the crime.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Justice,’ goes on Mr. Substitute (who answers for the feelings of -everybody), ‘<i>disturbed by the preoccupations of public opinion</i>, -commenced, without delay, the most active researches. The bodies of -the victims were submitted to the investigations of men of art; the -wounds and projectiles were examined; the place where the event -took place explored with care. The morality of the authors of this -frightful scene became the object of rigorous examination; the -<i>exigences</i> of the prisoner, the forms affected by him, his -calculated silence, and his answers, coldly insulting, were feeble -obstacles; and justice at length arrived, by its prudence, and by -the discoveries it made, to the most cruel point of certainty.’</p></div> - -<p>You see that a man’s demeanour is here made a crime against<a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> him; and -that Mr. Substitute wishes to consider him guilty, because he has -actually the audacity to hold his tongue. Now follows a touching -description of the domestic, Louis Rey:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘Louis Rey, a child of the Hospital at Lyons, was confided, at a -very early age, to some honest country-people, with whom he stayed -until he entered the army. At their house, and during this long -period of time, his conduct, his intelligence, and the sweetness of -his manners, were such, that the family of his guardians became to -him as an adopted family; and that his departure caused them the -most sincere affliction. When Louis quitted the army, he returned -to his benefactors, and was received as a son. They found him just -as they had ever known him’ (I acknowledge that this pathos beats -my humble defence of Rey entirely), ‘except that he had learned to -read and write; and the certificates of his commanders proved him -to be a good and gallant soldier.</p> - -<p>‘The necessity of creating some resources for himself obliged him -to quit his friends, and to enter the service of Monsieur de -Montrichard, a lieutenant of gendarmerie, from whom he received -fresh testimonials of regard. Louis, it is true, might have a -fondness for wine and a passion for women; but he had been a -soldier, and these faults were, according to the witnesses, amply -compensated for by his activity, his intelligence, and the -agreeable manner in which he performed his service. In the month of -July 1839, Rey quitted, voluntarily, the service of M. de -Montrichard; and Peytel, about this period, meeting him at Lyons, -did not hesitate to attach him to his service. Whatever may be the -prisoner’s present language, it is certain that, up to the day of -Louis’s death, he served Peytel with diligence and fidelity.</p> - -<p>‘More than once his master and mistress spoke well of him. -<i>Everybody</i> who has worked, or been at the house of Madame Peytel, -has spoken in praise of his character; and, indeed, it may be said, -that these testimonials were general.</p> - -<p>‘On the very night of the 1st of November, and immediately after -the catastrophe, we remark how Peytel begins to make insinuations -against his servant; and how artfully, in order to render them more -sure, he disseminates them through the different parts of his -narrative. But, in the course of the proceeding, these charges have -met with a most complete denial. Thus we find the disobedient -servant who, at Pont d’Ain, refused to carry the money-chest to his -master’s room, under the pretext that the gates of the inn were -closed securely, occupied with tending the horses after their long -journey; meanwhile Peytel was standing by, and neither master nor -servant exchanged a word, and the<a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a> witnesses who beheld them both -have borne testimony to the zeal and care of the domestic.</p> - -<p>‘In like manner, we find that the servant, who was so remiss in the -morning as to neglect to go to his master for orders, was ready for -departure before seven o’clock, and had eagerly informed himself -whether Monsieur and Madame Peytel were awake; learning, from the -maid of the inn, that they had ordered nothing for their breakfast. -This man, who refused to carry with him a covering for the car, -was, on the contrary, ready to take off his own cloak, and with it -shelter articles of small value; this man, who had been for many -days so silent and gloomy, gave, on the contrary, many proofs of -his gaiety—almost of his indiscretion, speaking, at all the inns, -in terms of praise of his master and mistress. The waiter at the -inn at Dauphin says he was a tall young fellow, mild and -good-natured; “we talked for some time about horses, and such -things; he seemed to be perfectly natural, and not preoccupied at -all.” At Pont d’Ain, he talked of his being a foundling; of the -place where he had been brought up, and where he had served; and -finally, at Rossillon, an hour before his death, he conversed -familiarly with the master of the port, and spoke on indifferent -subjects.</p> - -<p>‘All Peytel’s insinuations against his servant had no other end -than to show, in every point of Rey’s conduct, the behaviour of a -man who was premeditating attack. Of what, in fact, does he accuse -him? Of wishing to rob him of 7500 francs, and of having had -recourse to assassination in order to effect the robbery. But, for -a premeditated crime, consider what singular improvidence the -person showed who had determined on committing it; what folly and -what weakness there is in the execution of it.</p> - -<p>‘How many insurmountable obstacles are there in the way of -committing and profiting by crime! On leaving Belley, Louis Rey, -according to Peytel’s statement, knowing that his master would -return with money, provided himself with a holster pistol, which -Madame Peytel had once before perceived among his effects. In -Peytel’s cabinet there were some balls; four of these were found in -Rey’s trunk, on the 6th of November. And, in order to commit the -crime, this domestic had brought away with him a pistol, and no -ammunition! for Peytel has informed us that Rey, an hour before his -departure from Mâcon, purchased six balls at a gunsmith’s. To gain -his point, the assassin must immolate his victims; for this, he has -only one pistol, knowing, perfectly well, that Peytel, in all his -travels, had two on his person; knowing that, at a late hour of the -night, his shot might fail of effect; and that, in this case, he -would be left to the mercy of his opponent.<a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a></p> - -<p>‘The execution of the crime is, according to Peytel’s account, -still more singular. Louis does not get off the carriage until -Peytel tells him to descend. He does not think of taking his -master’s life until he is sure that the latter has his eyes open. -It is dark, and the pair are covered in one cloak; and Rey only -fires at them at six paces’ distance: he fires at hazard, without -disquieting himself as to the choice of his victim; and the -soldier, who was bold enough to undertake this double murder, has -not force nor courage to consummate it. He flies, carrying in his -hand a useless whip, with a heavy mantle on his shoulders, in spite -of the detonation of two pistols at his ears, and the rapid steps -of an angry master in pursuit, which ought to have set him upon -some better means of escape. And we find this man, full of youth -and vigour, lying with his face to the ground, in the midst of a -public road, falling without a struggle, or resistance, under the -blows of a hammer!</p> - -<p>‘And suppose the murderer had succeeded in his criminal projects, -what fruit could he have drawn from them?—Leaving on the road the -two bleeding bodies; obliged to lead two carriages at a time, for -fear of discovery; not able to return himself, after all the pains -he had taken to speak, at every place at which they had stopped, of -the money which his master was carrying with him; too prudent to -appear alone at Belley; arrested at the frontier, by the excise -officers, who would present an impassable barrier to him till -morning,—what could he do, or hope to do? The examination of the -car has shown that Rey, at the moment of the crime, had neither -linen, nor clothes, nor effects of any kind. There was found in his -pockets, when the body was examined, no passport, nor certificate; -one of his pockets contained a ball, of large calibre, which he had -shown, in play, to a girl, at the inn at Mâcon, a little -horn-handled knife, a snuff-box, a little packet of gunpowder, and -a purse, containing only a halfpenny and some string. Here is all -the baggage, with which, after the execution of his homicidal plan, -Louis Rey intended to take refuge in a foreign country.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Beside -these absurd contradictions, there is another remarkable fact, -which must not be passed over; it is this:—the pistol found by Rey -is of an antique form, and the original owner of it has been found. -He is a curiosity-merchant at Lyons; and, though he cannot affirm -that Peytel was the person who bought this pistol of him, he -perfectly recognises Peytel as having been a frequent customer at -his shop!</p> - -<p>‘No, we may fearlessly affirm that Louis Rey was not guilty of the -crime which Peytel lays to his charge. If, to those who knew him, -his mild and open disposition, his military career,<a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a> modest and -without a stain, the touching regrets of his employers, are -sufficient proofs of his innocence—the calm and candid observer, -who considers how the crime was conceived, was executed, and what -consequences would have resulted from it, will likewise acquit him, -and free him of the odious imputation which Peytel endeavours to -cast upon his memory.</p> - -<p>‘But justice has removed the veil with which an impious hand -endeavoured to cover itself. Already, on the night of the 1st of -November, suspicion was awakened by the extraordinary agitation of -Peytel; by those excessive attentions towards his wife, which came -so late; by that excessive and noisy grief, and by those calculated -bursts of sorrow, which are such as Nature does not exhibit. The -criminal, whom the public conscience had fixed upon; the man whose -frightful combinations have been laid bare, and whose falsehoods, -step by step, have been exposed, during the proceedings previous to -the trial; the murderer, at whose hands a heart-stricken family, -and society at large, demands an account of the blood of a -wife;—that murderer is Peytel!’</p></div> - -<p>When, my dear Briefless, you are a judge (as I make no doubt you will -be, when you have left off the club all night, cigar-smoking of -mornings, and reading novels in bed), will you ever find it in your -heart to order a fellow-sinner’s head off upon such evidence as this? -Because a romantic Substitut du Procureur du Roi chooses to compose and -recite a little drama, and draw tears from juries, let us hope that -severe Rhadamanthine judges are not to be melted by such trumpery. One -wants but the description of the characters to render the piece -complete, as thus:—</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="3" summary=""> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" colspan="2" class="smcap">Personnages.</td><td align="center" class="smcap">Costumes.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" class="smcap">Sebastien Peytel</td><td align="left" -class="bl">—Meurtrier</td><td align="left" -class="bl">—Habillement complet<br /> - de notaire perfide: figure<br /> - pâle, barbe noire, cheveux<br /> - noirs.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" class="smcap">Louis Rey</td><td align="left" -class="bl">—Soldat retiré, bon,<br /> - brave, franc, jovial, aimant<br /> - le vin, les femmes,<br /> - la gaîté, ses maîtres surtout;<br /> - vrai Français, enfin.</td><td align="left" -class="bl">—Costume ordinaire; il<br /> - porte sur ses épaules une<br /> - couverture de cheval.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" class="smcap">Wolff</td><td align="left">—Lieutenant de Gendarmerie.</td><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" class="smcap">Félicité d'Alcazar</td><td align="left">—Femme et victime de Peytel.</td><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">Médecins, Villageois, Filles d’Auberge, Garçons d’Ecurie, etc. etc.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>La scène se passe sur le pont d’Andert, entre Mâcon et Belley. Il est -minuit. La pluie tombe: les tonnerres grondent. Le ciel est couvert de -nuages, et sillonné d’éclairs.</p> - -<p>All these personages are brought into play in the Procureur’s drama: the -villagers come in with their chorus; the old lieutenant of gendarmes -with his suspicions; Rey’s frankness and gaiety, the romantic -circumstances of his birth, his gallantry and fidelity, are all -introduced, in order to form a contrast with Peytel, and to call down -the jury’s indignation against the latter. But are these proofs? or -anything like proofs? And the suspicions, that are to serve instead of -proofs, what are they?</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘My servant, Louis Rey, was very sombre and reserved,’ says Peytel; -‘he refused to call me in the morning, to carry my money-chest to -my room, to cover the open car when it rained.’ The Prosecutor -disproves these by stating that Rey talked with the inn maids and -servants, asked if his master was up, and stood in the inn-yard, -grooming the horses, with his master by his side, neither speaking -to the other. Might he not have talked to the maids, and yet been -sombre when speaking to his master? Might he not have neglected to -call his master, and yet have asked whether he was awake? Might he -not have said that the inn gates were safe, out of hearing of the -ostler witness? Mr. Substitute’s answers to Peytel’s statements are -no answers at all. Every word Peytel said might be true, and yet -Louis Rey might not have committed the murder; or every word might -have been false, and yet Louis Rey might have committed the murder.</p> - -<p>‘Then,’ says Mr. Substitute, ‘how many obstacles are there to the -commission of the crime! And these are:—</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>‘1. Rey provided himself with <i>one</i> holster pistol, to kill two -people, knowing well that one of them had always a brace of pistols -about him.</p> - -<p>‘2. He does not think of firing until his master’s eyes are open: -fires at six paces, not caring at whom he fires, and then runs -away.</p> - -<p>‘3. He could not have intended to kill his master, because he had -no passport in his pocket, and no clothes; and because he must have -been detained at the frontier until morning; and because he would -have had to drive two carriages, in order to avoid suspicion.</p> - -<p>‘4. And, a most singular circumstance, the very pistol which was -found by his side had been bought at the shop of a man at Lyons, -who perfectly recognised Peytel as one of his customers, though he -could not say he had sold that particular weapon to Peytel.’</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Does it follow, from this, that Louis Rey is not the murderer—much -more, that Peytel is? Look at argument No. 1. Rey had no<a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a> need to kill -two people: he wanted the money, and not the blood. Suppose he had -killed Peytel, would he not have mastered Madame Peytel easily?—a weak -woman, in an excessively delicate situation, incapable of much energy at -the best of times.</p> - -<p>2. ‘He does not fire till he knows his master’s eyes are open.’ Why, on -a stormy night, does a man driving a carriage go to sleep? Was Rey to -wait until his master snored? ‘He fires at six paces, not caring whom he -hits;’—and might not this happen too? The night is not so dark but that -he can see his master, in <i>his usual place</i>, driving. He fires and -hits—whom? Madame Peytel, who had left her place, <i>and was wrapped up -with Peytel in his cloak</i>. She screams out, ‘Husband, take your -pistols.’ Rey knows that his master has a brace, thinks that he has hit -the wrong person, and, as Peytel fires on him, runs away. Peytel -follows, hammer in hand; as he comes up with the fugitive, he deals him -a blow on the back of the head, and Rey falls—his face to the ground. -Is there anything unnatural in this story?—anything so monstrously -unnatural, that is, that it might not be true?</p> - -<p>3. These objections are absurd. Why need a man have change of linen? If -he had taken none for the journey, why should he want any for the -escape? Why need he drive two carriages?—He might have driven both into -the river, and Mrs. Peytel in one. Why is he to go to the douane, and -thrust himself into the very jaws of danger? Are there not a thousand -ways for a man to pass a frontier? Do smugglers, when they have to pass -from one country to another, choose exactly those spots where a police -is placed?</p> - -<p>And, finally, the gunsmith of Lyons, who knows Peytel quite well, cannot -say that he sold the pistol to him; that is, he did not sell the pistol -to him; for you have only one man’s word, in this case (Peytel’s), to -the contrary; and the testimony, as far as it goes, is in his favour. I -say, my lud, and gentlemen of the jury, that these objections of my -learned friend, who is engaged for the Crown, are absurd, frivolous, -monstrous; that to suspect away the life of a man upon such suppositions -as these, is wicked, illegal, and inhuman; and, what is more, that Louis -Rey, if he wanted to commit the crime—if he wanted to possess himself -of a large sum of money—chose the best time and spot for so doing; and, -no doubt, would have succeeded, if Fate had not, in a wonderful manner, -caused Madame Peytel <i>to take her husband’s place</i>, and receive the ball -intended for him in her own head.</p> - -<p>But whether these suspicions are absurd or not, hit or miss, it is the -advocate’s duty, as it appears, to urge them. He wants to make as -unfavourable an impression as possible with regard to Peytel’s -character; he, therefore, must, for contrast’s sake, give all<a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a> sorts of -praise to his victim, and awaken every sympathy in the poor fellow’s -favour. Having done this, as far as lies in his power, having -exaggerated every circumstance that can be unfavourable to Peytel, and -given his own tale in the baldest manner possible—having declared that -Peytel is the murderer of his wife and servant, the Crown now proceeds -to back this assertion, by showing what interested motives he had, and -by relating, after its own fashion, the circumstances of his marriage.</p> - -<p>They may be told briefly here. Peytel was of a good family of Mâcon, and -entitled, at his mother’s death, to a considerable property. He had been -educated as a notary, and had lately purchased a business, in that line, -at Belley, for which he had paid a large sum of money; part of the sum, -15,000 francs, for which he had given bills, was still due.</p> - -<p>Near Belley, Peytel first met Félicité Alcazar, who was residing with -her brother-in-law, Monsieur de Montrichard; and, knowing that the young -lady’s fortune was considerable, he made an offer of marriage to the -brother-in-law, who thought the match advantageous, and communicated on -the subject with Félicité’s mother, Madame Alcazar, at Paris. After a -time Peytel went to Paris, to press his suit, and was accepted. There -seems to have been no affectation of love on his side; and some little -repugnance on the part of the lady, who yielded, however, to the wishes -of her parents, and was married. The parties began to quarrel on the -very day of the marriage, and continued their disputes almost to the -close of the unhappy connection. Félicité was half blind, passionate, -sarcastic, clumsy in her person and manners, and ill educated; Peytel, a -man of considerable intellect and pretensions, who had lived for some -time at Paris, where he had mingled with good literary society. The lady -was, in fact, as disagreeable a person as could well be, and the -evidence describes some scenes which took place between her and her -husband, showing how deeply she must have mortified and enraged him.</p> - -<p>A charge very clearly made out against Peytel, is that of dishonesty: he -procured, from the notary of whom he bought his place, an acquittance in -full, whereas there were 15,000 francs owing, as we have seen. He also, -in the contract of marriage, which was to have resembled, in all -respects, that between Monsieur Broussais and another Demoiselle -Alcazar, caused an alteration to be made in his favour, which gave him -command over his wife’s funded property, without furnishing the -guarantees by which the other son-in-law was bound. And, almost -immediately after his marriage, Peytel sold out of the funds a sum of -50,000 francs, that belonged to his wife, and used it for his own -purposes.<a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a></p> - -<p>About two months after his marriage, <i>Peytel pressed his wife to make -her will</i>. He had made his, he said, leaving everything to her, in case -of his death: after some parley, the poor thing consented.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> This is a -cruel suspicion against him; and Mr. Substitute has no need to enlarge -upon it. As for the previous fact, the dishonest statement about the -15,000 francs, there is nothing murderous in that—nothing which a man -very eager to make a good marriage might not do. The same may be said of -the suppression, in Peytel’s marriage contract, of the clause to be -found in Broussais’s, placing restrictions upon the use of the wife’s -money. Mademoiselle d’Alcazar’s friends read the contract before they -signed it, and might have refused it, had they so pleased.</p> - -<p>After some disputes, which took place between Peytel and his wife (there -were continual quarrels, and continual letters passing between them from -room to room), the latter was induced to write him a couple of -exaggerated letters, swearing ‘by the ashes of her father’ that she -would be an obedient wife to him, and entreating him to counsel and -direct her. These letters were seen by members of the lady’s family, -who, in the quarrels between the couple, always took the husband’s part. -They were found in Peytel’s cabinet, after he had been arrested for the -murder, and after he had had full access to all his papers, of which he -destroyed or left as many as he pleased. The accusation makes it a -matter of suspicion against Peytel, that he should have left these -letters of his wife’s in a conspicuous situation.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>‘All these circumstances,’ says the accusation, ‘throw a frightful light -upon Peytel’s plans. The letters and will of Madame Peytel are in the -hands of her husband. Three months pass away, and this poor woman is -brought to her home, in the middle of the<a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a> night, with two balls in her -head, stretched at the bottom of her carriage, by the side of a peasant!</p> - -<p>‘What other than Sebastian Peytel could have committed this -murder?—whom could it profit?—who but himself had an odious chain to -break, and an inheritance to receive? Why speak of the servant’s -projected robbery? The pistols found by the side of Louis’s body, the -balls bought by him at Mâcon, and those discovered at Belley among his -effects, were only the result of a perfidious combination. The pistol, -indeed, which was found on the hill of Darde, on the night of the 1st of -November, could only have belonged to Peytel, and must have been thrown -by him, near the body of his domestic, with the paper which had before -enveloped it. Who had seen this pistol in the hands of Louis? Among all -the gendarmes, workwomen, domestics, employed by Peytel and his -brother-in-law, is there one single witness who had seen this weapon in -Louis’s possession? It is true that Madame Peytel did, on one occasion, -speak to M. de Montrichard of a pistol, which had nothing to do, -however, with that found near Louis Rey.’</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Is this justice, or good reason? Just reverse the argument, and apply it -to Rey. ‘Who but Rey could have committed this murder?—who but Rey had -a large sum of money to seize upon?—a pistol is found by his side, -balls and powder in his pocket, other balls in his trunks at home. The -pistol found near his body could not, indeed, have belonged to Peytel: -did any man ever see it in his possession? The very gunsmith who sold -it, and who knew Peytel, would he not have known that he had sold him -this pistol? At his own house, Peytel has a collection of weapons of all -kinds; everybody has seen them—a man who makes such collections is -anxious to display them. Did any one ever see this weapon?—Not one. And -Madame Peytel did, in her lifetime, remark a pistol in the valet’s -possession. She was short-sighted, and could not particularise what kind -of pistol it was; but she spoke of it to her husband and her -brother-in-law.’ This is not satisfactory, if you please: but, at least, -it is as satisfactory as the other set of suppositions. It is the very -chain of argument which would have been brought against Louis Rey by -this very same compiler of the act of accusation, had Rey survived, -instead of Peytel, and had he, as most undoubtedly would have been the -case, been tried for the murder.</p> - -<p>This argument was shortly put by Peytel’s counsel:—<i>‘If Peytel had been -killed by Rey in the struggle, would you not have found Rey guilty of -the murder of his master and mistress?</i><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>’ It is such a dreadful dilemma, -that I wonder how judges and lawyers could have dared to persecute -Peytel in the manner in which they did.</p> - -<p>After the act of accusation, which lays down all the suppositions -against Peytel as facts, which will not admit the truth of one of the -prisoner’s allegations in his own defence, comes the trial. The judge is -quite as impartial as the preparer of the indictment, as will be seen by -the following specimens of his interrogatories:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Judge.</i> The act of accusation finds in your statement -contradictions, improbabilities, impossibilities. Thus your -domestic, who had determined to assassinate you, in order to rob -you, and who <i>must have calculated upon the consequence of a -failure</i>, had neither passport nor money upon him. This is very -unlikely; because he could not have gone far with only a single -halfpenny, which was all he had.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> My servant was known, and often passed the frontier -without a passport.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> <i>Your domestic had to assassinate two persons</i>, and had no -weapon but a single pistol. He had no dagger; and the only thing -found on him was a knife.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> In the car there were several turner’s implements, -which he might have used.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> But he had not those arms upon him, because you pursued -him immediately. He had, according to you, only this old pistol.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I have nothing to say.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> Your domestic, instead of flying into woods, which skirt -the road, ran straight forward on the road itself: <i>this, again, is -very unlikely</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> This is a conjecture I could answer by another -conjecture; I can only reason on the facts.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> How far did you pursue him?</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I don’t know exactly.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> You said ‘two hundred paces.’</p> - -<p>No answer from the prisoner.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> Your domestic was young, active, robust, and tall. He was -ahead of you. You were in a carriage, from which you had to -descend: you had to take your pistols from a cushion, and <i>then</i> -your hammer;—how are we to believe that you could have caught him, -if he ran? It is <i>impossible</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I can’t explain it: I think that Rey had some defect in -one leg. I, for my part, run tolerably fast.<a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a></p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> At what distance from him did you fire your first shot?</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I can’t tell.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> Perhaps he was not running when you fired.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I saw him running.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> In what position was your wife?</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> She was leaning on my left arm, and the man was on the -right side of the carriage.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> The shot must have been fired <i>à bout portant</i>, because it -burned the eyebrows and lashes entirely. The assassin must have -passed his pistol across your breast.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> The shot was not fired so close; I am convinced of it: -professional gentlemen will prove it.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> <i>That is what you pretend, because you understand -perfectly the consequences of admitting the fact.</i> Your wife was -hit with two balls—one striking downwards, to the right, by the -nose, the other going horizontally through the cheek, to the left.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> The contrary will be shown by the witnesses called for -the purpose.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> <i>It is a very unlucky combination for you</i> that these -balls, which went, you say, from the same pistol, should have taken -two different directions.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I can’t dispute about the various combinations of -fire-arms—professional persons will be heard.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> According to your statement, your wife said to you, ‘My -poor husband, take your pistols.’</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> She did.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> In a manner quite distinct?</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> Yes.</p> - -<p><i>Judge</i>. So distinct that you did not fancy she was hit?</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> Yes; that is the fact.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> <i>Here, again, is an impossibility</i>; and nothing is more -precise than the declaration of the medical men. They affirm that -your wife could not have spoken—their report is unanimous.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> I can only oppose to it quite contrary opinions from -professional men, likewise: you must hear them.</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> What did your wife do next?</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p><i>Judge.</i> You deny the statements of the witnesses (they related to -Peytel’s demeanour and behaviour, which the judge wishes to show -were very unusual;—and what if they were?). Here, however, are -some mute witnesses, whose testimony you will not perhaps refuse. -Near Louis Rey’s body was found a horse-cloth, a pistol, and a -whip.... Your domestic must have had this cloth upon him when he -went to assassinate you: it was wet and<a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a> heavy. An assassin -disencumbers himself of anything that is likely to impede him, -especially when he is going to struggle with a man as young as -himself.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> My servant had, I believe, this covering on his body; -it might be useful to him to keep the priming of his pistol dry.</p> - -<p>The president caused the cloth to be opened, and showed that there -was no hook, or tie, by which it could be held together; and that -Rey must have held it with one hand, and, in the other, his whip, -and the pistol with which he intended to commit the crime; which -was impossible.</p> - -<p><i>Prisoner.</i> These are only conjectures.</p></div> - -<p>And what conjectures, my God! upon which to take away the life of a man. -Jeffreys, or Fouquier Tinville, could scarcely have dared to make such. -Such prejudice, such bitter persecution, such priming of the jury, such -monstrous assumptions and unreason—fancy them coming from an impartial -judge! The man is worse than the public accuser.</p> - -<p>‘Rey,’ says the judge, ‘could not have committed the murder, <i>because he -had no money in his pocket, to fly, in case of failure</i>.’ And what is -the precise sum that his lordship thinks necessary for a gentleman to -have, before he makes such an attempt? Are the men who murder for money -usually in possession of a certain independence before they begin? How -much money was Rey,—a servant, who loved wine and women, had been -stopping at a score of inns on the road, and had, probably, an annual -income of four hundred francs,—how much money was Rey likely to have?</p> - -<p><i>‘Your servant had to assassinate two persons.</i>’ This I have mentioned -before. Why had he to assassinate two persons,<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> when one was enough? -If he had killed Peytel, could he not have seized and gagged his wife -immediately?</p> - -<p><i>‘Your domestic ran straight forward, instead of taking to the woods, by -the side of the road: this is very unlikely.</i>’ How does his worship -know? Can any judge, however enlightened, tell the exact road that a man -will take, who has just missed a <i>coup</i> of murder, and is pursued by a -man who is firing pistols at him? And has a judge a right to instruct a -jury in this way, as to what they shall, or shall not, believe?</p> - -<p>‘You have to run after an active man, who has the start of you; to jump -out of a carriage; to take your pistols; and <i>then</i>,<a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a> your hammer. <i>This -is impossible.</i>’ By heavens! does it not make a man’s blood boil, to -read such blundering, blood-seeking sophistry? This man, when it suits -him, shows that Rey would be slow in his motions; and, when it suits -him, declares that Rey ought to be quick; declares, <i>ex cathedrâ</i>, what -pace Rey should go, and what direction he should take; shows, in a -breath, that he must have run faster than Peytel; and then, that he -could not run fast, because the cloak clogged him; settles how he is to -be dressed when he commits a murder, and what money he is to have in his -pocket; gives these impossible suppositions to the jury, and tells them -that the previous statements are impossible; and, finally, informs them -of the precise manner in which Rey must have stood holding his -horse-cloth in one hand, his whip and pistol in the other, when he made -the supposed attempt at murder. Now, what is the size of a horse-cloth? -Is it as big as a pocket-handkerchief? Is there no possibility that it -might hang over one shoulder: that the whip should be held under that -very arm? Did you never see a carter so carry it, his hands in his -pockets all the while? Is it monstrous, abhorrent to nature, that a man -should fire a pistol from under a cloak on a rainy day?—that he should, -after firing the shot, be frightened, and run; run straight before him, -with the cloak on his shoulders, and the weapon in his hand? Peytel’s -story is possible, and very possible; it is almost probable. Allow that -Rey had the cloth on, and you allow that he must have been clogged in -his motions; that Peytel may have come up with him—felled him with a -blow of the hammer; the doctors say that he would have so fallen by one -blow—he would have fallen on his face, as he was found: the paper might -have been thrust into his breast, and tumbled out as he fell. -Circumstances far more impossible have occurred ere this; and men have -been hanged for them, who were as innocent of the crime laid to their -charge as the judge on the bench who convicted them.</p> - -<p>In like manner, Peytel may not have committed the crime charged to him; -and Mr. Judge, with his arguments as to possibilities and -impossibilities,—Mr. Public Prosecutor, with his romantic narrative and -inflammatory harangues to the jury,—may have used all these powers to -bring to death an innocent man. From the animus with which the case has -been conducted from beginning to end, it was easy to see the result. -Here it is, in the words of the provincial paper:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="r"> -‘<span class="smcap">Bourg</span>: <i>28th October 1839</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>‘The condemned Peytel has just undergone his punishment, which took -place four days before the anniversary of his crime.<a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a> The terrible -drama of the bridge of Andert, which cost the life of two persons, -has just terminated on the scaffold. Mid-day had just sounded on -the clock of the Palais: the same clock tolled midnight when, on -the 30th of August, his sentence was pronounced.</p> - -<p>‘Since the rejection of his appeal in Cassation, on which his -principal hopes were founded, Peytel spoke little of his petition -to the king. The notion of transportation was that which he seemed -to cherish most. However, he made several inquiries from the gaoler -of the prison, when he saw him at meal-times, with regard to the -place of execution, the usual hour, and other details on the -subject. From that period, the words “<i>Champ de Foire</i>” (the -fair-field, where the execution was to be held) were frequently -used by him in conversation.</p> - -<p>‘Yesterday, the idea that the time had arrived seemed to be more -strongly than ever impressed upon him; especially after the -departure of the curé, who latterly has been with him every day. -The documents connected with the trial had arrived in the morning. -He was ignorant of this circumstance, but sought to discover from -his guardians what they tried to hide from him; and to find out -whether his petition was rejected, and when he was to die.</p> - -<p>‘Yesterday, also, he had written to demand the presence of his -counsel, M. Margerand, in order that he might have some -conversation with him, and regulate his affairs, before he——; he -did not write down the word, but left in its place a few points of -the pen.</p> - -<p>‘In the evening, whilst he was at supper, he begged earnestly to be -allowed a little wax-candle, to finish what he was writing: -otherwise, he said, <i>Time might fail</i>. This was a new, indirect -manner of repeating his ordinary question. As light, up to that -evening, had been refused him, it was thought best to deny him in -this, as in former instances; otherwise his suspicions might have -been confirmed. The keeper refused his demand.</p> - -<p>‘This morning, Monday, at nine o’clock, the Greffier of the Assize -Court, in fulfilment of the painful duty which the law imposes upon -him, came to the prison, in company with the curé of Bourg, and -announced to the convict that his petition was rejected, and that -he had only three hours to live. He received this fatal news with a -great deal of calmness, and showed himself to be no more affected -than he had been on the trial. “I am ready; but I wish they had -given me four-and-twenty hours’ notice,”—were all the words he -used.</p> - -<p>‘The Greffier now retired, leaving Peytel alone with the curé, who -did not thenceforth quit him. Peytel breakfasted at ten o’clock.<a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a></p> - -<p>‘At eleven, a picquet of mounted gendarmerie and infantry took -their station upon the place before the prison, where a great -concourse of people had already assembled. An open car was at the -door. Before he went out, Peytel asked the gaoler for a -looking-glass; and having examined his face for a moment, said, “at -least, the inhabitants of Bourg will see that I have not grown -thin.”</p> - -<p>‘As twelve o’clock sounded the prison gates opened, an aide -appeared, followed by Peytel leaning on the arm of the curate. -Peytel’s face was pale, he had a long black beard, a blue cap on -his head, and his greatcoat flung over his shoulders, and buttoned -at the neck.</p> - -<p>‘He looked about at the place and the crowd; he asked if the -carriage would go at a trot; and on being told that that would be -difficult, he said he would prefer walking, and asked what the road -was. He immediately set out, walking at a firm and rapid pace. He -was not bound at all.</p> - -<p>‘An immense crowd of people encumbered the two streets through -which he had to pass to the place of execution. He cast his eyes -alternately upon them and upon the guillotine, which was before -him.</p> - -<p>‘Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, Peytel embraced the curé, and -bade him adieu. He then embraced him again; perhaps, for his mother -and sister. He then mounted the steps rapidly, and gave himself -into the hands of the executioner, who removed his coat and cap. He -asked how he was to place himself, and, on a sign being made, he -flung himself briskly on the plank, and stretched his neck. In -another moment he was no more.</p> - -<p>‘The crowd, which had been quite silent, retired, profoundly moved -by the sight it had witnessed. As at all executions, there was a -very great number of women present.</p> - -<p>‘Under the scaffold there had been, ever since the morning, a -coffin. The family had asked for his remains, and had them -immediately buried, privately: and thus the unfortunate man’s head -escaped the modellers in wax, several of whom had arrived to take -an impression of it.’</p></div> - -<p>Down goes the axe; the poor wretch’s head rolls gasping into the basket; -the spectators go home, pondering; and Mr. Executioner and his aids -have, in half an hour, removed all traces of the august sacrifice, and -of the altar on which it had been performed. Say, Mr. Briefless, do you -think that any single person, meditating murder, would be deterred -therefrom by beholding this—nay, a thousand more executions? It is not -for moral improvement,<a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a> as I take it, nor for opportunity to make -appropriate remarks upon the punishment of crime, that people make a -holiday of a killing-day, and leave their homes and occupations to flock -and witness the cutting off of a head. Do we crowd to see Mr. Macready -in the new tragedy, or Mademoiselle Elssler in her last new ballet and -flesh-coloured stockinet pantaloons, out of a pure love of abstract -poetry and beauty; or from a strong notion that we shall be excited, in -different ways, by the actor and the dancer? And so, as we go to have a -meal of fictitious terror at the tragedy, of something more questionable -in the ballet, we go for a glut of blood to the execution. The lust is -in every man’s nature, more or less. Did you ever witness a wrestling-or -boxing-match? The first clatter of the kick on the shins, or the first -drawing of blood, makes the stranger shudder a little; but soon the -blood is his chief enjoyment, and he thirsts for it with a fierce -delight. It is a fine grim pleasure that we have in seeing a man killed; -and I make no doubt that the organs of destructiveness must begin to -throb and swell as we witness the delightful savage spectacle.</p> - -<p>Three or four years back, when Fieschi and Lacenaire were executed, I -made attempts to see the execution of both; but was disappointed in both -cases. In the first instance, the day for Fieschi’s death was, -purposely, kept secret; and he was, if I remember rightly, executed at -some remote quarter of the town. But it would have done a philanthropist -good to witness the scene which we saw on the morning when his execution -did <i>not</i> take place.</p> - -<p>It was carnival time, and the rumour had pretty generally been carried -abroad that he was to die on that morning. A friend, who accompanied me, -came many miles, through the mud and dark, in order to be in at the -death. We set out before light, floundering through the muddy Champs -Elysées; where, besides, were many other persons floundering, and all -bent upon the same errand. We passed by the Concert of Musard, then held -in the Rue St. Honoré; and round this, in the wet, a number of coaches -were collected. The ball was just up, and a crowd of people, in hideous -masquerade, drunk, tired, dirty, dressed in horrible old frippery, and -daubed with filthy rouge, were trooping out of the place: tipsy women -and men, shrieking, jabbering, gesticulating, as French will do; parties -swaggering, staggering forwards, arm in arm, reeling to and fro across -the street, and yelling songs in chorus: hundreds of these were bound -for the show, and we thought ourselves lucky in finding a vehicle to the -execution place, at the Barrière d’Enfer. As we crossed the river and -entered the Enfer Street, crowds of students, black workmen, and more -drunken<a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a> devils from more carnival balls, were filling it; and on the -grand place there were thousands of these assembled, looking out for -Fieschi and his cortège. We waited and waited; but alas! no fun for us -that morning: no throat-cutting; no august spectacle of satisfied -justice; and the eager spectators were obliged to return, disappointed -of their expected breakfast of blood. It would have been a fine scene, -that execution, could it but have taken place in the midst of the mad -mountebanks and tipsy strumpets who had flocked so far to witness it, -wishing to wind up the delights of their carnival by a <i>bonne-bouche</i> of -a murder.</p> - -<p>The other attempt was equally unfortunate. We arrived too late on the -ground to be present at the execution of Lacenaire and his co-mate in -murder, Avril. But as we came to the ground (a gloomy round space, -within the barrier—three roads lead to it; and, outside, you see the -wine-shops and restaurateurs of the barrier looking gay and -inviting)—as we came to the ground, we only found, in the midst of it, -a little pool of ice, just partially tinged with red. Two or three idle -street-boys were dancing and stamping about this pool; and when I asked -one of them whether the execution had taken place, he began dancing more -madly than ever, and shrieked out with a loud fantastical theatrical -voice, ‘Venez tous, Messieurs et Dames, voyez ici le sang du monstre -Lacenaire, et de son compagnon le traître Avril,’ or words to that -effect; and straightway all the other gamins screamed out the words in -chorus, and took hands and danced round the little puddle.</p> - -<p>O august Justice, your meal was followed by a pretty appropriate grace! -Was any man, who saw the show, deterred, or frightened, or moralised in -any way? He had gratified his appetite for blood, and this was all. -There is something singularly pleasing, both in the amusement of -execution-seeing, and in the results. You are not only delightfully -excited at the time, but most pleasingly relaxed afterwards; the mind, -which has been wound up painfully until now, becomes quite complacent -and easy. There is something agreeable in the misfortunes of others, as -the philosopher has told us. Remark what a good breakfast you eat after -an execution; how pleasant it is to cut jokes after it, and upon it. -This merry pleasant mood is brought on by the blood tonic.</p> - -<p>But, for God’s sake, if we are to enjoy this, let us do so in -moderation; and let us, at least, be sure of a man’s guilt before we -murder him. To kill him, even with the full assurance that he is guilty, -is hazardous enough. Who gave you the right to do so?—you, who cry out -against suicides as impious and contrary to Christian law? What use is -there in killing him? You deter no one else from committing the crime by -so doing: you give us, to be<a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a> sure, half an hour’s pleasant -entertainment; but it is a great question whether we derive much moral -profit from the sight. If you want to keep a murderer from further -inroads upon society, are there not plenty of hulks and prisons, God -wot; treadmills, galleys, and houses of correction? Above all, as in the -case of Sebastian Peytel and his family, there have been two deaths -already: was a third death absolutely necessary? and, taking the -fallibility of judges and lawyers into his heart, and remembering the -thousand instances of unmerited punishment that have been suffered upon -similar and stronger evidence before, can any man declare, positively -and upon his oath, that Peytel was guilty, and that this was not <i>the -third murder in the family</i>?</p> - -<h2><a name="FRENCH_DRAMAS_AND_MELODRAMAS" id="FRENCH_DRAMAS_AND_MELODRAMAS"></a>FRENCH DRAMAS AND MELODRAMAS</h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HERE</small> are three kinds of drama in France, which you may subdivide as -much as you please.</p> - -<p>There is the old classical drama, well-nigh dead, and full time too: old -tragedies, in which half a dozen characters appear, and spout sonorous -Alexandrines for half a dozen hours. The fair Rachel has been trying to -revive this <i>genre</i>, and to untomb Racine; but be not alarmed, Racine -will never come to life again, and cause audiences to weep as of yore. -Madame Rachel can only galvanise the corpse, not revivify it. Ancient -French tragedy, red-heeled, patched, and be-periwigged, lies in the -grave; and it is only the ghost of it that we see, which the fair Jewess -has raised. There are classical comedies in verse, too, wherein the -knavish valets, rakish heroes, stolid old guardians, and smart -free-spoken serving-women, discourse in Alexandrines as loud as the -Horaces or the Cid. An Englishman will seldom reconcile himself to the -<i>ronflement</i> of the verses, and the painful recurrence of the rhymes; -for my part, I had rather go to Madame Saqui’s, or see Deburan dancing -on a rope: his lines are quite as natural and poetical.</p> - -<p>Then there is the comedy of the day, of which Monsieur Scribe is the -father. Good heavens! with what a number of gay colonels, smart widows, -and silly husbands has that gentleman peopled the play-books! How that -unfortunate seventh commandment has been maltreated by him and his -disciples! You will see four pieces, at the Gymnase, of a night; and so -sure as you see them, four husbands shall be wickedly used. When is this -joke to cease? Mon Dieu! Play-writers have handled it for about two -thousand years, and the<a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a> public, like a great baby, must have the tale -repeated to it over and over again.</p> - -<p>Finally, there is the Drama, that great monster which has sprung into -life of late years; and which is said, but I don’t believe a word of it, -to have Shakespeare for a father. If Mr. Scribe’s plays may be said to -be so many ingenious examples how to break one commandment, the <i>drame</i> -is a grand and general chaos of them all; nay, several crimes are added, -not prohibited in the Decalogue, which was written before dramas were. -Of the drama, Victor Hugo and Dumas are the well-known and respectable -guardians. Every piece Victor Hugo has written, since <i>Hernani</i>, has -contained a monster—a delightful monster, saved by one virtue. There is -Triboulet, a foolish monster; Lucrèce Borgia, a maternal monster; Mary -Tudor, a religious monster; Monsieur Quasimodo, a hump-backed monster; -and others that might be named, whose monstrosities we are induced to -pardon—nay, admiringly to witness—because they are agreeably mingled -with some exquisite display of affection. And, as the great Hugo has one -monster to each play, the great Dumas has, ordinarily, half a dozen, to -whom murder is nothing; common intrigue, and simple breakage of the -before-mentioned commandment, nothing; but who live and move in a vast, -delightful complication of crime, that cannot be easily conceived in -England, much less described.</p> - -<p>When I think over the number of crimes that I have seen Mademoiselle -Georges, for instance, commit, I am filled with wonder at her greatness, -and the greatness of the poets who have conceived these charming horrors -for her. I have seen her make love to, and murder, her sons, in the -<i>Tour de Nesle</i>. I have seen her poison a company of no less than nine -gentlemen, at Ferrara, with an affectionate son in the number; I have -seen her, as Madame de Brinvilliers, kill off numbers of respectable -relations, in the four first acts; and, at the last, be actually burned -at the stake, to which she comes shuddering, ghastly, barefooted, and in -a white sheet. Sweet excitement of tender sympathies! Such tragedies are -not so good as a real downright execution; but, in point of interest, -the next thing to it: with what a number of moral emotions do they fill -the breast; with what a hatred for vice, and yet a true pity and respect -for that grain of virtue that is to be found in us all: our bloody, -daughter-loving Brinvilliers; our warm-hearted, poisonous Lucretia -Borgia; above all, what a smart appetite for a cool supper afterwards, -at the Café Anglais, when the horrors of the play act as a piquant sauce -to the supper!</p> - -<p>Or, to speak more seriously, and to come, at last, to the point. After -having seen most of the grand dramas which have been<a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a> produced at Paris -for the last half-dozen years, and thinking over all that one has -seen,—the fictitious murders, rapes, adulteries, and other crimes, by -which one has been interested and excited,—a man may take leave to be -heartily ashamed of the manner in which he has spent his time; and of -the hideous kind of mental intoxication in which he has permitted -himself to indulge.</p> - -<p>Nor are simple society outrages the only sort of crime in which the -spectator of Paris plays has permitted himself to indulge; he has -recreated himself with a deal of blasphemy besides, and has passed many -pleasant evenings in beholding religion defiled and ridiculed.</p> - -<p>Allusion has been made, in a former paper, to a fashion that lately -obtained in France, and which went by the name of Catholic reaction; and -as, in this happy country, fashion is everything, we have had not merely -Catholic pictures and quasi-religious books, but a number of Catholic -plays have been produced, very edifying to the frequenters of the -theatres or the Boulevards, who have learned more about religion from -these performances than they have acquired, no doubt, in the whole of -their lives before. In the course of a very few years we have seen—<i>The -Wandering Jew</i>, <i>Belshazzar’s Feast</i>, <i>Nebuchadnezzar</i>, and the -<i>Massacre of the Innocents</i>, <i>Joseph and his Brethren</i>, <i>The Passage of -the Red Sea</i>, and <i>The Deluge</i>.</p> - -<p>The great Dumas, like Madame Sand before mentioned, has brought a vast -quantity of religion before the footlights. There was his famous tragedy -of <i>Caligula</i>, which, be it spoken to the shame of the Paris critics, -was coldly received; nay, actually hissed, by them. And why? Because, -says Dumas, it contained a great deal too much piety for the rogues. The -public, he says, was much more religious, and understood him at once.</p> - -<p>‘As for the critics,’ says he nobly, ‘let those who cried out against -the immorality of Antony and Marguerite de Bourgogne, reproach me for -<i>the chastity of Messalina</i>.’ (This dear creature is the heroine of the -play of <i>Caligula</i>.) ‘It matters little to me. These people have but -seen the form of my work: they have walked round the tent, but have not -seen the arch which it covered; they have examined the vases and candles -of the altar, but have not opened the tabernacle!</p> - -<p>‘The public alone has, instinctively, comprehended that there was, -beneath this outward sign, an inward and mysterious grace: it followed -the action of the piece in all its serpentine windings; it listened for -four hours, with pious attention (<i>avec recueillement et religion</i>), to -the sound of this rolling river of thoughts, which may have appeared to -it new and bold, perhaps, but chaste and<a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a> grave; and it retired, with -its head on its breast, like a man who had just perceived, in a dream, -the solution of a problem which he has long and vainly sought in his -waking hours.’</p> - -<p>You see that not only Saint Sand is an apostle, in her way; but Saint -Dumas is another. We have people in England who write for bread, like -Dumas and Sand, and are paid so much for their line; but they don’t set -up for prophets. Mrs. Trollope has never declared that her novels are -inspired by Heaven; Mr. Buckstone has written a great number of farces, -and never talked about the altar and the tabernacle. Even Sir Edward -Bulwer (who, on a similar occasion, when the critics found fault with a -play of his, answered them by a pretty decent declaration of his own -merits) never ventured to say that he had received a divine mission, and -was uttering five-act revelations.</p> - -<p>All things considered, the tragedy of <i>Caligula</i> is a decent tragedy; as -decent as the decent characters of the hero and heroine can allow it to -be; it may be almost said, provokingly decent: but this, it must be -remembered, is the characteristic of the modern French school (nay, of -the English school too); and if the writer take the character of a -remarkable scoundrel, it is ten to one but he turns out an amiable -fellow, in whom we have all the warmest sympathy. Caligula is killed at -the end of the performance; Messalina is comparatively well-behaved: and -the sacred part of the performance, the tabernacle-characters apart from -the mere ‘vase’ and ‘candlestick’ personages, may be said to be depicted -in the person of a Christian convert, Stella, who has had the good -fortune to be converted by no less a person than Mary Magdalene, when -she, Stella, was staying on a visit to her aunt, near Narbonne.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">‘<i>Stella (continuant</i>) <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Voilà</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Que je vois s’avancer, sans pilote et sans rames,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Une barque portant deux hommes et deux femmes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et, spectacle inouï qui me ravit encor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tous quatre avaient au front une auréole d’or<br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’où partaient des rayons de si vive lumière<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Que je fus obligée à baisser la paupière;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et, lorsque je rouvris les yeux avec effroi,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les voyageurs divins étaient auprès de moi.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Un jour de chacun d’eux et dans toute sa gloire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Je te raconterai la merveilleuse histoire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et tu l’adoreras, j’espère; en ce moment,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ma mère, il te suffit de savoir seulement<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Que tous quatre venaient du fond de la Syrie:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Un édit les avait bannis de leur patrie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et, se faisant bourreaux, des hommes irrités,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sans avirons, sans eau, sans pain et garottés,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sur une frêle barque échouée au rivage.<a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les avaient à la mer poussés dans un orage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mais à peine l’esquif eut-il touché les flots,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qu’au cantique, chanté par les saints matelots,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">L’ouragan replia ses ailes frémissantes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Que la mer aplanit ses vagues mugissantes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et qu’un soleil plus pur, reparaissant aux cieux,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enveloppa l’esquif d’un cercle radieux!...<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Junia.</i> Mais c’était un prodige.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Stella.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;"><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Un miracle, ma mère!</span></span></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leurs fers tombèrent seuls, l’eau cessa d’être amère,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et deux fois chaque jour le bateau fut couvert<br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’une manne pareille à celle du desert;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">C’est ainsi que, poussés par une main céleste,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Je les vis aborder.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Junia.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh! dis vîte le reste!</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Stella.</i> A l’aube, trois d’entre eux quittèrent la maison:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marthe prit le chemin qui mène à Tarascon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lazare et Maximin celui de Massilie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et celle qui resta ... <i>c’était la plus jolie</i> [how truly French!],<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nous faisant appeler vers le milieu du jour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Demanda si les monts ou les bois d’alentour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cachaient quelque retraite inconnue et profonde,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qui la pût séparer à tout jamais du monde....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aquila se souvint qu’il avait pénétré<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dans un antre sauvage et de tous ignoré,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grotte creusée aux flancs de ces Alpes sublimes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Où l’aigle fait son aire au-dessus des abîmes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Il offrit cet asile, et dès le lendemain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tous deux, pour l’y guider, nous étions en chemin.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Le soir du second jour nous touchâmes sa base:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Là, tombant à genoux dans une sainte extase,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Elle pria longtemps, puis vers l’antre inconnu,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dénouant sa chaussure, elle marcha pied nu.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nos prières, nos cris restèrent sans réponses:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Au milieu des cailloux, des épines, des ronces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nous la vîmes monter, un bâton à la main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et ce n’est qu’arrivée au terme du chemin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qu’enfin elle tomba sans force et sans haleine....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Junia.</i> Comment la nommait-on, ma fille?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Stella.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Madeline.’</span><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Walking, says Stella, by the sea-shore,</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘A bark drew near, that had nor sail nor oar; two women and two men -the vessel bore: each of that crew, ‘twas wondrous to behold, wore -round his head a ring of blazing gold; from which such radiance -glittered all around, that I was fain to look towards the ground. -And when once more I raised my frightened eyne, before me stood the -travellers divine; their rank, the glorious lot that each befell, -at better season, mother, will I tell. Of this anon: the time will -come when thou shalt learn to worship as I worship now. Suffice it, -that from Syria’s land they came; an edict from their country -banished them. Fierce, angry men had seized<a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a> upon the four, and -launched them in that vessel from the shore. They launched these -victims on the waters rude: nor rudder gave to steer, nor bread for -food. As the doomed vessel cleaves the stormy main, that pious crew -uplifts a sacred strain; the angry waves are silent as it sings; -the storm, awe-stricken, folds its quivering wings. A purer sun -appears the heavens to light, and wraps the little bark in radiance -bright.</p> - -<p><i>Junia.</i> Sure, ‘twas a prodigy.</p> - -<p><i>Stella.</i> A miracle. Spontaneous from their hands the fetters fell. -The salt sea-wave grew fresh; and, twice a day, manna (like that -which on the desert lay) covered the bark, and fed them on their -way. Thus, hither led, at Heaven’s divine behest, I saw them -land——</p> - -<p><i>Junia.</i> My daughter, tell the rest.</p> - -<p><i>Stella.</i> Three of the four our mansion left at dawn. One, Martha, -took the road to Tarascon; Lazarus and Maximin to Massily; but one -remained (the fairest of the three), who asked us if, i’ the woods -or mountains near, there chanced to be some cavern lone and drear; -where she might hide, for ever, from all men. It chanced, my cousin -knew of such a den; deep hidden in a mountain’s hoary breast, on -which the eagle builds his airy nest. And thither offered he the -saint to guide. Next day upon the journey forth we hied; and came, -at the second eve, with weary pace, unto the lonely mountain’s -rugged base. Here the worn traveller, falling on her knee, did pray -awhile in sacred ecstasy; and, drawing off her sandals from her -feet, marched, naked, towards that desolate retreat. No answer made -she to our cries or groans; but walking midst the prickles and rude -stones, a staff in hand, we saw her upwards toil; nor ever did she -pause, nor rest the while, save at the entry of that savage den. -Here, powerless and panting, fell she then.</p> - -<p><i>Junia.</i> What was her name, my daughter?</p> - -<p><i>Stella.</i> <span style="margin-left: 5em;"><span class="smcap">Magdalen.</span></span></p></div> - -<p>Here the translator must pause—having no inclination to enter ‘the -tabernacle’ in company with such a spotless high-priest as Monsieur -Dumas.</p> - -<p>Something ‘tabernacular’ may be found in Dumas’s famous piece of <i>Don -Juan de Marana</i>. The poet has laid the scene of his play in a vast -number of places: in heaven (where we have the Virgin Mary, and little -angels, in blue, swinging censers before her!)—on earth, under the -earth, and in a place still lower, but not mentionable to ears polite; -and the plot, as it appears from a <i>dialogue</i> between a good and a bad -angel, with which the play<a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a> commences, turns upon a contest between -these two worthies for the possession of the soul of a member of the -family of Marana.</p> - -<p>Don Juan de Marana not only resembles his namesake, celebrated by Mozart -and Molière, in his peculiar successes among the ladies, but possesses -further qualities which render his character eminently fitting for stage -representation: he unites the virtues of Lovelace and Lacenaire; he -blasphemes upon all occasions; he murders, at the slightest provocation, -and without the most trifling remorse; he overcomes ladies of rigid -virtue, ladies of easy virtue, and ladies of no virtue at all; and the -poet, inspired by the contemplation of such a character, has depicted -his hero’s adventures and conversation with wonderful feeling and truth.</p> - -<p>The first act of the play contains a half-dozen of murders and -intrigues; which would have sufficed humbler genius than M. Dumas’s, for -the completion of, at least, half a dozen tragedies. In the second act -our hero flogs his elder brother, and runs away with his sister-in-law; -in the third, he fights a duel with a rival, and kills him: whereupon -the mistress of his victim takes poison, and dies, in great agonies, on -the stage. In the fourth act, Don Juan, having entered a church for the -purpose of carrying off a nun, with whom he is in love, is seized by the -statue of one of the ladies whom he has previously victimised, and made -to behold the ghosts of all those unfortunate persons whose deaths he -has caused.</p> - -<p>This is a most edifying spectacle. The ghosts rise solemnly, each in a -white sheet, preceded by a wax candle; and, having declared their names -and qualities, call, in chorus, for vengeance upon Don Juan, as thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘<i>Don Sandoval</i> (<i>loquitur</i>). I am Don Sandoval d’Ojedo. I played -against Don Juan my fortune, the tomb of my fathers, and the heart -of my mistress; I lost all. I played against him my life, and I -lost it. Vengeance against the murderer! vengeance!—(<i>The candle -goes out.</i>)’</p></div> - -<p><i>The candle goes out</i>, and an angel descends—a flaming sword in his -hand—and asks: ‘Is there no voice in favour of Don Juan?’ when lo! Don -Juan’s father (like one of those ingenious toys called -‘Jack-in-the-box’) jumps up from his coffin, and demands grace for his -son.</p> - -<p>When Martha, the nun, returns, having prepared all things for her -elopement, she finds Don Juan fainting upon the ground.—‘I am no longer -your husband,’ says he, upon coming to himself; ‘I am no longer Don -Juan; I am Brother Juan the Trappist. Sister Martha, recollect that you -must die!<a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>’</p> - -<p>This was a most cruel blow upon Sister Martha, who is no less a person -than an angel, an angel in disguise—the good spirit of the house of -Marana, who has gone to the length of losing her wings, and forfeiting -her place in heaven, in order to keep company with Don Juan on earth, -and, if possible, to convert him. Already, in her angelic character, she -had exhorted him to repentance, but in vain; for, while she stood at one -elbow, pouring not merely hints, but long sermons, into his ear, at the -other elbow stood a bad spirit, grinning and sneering at all her pious -counsels, and obtaining by far the greater share of the Don’s attention.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 103px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p240_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p240_sml.jpg" width="103" height="158" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>In spite, however, of the utter contempt with which Don Juan treats -her,—in spite of his dissolute courses, which must shock her -virtue,—and his impolite neglect, which must wound her vanity, the poor -creature (who, from having been accustomed to better company, might have -been presumed to have had better taste), the unfortunate angel, feels a -certain inclination for the Don, and actually flies up to heaven to ask -permission to remain with him on earth.</p> - -<p>And when the curtain draws up, to the sound of harps, and discovers -white-robed angels walking in the clouds, we find the angel of Marana -upon her knees, uttering the following address:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">‘LE BON ANGE<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vierge, à qui le calice à la liqueur amère<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Fut si souvent offert,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mère, que l’on nomma la douloureuse mère,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Tant vous avez souffert!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vous, dont les yeux divins, sur la terre des hommes,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Ont versé plus de pleurs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Que vos pieds n’ont depuis, dans le ciel où nous sommes,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Fait éclore de fleurs!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vase d’élection, étoile matinale,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Miroir de pureté,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vous qui priez pour nous, d’une voix virginale,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">La suprême bonté;<a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A mon tour, aujourd’hui, bienheureuse Marie,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Je tombe à vos genoux;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Daignez donc m’écouter, car c’est vous que je prie,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Vous qui priez pour nous.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Which may be thus interpreted:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘O Virgin blest! by whom the bitter draught<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So often has been quaffed,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">That, for thy sorrow, thou art named by us<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The Mother Dolorous!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Thou, from whose eyes have fallen more tears of woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Upon the earth below,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Than ‘neath thy footsteps, in this heaven of ours,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Have risen flowers!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">O beaming morning star! O chosen vase!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O mirror of all grace!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Who, with thy virgin voice, dost ever pray<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Man’s sins away;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Bend down thine ear, and list, O blessed saint!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Unto my sad complaint;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Mother! to thee I kneel, on thee I call,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who hearest all.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">She proceeds to request that she may be allowed to return to earth, and -follow the fortunes of Don Juan;—and as there is one difficulty, or, to -use her own words,—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Mais, comme vous savez qu’aux voûtes éternelles,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Malgré moi, tend mon vol,<br /></span> -<span class="ist"><i>Soufflez sur mon étoile et détachez mes ailes,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>Pour m’enchaîner au sol;’</i><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">her request is granted, her star is <i>blown out</i> (O poetic allusion!), -and she descends to earth to love, and to go mad, and to die for Don -Juan!</p> - -<p>The reader will require no further explanation, in order to be satisfied -as to the moral of this play; but is it not a very bitter satire upon -the country, which calls itself the politest nation in the world, that -the incidents, the indecency, the coarse blasphemy, and the vulgar wit -of this piece, should find admirers among the public, and procure -reputation for the author? Could not the Government, which has -re-established, in a manner, the theatrical censorship, and forbids or -alters plays which touch on politics, exert the same guardianship over -public morals? The honest English reader, who has a faith in his -clergyman, and is a regular attendant at Sunday worship, will not be a -little surprised at the march of intellect among our neighbours across -the Channel, and at the kind of consideration in which they hold their -religion. Here is a man who seizes upon saints and angels, merely to put -sentiments in<a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a> their mouths which might suit a nymph of Drury Lane. He -shows heaven, in order that he may carry debauch into it; and avails -himself of the most sacred and sublime parts of our creed, as a vehicle -for a scene-painter’s skill, or an occasion for a handsome actress to -wear a new dress.</p> - -<p>M. Dumas’s piece of <i>Kean</i> is not quite so sublime; it was brought out -by the author as a satire upon the French critics, who, to their credit -be it spoken, had generally attacked him, and was intended by him, and -received by the public, as a faithful portraiture of English manners. As -such, it merits special observation and praise. In the first act you -find a Countess and an Ambassadress, whose conversation relates purely -to the great actor. All the ladies in London are in love with him, -especially the two present;—as for the Ambassadress, she prefers him to -her husband (a matter of course in all French plays), and to a more -seducing person still—no less a person than the Prince of Wales! who -presently waits on the ladies, and joins in their conversation -concerning Kean. ‘This man,’ says his Royal Highness, ‘is the very pink -of fashion. Brummell is nobody when compared to him; and I myself only -an insignificant private gentleman: he has a reputation among ladies, -for which I sigh in vain; and spends an income twice as great as mine.’ -This admirable historic touch at once paints the actor and the Prince; -the estimation in which the one was held, and the modest economy for -which the other was so notorious.</p> - -<p>Then we have Kean, at a place called the <i>Trou de Charbon</i>, the -‘Coal-hole,’ where, to the edification of the public, he engages in a -fisty combat with a notorious boxer; this scene was received by the -audience with loud exclamations of delight, and commented on, by the -journals, as a faultless picture of English manners. The ‘Coal-hole’ -being on the banks of the Thames, a nobleman—<i>Lord Melbourn!</i>—has -chosen the tavern as a rendezvous for a gang of pirates, who are to have -their ship in waiting, in order to carry off a young lady, with whom his -lordship is enamoured. It need not be said that Kean arrives at the nick -of time, saves the innocent <i>Meess Anna</i>, and exposes the infamy of the -Peer;—a violent tirade against noblemen ensues, and Lord Melbourn -slinks away, disappointed, to meditate revenge. Keen’s triumphs continue -through all the acts; the Ambassadress falls madly in love with him; the -Prince becomes furious at his ill success, and the Ambassador dreadfully -jealous. They pursue Kean to his dressing-room at the theatre; where, -unluckily, the Ambassadress herself has taken refuge. Dreadful quarrels -ensue; the tragedian grows suddenly mad upon the stage, and so cruelly<a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a> -insults the Prince of Wales, that his Royal Highness determines to send -him <i>to Botany Bay</i>. His sentence, however, is commuted to banishment to -New York; whither, of course, Miss Anna accompanies him; rewarding him, -previously, with her hand and twenty thousand a year!</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p243_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p243_sml.jpg" width="340" height="217" alt="THE GALLERY AT DEBURAU’S THEATRE SKETCHED FROM NATURE" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE GALLERY AT DEBURAU’S THEATRE SKETCHED FROM NATURE</span> -</p> - -<p>This wonderful performance was gravely received and admired by the -people of Paris; the piece was considered to be decidedly moral, because -the popular candidate was made to triumph throughout, and to triumph in -the most virtuous manner; for, according to the French code of morals, -success among women is at once the proof and the reward of virtue.</p> - -<p>The sacred personage introduced in Dumas’s play, behind a cloud, figures -bodily in the piece of the <i>Massacre of the Innocents</i>, represented at -Paris last year. She appears under a different name, but the costume is -exactly that of Carlo-Dolce’s Madonna; and an ingenious fable is -arranged, the interest of which hangs upon the grand Massacre of the -Innocents, perpetrated in the fifth act. One of the chief characters is -Jean le Précurseur, who threatens woe to Herod and his race, and is -beheaded by the orders of that sovereign.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Festin de Balthazar</i> we are similarly introduced to Daniel, and -the first scene is laid by the waters of Babylon, where a certain number -of captive Jews is seated in melancholy postures; a Babylonian officer -enters, exclaiming, ‘Chantez nous quelques chansons de Jérusalem,’ and -the request is refused in the language of the Psalm. Belshazzar’s Feast -is given in a grand tableau, after Martin’s picture. That painter, in -like manner, furnished scenes for the <i>Déluge</i>. Vast numbers of -schoolboys and children are brought to see these pieces; the lower -classes delight in them. The famous <i>Juif Errant</i>, at the theatre of the -Porte St. Martin, was the first of the kind, and its prodigious success, -no doubt, occasioned the number of imitations which the other theatres -have produced.</p> - -<p>The taste of such exhibitions, of course, every English person will -question; but we must remember the manners of the people among whom they -are popular; and, if I may be allowed to hazard such an opinion, there -is, in every one of these Boulevard mysteries, a kind of rude moral. The -Boulevard writers don’t pretend to ‘tabernacles’ and divine gifts, like -Madame Sand and Dumas, before mentioned. If they take a story from the -sacred books, they garble it without mercy, and take sad liberties with -the text; but they do not deal in descriptions of the agreeably wicked, -or ask pity and admiration for tender-hearted criminals and -philanthropic murderers, as their betters do. Vice is vice on the -Boulevard; and<a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a> it is fine to hear the audience, as a tyrant king roars -out cruel sentences of death, or a bereaved mother pleads for the life -of her child, making their remarks on the circumstances of the scene. -‘Ah, le gredin!’ growls an indignant countryman. ‘Quel monstre!’ says a -grisette, in a fury. You see very fat old men crying like babies; and, -like babies, sucking enormous sticks of barley-sugar. Actors and -audience enter warmly into the illusion of the piece; and so especially -are the former affected, that, at Franconi’s, where the battles of the -Empire are represented, there is as regular gradation in the ranks of -the mimic army, as in the real imperial legions. After a man has served, -with credit, for a certain number of years in the line, he is promoted -to be an officer—an acting officer. If he conducts himself well, he may -rise to be a Colonel, or a General of Division; if ill, he is degraded -to the ranks again; or, worst degradation of all, drafted into a -regiment of Cossacks or Austrians. Cossacks is the lowest depth, -however; nay, it is said that the men who perform these Cossack parts -receive higher wages than the mimic grenadiers and old guard. They will -not consent to be beaten every night, even in play; to be pursued in -hundreds, by a handful of French; to fight against their beloved -Emperor. Surely there is fine hearty virtue in this, and pleasant -childlike simplicity.</p> - -<p>So that while the drama of Victor Hugo, Dumas, and the enlightened -classes is profoundly immoral and absurd, the drama of the common people -is absurd, if you will, but good and right-hearted. I have made notes of -one or two of these pieces, which all have good feeling and kindness in -them, and which turn, as the reader will see, upon one or two favourite -points of popular morality. A drama that obtained a vast success at the -Porte St. Martin was <i>La Duchesse de la Vauballière</i>. The Duchess is the -daughter of a poor farmer, who was carried off in the first place, and -then married by M. le Duc de la Vauballière, a terrible <i>roué</i>, the -farmer’s landlord, and the intimate friend of Philippe d’Orléans, the -Regent of France.</p> - -<p>Now, the Duke, in running away with the lady, intended to dispense -altogether with ceremony, and make of Julie anything but his wife; but -Georges, her father, and one Morisseau, a notary, discovered him in his -dastardly act, and pursued him to the very feet of the Regent, who -compelled the pair to marry and make it up.</p> - -<p>Julie complies; but though she becomes a Duchess, her heart remains -faithful to her old flame, Adrian, the doctor; and she declares that, -beyond the ceremony, no sort of intimacy shall take place between her -husband and herself.<a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a></p> - -<p>Then the Duke begins to treat her in the most ungentleman-like manner: -he abuses her in every possible way; he introduces improper characters -into her house; and, finally, becomes so disgusted with her, that he -determines to make away with her altogether.</p> - -<p>For this purpose, he sends forth into the highways and seizes a doctor, -bidding him, on pain of death, to write a poisonous prescription for -Madame la Duchesse. She swallows the potion; and, oh, horror! the doctor -turns out to be Dr. Adrian; whose woe may be imagined, upon finding that -he has been thus committing murder on his true love!</p> - -<p>Let not the reader, however, be alarmed as to the fate of the heroine; -no heroine of a tragedy ever yet died in the third act; and, -accordingly, the Duchess gets up perfectly well again in the fourth, -through the instrumentality of Morisseau, the good lawyer.</p> - -<p>And now it is that vice begins to be really punished. The Duke, who, -after killing his wife, thinks it necessary to retreat, and take refuge -in Spain, is tracked to the borders of that country by the virtuous -notary, and there receives such a lesson as he will never forget to his -dying day.</p> - -<p>Morisseau, in the first instance, produces a deed (signed by his -Holiness the Pope), which annuls the marriage of the Duke de la -Vauballière; then another deed, by which it is proved that he was not -the eldest son of old La Vauballière, the former Duke; then another -deed, by which he shows that old La Vauballière (who seems to have been -a disreputable old fellow) was a bigamist, and that, in consequence, the -present man, styling himself Duke, is illegitimate; and, finally, -Morisseau brings forward another document, which proves that the -<i>reg’lar</i> Duke is no other than Adrian, the doctor!</p> - -<p>Thus it is that love, law, and physic, combined, triumph over the horrid -machinations of this star-and-gartered libertine.</p> - -<p><i>Hermann l’Ivrogne</i> is another piece of the same order; and, though not -very refined, yet possesses considerable merit. As in the case of the -celebrated Captain Smith, of Halifax, who ‘took to drinking ratafia, and -thought of poor Miss Bailey,’—a woman and the bottle have been the -cause of Hermann’s ruin. Deserted by his mistress, who has been seduced -from him by a base Italian Count, Hermann, a German artist, gives -himself entirely up to liquor and revenge: but when he finds that force, -and not infidelity, has been the cause of his mistress’s ruin, the -reader can fancy the indignant ferocity with which he pursues the -<i>infâme ravisseur</i>. A scene, which is really full of spirit, and -excellently well acted, here ensues: Hermann proposes to the Count, on -the eve of their duel,<a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a> that the survivor should bind himself to espouse -the unhappy Marie; but the Count declares himself to be already married, -and the student, finding a duel impossible (for his object was to -restore, at all events, the honour of Marie), now only thinks of his -revenge, and murders the Count. Presently, two parties of men enter -Hermann’s apartment; one is a company of students, who bring him the -news that he has obtained the prize of painting; the other the -policemen, who carry him to prison, to suffer the penalty of murder.</p> - -<p>I could mention many more plays in which the popular morality is -similarly expressed. The seducer, or rascal of the piece, is always an -aristocrat,—a wicked Count, or licentious Marquis,—who is brought to -condign punishment just before the fall of the curtain. And too good -reason have the French people had to lay such crimes to the charge of -the aristocracy, who are expiating now, on the stage, the wrongs which -they did a hundred years since. The aristocracy is dead now; but the -theatre lives upon traditions; and don’t let us be too scornful at such -simple legends that are handed down by the people, from race to race. -Vulgar prejudice against the great it may be; but prejudice against the -great is only a rude expression of sympathy with the poor; long, -therefore, may fat <i>épiciers</i> blubber over mimic woes, and honest -<i>prolétaires</i> shake their fists, shouting—‘Gredin, scélérat, monstre de -Marquis!’ and such republican cries.</p> - -<p>Remark, too, another development of this same popular feeling of dislike -against men in power. What a number of plays and legends have we (the -writer has submitted to the public, in the preceding pages, a couple of -specimens; one of French, and the other of Polish origin), in which that -great and powerful aristocrat, the Devil, is made to be miserably -tricked, humiliated, and disappointed! A play of this class, which, in -the midst of all its absurdities and claptraps, had much of good in it, -was called <i>Le Maudit des Mers</i>. Le Maudit is a Dutch captain, who, in -the midst of a storm, while his crew were on their knees at prayers, -blasphemed and drank punch; but what was his astonishment at beholding -an archangel with a sword, all covered with flaming resin, who told him -that, as he, in this hour of danger, was too daring, or too wicked, to -utter a prayer, he never should cease roaming the seas until he could -find some being who would pray to Heaven for him!</p> - -<p>Once, only, in a hundred years, was the skipper allowed to land for this -purpose; and this piece runs through four centuries, in as many acts, -describing the agonies and unavailing attempts of the miserable -Dutchman. Willing to go any lengths, in order to obtain<a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a> this prayer, -he, in the second act, betrays a Virgin of the Sun to a follower of -Pizarro; and, in the third, assassinates the heroic William of Nassau; -but ever before the dropping of the curtain, the angel and sword make -their appearance:—‘Treachery,’ says the spirit, ‘cannot lessen thy -punishment;—crime will not obtain thy release! <i>A la mer! à la mer!</i>’ -and the poor devil returns to the ocean, to be lonely, and -tempest-tossed, and sea-sick, for a hundred years more.</p> - -<p>But his woes are destined to end with the fourth act. Having landed in -America, where the peasants on the sea-shore, all dressed in Italian -costumes, are celebrating, in a quadrille, the victories of Washington, -he is there lucky enough to find a young girl to pray for him. Then the -curse is removed, the punishment is over, and a celestial vessel, with -angels on the decks, and ‘sweet little cherubs’ fluttering about the -shrouds and the poop, appears to receive him.</p> - -<p>This piece was acted at Franconi’s, where, for once, an angel-ship was -introduced in place of the usual horsemanship.</p> - -<p>One must not forget to mention here, how the English nation is satirised -by our neighbours, who have some droll traditions regarding us. In one -of the little Christmas pieces produced at the Palais Royal (satires -upon the follies of the past twelve months, on which all the small -theatres exhaust their wit), the celebrated flight of Messrs. Green and -Monck Mason was parodied, and created a good deal of laughter at the -expense of John Bull. Two English noblemen, Milor Cricri and Milor -Hanneton, appear as descending from a balloon, and one of them -communicates to the public the philosophical observations which were -made in the course of his aërial tour.</p> - -<p>‘On leaving Vauxhall,’ says his lordship, ‘we drank a bottle of Madeira, -as a health to the friends from whom we parted, and crunched a few -biscuits to support nature during the hours before lunch. In two hours -we arrived at Canterbury, enveloped in clouds; lunch, bottled porter; at -Dover, carried several miles in a tide of air, bitter cold, cherry -brandy; crossed over the Channel safely, and thought, with pity, of the -poor people who were sickening in the steamboats below; more bottled -porter; over Calais; dinner, roast-beef of Old England; near -Dunkirk,—night falling, lunar rainbow, brandy-and-water; night -confoundedly thick; supper, nightcap of rum-punch, and so to bed. The -sun broke beautifully through the morning mist, as we boiled the kettle, -and took our breakfast over Cologne. In a few more hours we concluded -this memorable voyage, and landed safely at Weilburg, in good time for -dinner.<a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>’</p> - -<p>The joke here is smart enough; but our honest neighbours make many -better, when they are quite unconscious of the fun. Let us leave plays, -for a moment, for poetry, and take an instance of French criticism, -concerning England, from the works of a famous French exquisite and man -of letters. The hero of the poem addresses his mistress:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Londres, tu le sais trop, en fait de capitale,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Est ce que fit le ciel de plus froid et plus pâle,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">C’est la ville du gaz, des marins, du brouillard;<br /></span> -<span class="ist">On s’y couche à minuit, et l’on s’y lève tard;<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Ses raouts tant vantés ne sont qu’une boxade,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Sur ses grands quais jamais échelle ou sérénade,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Mais de volumineux bourgeois pris de porter<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Qui passent sans lever le front à Westminster;<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Et n’était sa forêt de mâts perçant la brume,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Sa tour dont à minuit le vieil œil s’allume,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Et tes deux yeux, Zerline, illuminés bien plus,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Je dirais que, ma foi, des romans que j’ai lus,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Il n’en est pas un seul, plus lourd, plus léthargique<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Que cette nation qu’on nomme Britannique!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">The writer of the above lines (which let any man who can translate) is -Monsieur Roger de Beauvoir, a gentleman who actually lived many months -in England, as an <i>attaché</i> to the embassy of M. de Polignac. He places -the heroine of his tale in a <i>petit réduit près le Strand</i>, ‘with a -green and fresh jalousie, and a large blind, let down all day; you -fancied you were entering a bath of Asia, as soon as you had passed the -perfumed threshold of this charming retreat!’ He next places her—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Dans un Square écarté, morne et couverte de givre,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Où se cache un Hôtel, aux vieux lions de cuivre;’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">and the hero of the tale, a young French poet, who is in London, is -truly unhappy in that village.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Arthur dessèche et meurt.—Dans la ville de Sterne,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Rien qu’en voyant le peuple il a le mal de mer;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Il n’aime ni le Parc, gai comme une citerne,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Ni le tir au pigeon, ni le <i>soda-water</i>.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1"><i>Liston</i> ne le fait plus sourciller! Il rumine<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Sur les trottoirs du Strand, droit comme un échiquier,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Contre le peuple anglais, les nègres, la vermine<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Et les mille <i>cokneys</i> du peuple boutiquier,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Contre tous les bas-bleus, contre les pâtissières,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Les parieurs d’Epsom, le gin, le parlement,<a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a><br /></span> -<span class="i1">La <i>quaterly</i>, le roi, la pluie et les libraires,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">il ne touche plus, hélas! un sou d’argent!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">Et chaque gentleman lui dit: L’heureux poète!<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘L’heureux poète’ indeed! I question if a poet in this wide world is so -happy as M. de Beauvoir, or has made such wonderful discoveries. ‘The -bath of Asia, with green jalousies,’ in which the lady dwells; ‘the old -hotel, with copper lions, in a lonely square;’—were ever such things -heard of, or imagined, but by a Frenchman? The sailors, the negroes, the -vermin, whom he meets in the street,—how great and happy are all these -discoveries! Liston no longer makes the happy poet frown; and ‘gin,’ -‘cokneys,’ and the ‘quaterly’ have not the least effect upon him! And -this gentleman has lived many months amongst us; admires <i>Williams -Shakspear</i>, the ‘grave et vieux prophète,’ as he calls him, and never, -for an instant, doubts that his description contains anything absurd.</p> - -<p>I don’t know whether the great Dumas has passed any time in England; but -his plays show a similar intimate knowledge of our habits. Thus in Kean -the stage-manager is made to come forward and address the pit, with a -speech beginning, ‘<i>My Lords and Gentlemen</i>;’ and a company of -Englishwomen are introduced (at the memorable Coal-hole), and they all -wear <i>pinafores</i>; as if the British female were in the invariable habit -of wearing this outer garment, or slobbering her gown without it. There -was another celebrated piece, enacted some years since, upon the subject -of Queen Caroline, where our late adored sovereign, George, was made to -play a most despicable part; and where Signor Bergami fought a duel with -Lord Londonderry. In the last act of this play, the House of Lords was -represented, and Sir Brougham made an eloquent speech in the Queen’s -favour. Presently the shouts of the mob were heard without; from -shouting they proceed to pelting; and pasteboard brickbats and cabbages -came flying among the representatives of our hereditary legislature. At -this unpleasant juncture, <i>Sir Hardinge</i>, the Secretary at War, rises -and calls in the military; the act ends in a general row, and the -ignominious fall of Lord Liverpool, laid low by a brickbat from the mob!</p> - -<p>The description of these scenes is, of course, quite incapable of -conveying any notion of their general effect. You must have the -solemnity of the actors, as they Meess and Milor one another, and the -perfect gravity and good faith with which the audience listen to them. -Our stage Frenchman is the old Marquis, with sword, and pig-tail, and -spangled court coat. The Englishman of the French theatre has, -invariably, a red wig, and almost always leather gaiters,<a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a> and a long -white upper Benjamin: he remains as he was represented in the old -caricatures, after the peace, when Vernet designed him somewhat after -the following fashion.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p251_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p251_sml.jpg" width="161" height="172" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>And to conclude this catalogue of blunders: in the famous piece of the -<i>Naufrage de la Méduse</i>, the first act is laid on board an English -ship-of-war, all the officers of which appeared in light blue, or green, -coats (the lamp-light prevented our distinguishing the colour -accurately), in little blue coats, and <span class="smcap">TOP-BOOTS</span>!</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>Let us not attempt to deaden the force of this tremendous blow by any -more remarks. The force of blundering can go no farther. Would a -playwright or painter of the Chinese empire have stranger notions about -the barbarians than our neighbours, who are separated from us but by two -hours of salt water?</p> - -<h2><a name="MEDITATIONS_AT_VERSAILLES" id="MEDITATIONS_AT_VERSAILLES"></a>MEDITATIONS AT VERSAILLES</h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> palace of Versailles has been turned into a bric-à-brac shop of late -years; and its time-honoured walls have been covered with many thousand -yards of the worst pictures that eye ever looked<a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a> on. I don’t know how -many leagues of battles and sieges the unhappy visitor is now obliged to -march through, amidst a crowd of chattering Paris cockneys, who are -never tired of looking at the glories of the Grenadier Français; to the -chronicling of whose deeds this old palace of the old kings is now -altogether devoted. A whizzing, screaming steam-engine rushes hither -from Paris, bringing shoals of <i>badauds</i> in its wake. The old <i>coucous</i> -are all gone, and their place knows them no longer. Smooth asphaltum -terraces, tawdry lamps, and great hideous Egyptian obelisks, have -frightened them away from the pleasant station which they used to occupy -under the trees of the Champs Elysées; and though the old <i>coucous</i> were -just the most uncomfortable vehicles that human ingenuity ever -constructed, one can’t help looking back to the days of their existence -with a tender regret, for there was pleasure, then, in the little trip -of three leagues; and who ever had pleasure in a railroad journey?—Does -any reader of this venture to say that, on such a voyage, he ever dared -to be pleasant? Do the most hardened stokers joke with one another?—I -don’t believe it. Look into every single car of the train, and you will -see that every single face is solemn. They take their seats gravely, and -are silent, for the most part, during the journey; they dare not look -out of window, for fear of being blinded by the smoke that comes -whizzing by, or of losing their heads in one of the windows of the down -train: they ride for miles in utter damp and darkness; through awful -pipes of brick, that have been run pitilessly through the bowels of -gentle mother earth, the cast-iron Frankenstein of an engine gallops on, -puffing and screaming. Does any man pretend to say that he <i>enjoys</i> the -journey?—he might as well say that he enjoyed having his hair cut; he -bears it, but that is all: he will not allow the world to laugh at him, -for any exhibition of slavish fear; and pretends, therefore, to be at -his ease; but he is afraid, nay, ought to be, under the circumstances. I -am sure Hannibal or Napoleon would, were they locked suddenly into a -car; there kept close prisoners for a certain number of hours, and -whirled along at this dizzy pace. You can’t stop, if you would;—you may -die, but you can’t stop; the engine may explode upon the road, and up -you go along with it; or, may be a bolter, and take a fancy to go down a -hill, or into a river: all this you must bear, for the privilege of -travelling twenty miles an hour.</p> - -<p>This little journey, then, from Paris to Versailles, that used to be so -merry of old, has lost its pleasures since the disappearance of the -cuckoos; and I would as lieve have for companions the statues that -lately took a coach from the bridge opposite the Chamber of Deputies, -and stepped out in the Court of Versailles, as the most<a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a> part of the -people who now travel on the railroad. The stone figures are not a whit -more cold and silent than these persons, who used to be, in the old -cuckoos, so talkative and merry. The prattling grisette and her swain -from the Ecole de Droit; the huge Alsacian carabinier, grim smiling -under his sandy moustaches and glittering brazen helmet; the jolly -nurse, in red calico, who had been to Paris to show mamma her darling -Lolo, or Guguste;—what merry companions used one to find squeezed into -the crazy old vehicles that formerly performed the journey! But the age -of horseflesh is gone—that of engineers, economists, and calculators -has succeeded; and the pleasure of coucoudom is extinguished for ever. -Why not mourn over it, as Mr. Burke did over his cheap defence of -nations, and unbought grace of life; that age of chivalry, which he -lamented, <i>à propos</i> of a trip to Versailles, some half a century back?</p> - -<p>Without stopping to discuss (as might be done, in rather a neat and -successful manner) whether the age of chivalry was cheap or dear, and -whether, in the time of the unbought grace of life, there was not more -bribery, robbery, villainy, tyranny, and corruption, than exists even in -our own happy days,—let us make a few moral and historical remarks upon -the town of Versailles, where, between railroad and <i>coucou</i>, we are -surely arrived by this time.</p> - -<p>The town is, certainly, the most moral of towns. You pass, from the -railroad station, through a long, lonely suburb, with dusty rows of -stunted trees on either side, and some few miserable beggars, idle boys, -and ragged old women, under them. Behind the trees are gaunt, mouldy -houses, palaces once, where (in the days of the unbought grace of life) -the cheap defence of nations gambled, ogled, swindled, intrigued; whence -highborn duchesses used to issue, in old times, to act as chambermaids -to lovely Du Barri, and mighty princes rolled away, in gilt caroches, -hot for the honour of lighting his Majesty to bed, or of presenting his -stockings when he rose, or of holding his napkin when he dined. Tailors, -chandlers, tinmen, wretched hucksters, and greengrocers are now -established in the mansions of the old peers; small children are yelling -at the doors, with mouths besmeared with bread and treacle; damp rags -are hanging out of every one of the windows, steaming in the sun; -oyster-shells, cabbage-stalks, broken crockery, old papers, lie basking -in the same cheerful light. A solitary water-cart goes jingling down the -wide pavement, and spirts a feeble refreshment over the dusty, thirsty -stones.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p254_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p254_sml.jpg" width="206" height="335" alt="THE CHEAP DEFENCE OF NATIONS -A NATIONAL GUARD ON DUTY" title="THE CHEAP DEFENCE OF NATIONS -A NATIONAL GUARD ON DUTY" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE CHEAP DEFENCE OF NATIONS<br /> -A NATIONAL GUARD ON DUTY</span> -</p> - -<p>After pacing, for some time, through such dismal streets, we <i>déboucher</i> -on the <i>grand place</i>; and before us lies the palace dedicated to all the -glories of France. In the midst of the great, lonely plain, this famous -residence of King Louis looks low and<a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> mean.—Honoured pile! time was -when tall musketeers and gilded body-guards allowed none to pass the -gate;—fifty years ago, ten thousand drunken women, from Paris, broke -through the charm; and now a tattered commissioner will conduct you -through it for a penny, and lead you up to the sacred entrance of the -palace.</p> - -<p>We will not examine all the glories of France, as here they are -portrayed in pictures and marble: catalogues are written about these -miles of canvas, representing all the revolutionary battles, from Valmy -to Waterloo,—all the triumphs of Louis XIV.,—all the mistresses of his -successor,—and all the great men who have flourished since the French -empire began. Military heroes are most of these: fierce constables in -shining steel, marshals in voluminous wigs, and brave grenadiers in -bearskin caps; some dozens of whom gained crowns, principalities, -dukedoms; some hundreds, plunder and epaulets; some millions, death in -African sands, or in icy Russian plains, under the guidance, and for the -good, of that arch-hero, Napoleon. By far the greater part of ‘all the -glories’ of France (as of most other countries) is made up of these -military men: and a fine satire it is on the cowardice of mankind, that -they pay such an extraordinary homage to the virtue called courage, -filling their history-books with tales about it, and nothing but it.</p> - -<p>Let them disguise the place, however, as they will, and plaster the -walls with bad pictures as they please, it will be hard to think of any -family but one, as one traverses this vast gloomy edifice. It has not -been humbled to the ground, as a certain palace of Babel was of yore: -but it is a monument of fallen pride, not less awful, and would afford -matter for a whole library of sermons. The cheap defence of nations -expended a thousand millions in the erection of this magnificent -dwelling-place. Armies were employed, in the intervals of their warlike -labours, to level hills, or pile them up; to turn rivers, and to build -aqueducts, and transplant woods, and construct smooth terraces, and long -canals. A vast garden grew up in a wilderness, and a stupendous palace -in the garden, and a stately city round the palace: the city was peopled -with parasites, who daily came to do worship before the creator of these -wonders—the Great King. ‘Dieu seul est grand,’ said courtly Massillon; -but next to him, as the prelate thought, was certainly Louis, his -vicegerent here upon earth—God’s lieutenant-governor of the -world,—before whom courtiers used to fall on their knees, and shade -their eyes, as if the light of his countenance, like the sun, which -shone supreme in heaven, the type of him, was too dazzling to bear.<a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a></p> - -<p>Did ever the sun shine upon such a king before, in such a palace?—or, -rather, did such a king ever shine upon the sun? When Majesty came out -of his chamber, in the midst of his superhuman splendours, viz. in his -cinnamon-coloured coat, embroidered with diamonds; his pyramid of a -wig;<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> his red-heeled shoes, that lifted him four inches from the -ground, ‘that he scarcely seemed to touch;’ when he came out, blazing -upon the dukes and duchesses that waited his rising,—what could the -latter do but cover their eyes, and wink, and tremble?—And did he not -himself believe, as he stood there, on his high heels, under his -ambrosial periwig, that there was something in him more than -man—something above Fate?</p> - -<p>This, doubtless, was he fain to believe; and if, on very fine days, from -his terrace, before his gloomy palace of St. Germains, he could catch a -glimpse, in the distance, of a certain white spire of St. Denis, where -his race lay buried, he would say to his courtiers, with a sublime -condescension, ‘Gentlemen, you must remember that I, too, am mortal.’ -Surely the lords in waiting could hardly think him serious, and vowed -that his Majesty always loved a joke. However, mortal or not, the sight -of that sharp spire wounded his Majesty’s eyes; and is said, by the -legend, to have caused the building of the palace of Babel-Versailles.</p> - -<p>In the year 1681, then, the great king, with bag and baggage,—with -guards, cooks, chamberlains, mistresses, Jesuits, gentlemen, lackeys, -Fénelons, Molières, Lauzuns, Bossuets, Villars, Villeroys, Louvois, -Colberts,—transported himself to his new palace: the old one being left -for James of England and Jaquette his wife, when their time should come. -And when the time did come, and James sought his brother’s kingdom, it -is on record that Louis hastened to receive and console him, and -promised to restore, incontinently, those islands from which the -<i>canaille</i> had turned him. Between brothers such a gift was a trifle; -and the courtiers said to one another reverently,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> ‘The Lord said -unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, until I make thine enemies my -footstool.’ There was no blasphemy in the speech; on the contrary, it -was gravely said, by a faithful believing man, who thought it no shame -to the latter to compare his Majesty with God Almighty. Indeed, the -books of the time will give one a strong idea how general was this -Louis-worship. I have just been looking at one,<a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a> which was written by an -honest Jesuit and <i>protégé</i> of Père la Chaise, who dedicates a book of -medals to the august Infants of France, which does, indeed, go almost as -far in print. He calls our famous monarch ‘Louis le Grand:—1, -l’invincible; 2, le sage; 3, le conquérant; 4, la merveille de son -siècle; 5, la terreur de sea ennemis; 6, l’amour de ses peuples; 7, -l’arbitre de la paix et de la guerre; 8, l’admiration de l’univers; 9, -et digne d’en être le maître; 10, le modèle d’un héros achevé; 11, digne -de l’immortalité, et de la vénération de tous les siècles!’</p> - -<p>A pretty Jesuit declaration, truly, and a good honest judgment upon the -great King! In thirty years more—1. The invincible had been beaten a -vast number of times. 2. The sage was the puppet of an artful old woman, -who was the puppet of more artful priests. 3. The conqueror had quite -forgotten his early knack of conquering. 5. The terror of his enemies -(for 4, the marvel of his age, we pretermit, it being a loose term, that -may apply to any person or thing) was now terrified by his enemies in -turn. 6. The love of his people was as heartily detested by them as -scarcely any other monarch, not even his great-grandson, has been, -before or since. 7. The arbiter of peace and war was fain to send superb -ambassadors to kick their heels in Dutch shopkeepers’ ante-chambers. 8. -Is again a general term. 9. The man fit to be master of the universe, -was scarcely master of his own kingdom. 10. The finished hero was all -but finished, in a very commonplace and vulgar way. And 11. The man -worthy of immortality was just at the point of death, without a friend -to soothe or deplore him; only withered old Maintenon to mutter prayers -at his bedside, and croaking Jesuits to prepare him,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> with Heaven -knows what wretched tricks and mummeries, for his appearance in that -Great Republic that lies on the other side of the grave. In the course -of his fourscore splendid miserable years, he never had but one friend, -and he ruined and left her. Poor La Vallière, what a sad tale is yours! -‘Look at this Galerie des Glaces,’ cried Monsieur Vatout, staggering -with surprise at the appearance of the room, two hundred and forty-two -feet long, and forty high; ‘here it was that Louis displayed all the -grandeur of Royalty; and such was the splendour of his Court, and the -luxury of the times, that this immense room could hardly contain the -crowd of courtiers that pressed around the monarch.’ Wonderful! -wonderful! Eight thousand four hundred and sixty square feet of -courtiers! Give a square yard to each, and you have a matter of three -thousand of them. Think of three thousand courtiers per day, and all the -chopping and changing of them for<a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a> near forty years; some of them dying; -some getting their wishes and retiring to their provinces to enjoy their -plunder; some disgraced, and going home to pine away out of the light of -the sun;<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> new ones perpetually arriving,—pushing, squeezing, for -their place, in the crowded Galerie des Glaces. A quarter of a million -of noble countenances, at the very least, must those glasses have -reflected. Rouge, diamonds, ribands, patches upon the faces of smiling -ladies: towering periwigs, sleek shaven crowns, tufted moustaches, -scars, and grizzled whiskers, worn by ministers, priests, dandies, and -grim old commanders.—So many faces, O ye gods! and every one of them -lies! So many tongues, vowing devotion and respectful love to the great -King in his six-inch wig; and only poor La Vallière’s amongst them all -which had a word of truth for the dull ears of Louis of Bourbon.</p> - -<p>‘Quand j’aurai de la peine aux Carmélites,’ says unhappy Louise, about -to retire from these magnificent courtiers and their grand Galerie des -Glaces, ‘je me souviendrai de ce que ces gens-là m’ont fait -souffrir!’—A troop of Bossuets inveighing against the vanities of -Courts could not preach such an affecting sermon. What years of anguish -and wrong has the poor thing suffered, before these sad words came from -her gentle lips! How these courtiers have bowed and flattered, kissed -the ground on which she trod, fought to have the honour of riding by her -carriage, written sonnets, and called her goddess: who in the days of -her prosperity was kind and beneficent, gentle and compassionate to all; -then (on a certain day, when it is whispered that his Majesty hath cast -the eyes of his gracious affection upon another) behold the three -thousand courtiers are at the feet of the new divinity.—‘O divine -Athenais! what blockheads have we been to worship any but you.—<i>That</i> a -goddess?—a pretty goddess forsooth;—a witch, rather, who, for a while, -kept our gracious monarch blind! Look at her: the woman limps as she -walks; and, by sacred Venus, her mouth stretches almost to her diamond -earrings!’<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> The some tale may be told of many more deserted -mistresses; and fair Athenais de Montespan was to hear it of herself one -day. Meantime, while La Vallière’s heart is breaking, the model of a -finished hero is yawning; as, on such paltry occasions, a finished hero -should. <i>Let</i> her heart break: a plague upon her tears and repentance; -what right has she to repent? Away with her to<a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a> her convent! She goes, -and the finished hero never sheds a tear. What a noble pitch of stoicism -to have reached! Our Louis was so great, that the little woes of mean -people were beyond him: his friends died, his mistresses left him; his -children, one by one, were cut off before his eyes, and great Louis is -not moved in the slightest degree! As how, indeed, should a god be -moved?</p> - -<p>I have often liked to think about this strange character in the world, -who moved in it, bearing about a full belief in his own infallibility; -teaching his generals the art of war, his ministers the science of -government, his wits taste, his courtiers dress; ordering deserts to -become gardens, turning villages into palaces at a breath; and indeed -the august figure of the man, as he towers upon his throne, cannot fail -to inspire one with respect and awe:—how grand those flowing locks -appear; how awful that sceptre; how magnificent those flowing robes! In -Louis, surely, if in any one, the majesty of kinghood is represented.</p> - -<p>But a king is not every inch a king, for all the poet may say; and it is -curious to see how much precise majesty there is in that majestic figure -of Ludovicus Rex. In the plate opposite, we have endeavoured to make the -exact calculation. The idea of kingly dignity is equally strong in the -two outer figures; and you see, at once, that majesty is made out of the -wig, the high-heeled shoes, and cloak, all fleur-de-lis bespangled. As -for the little, lean, shrivelled, paunchy old man, of five feet two, in -a jacket and breeches, there is no majesty in <i>him</i> at any rate; and yet -he has just stept out of that very suit of clothes. Put the wig and -shoes on him, and he is six feet high;—the other fripperies, and he -stands before you majestic, imperial, and heroic! Thus do barbers and -cobblers make the gods that we worship: for do we not all worship him? -Yes; though we all know him to be stupid, heartless, short, of doubtful -personal courage, worship and admire him we must; and have set up, in -our hearts, a grand image of him, endowed with wit, magnanimity, valour, -and enormous heroical stature.</p> - -<p>And what magnanimous acts are attributed to him! or, rather, how -differently do we view the actions of heroes and common men, and find -that the same thing shall be a wonderful virtue in the former, which, in -the latter, is only an ordinary act of duty! Look at yonder window of -the King’s chamber;—one morning a Royal cane was seen whirling out of -it, and plumped among the courtiers and guard of honour below. King -Louis had absolutely, and with his own hand, flung his own cane out of -the window, ‘because,’ said he, ‘I won’t demean myself by striking a -gentleman!’ Oh, miracle of magnanimity! Lauzun was not caned,<a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> because -he besought Majesty to keep his promise,—only imprisoned for ten years -in Pignerol, along with banished Fouquet;—and a pretty story is -Fouquet’s, too.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p260_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p260_sml.jpg" width="331" height="212" alt="AN HISTORICAL STUDY - -REX LUDOVICUS LUDOVICUS REX" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption"> -REX <span style="margin-left: 2em;">LUDOVICUS</span> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">LUDOVICUS REX</span><br /> -AN HISTORICAL STUDY</span> -</p> - -<p>Out of the window the King’s august head was one day thrust, when old -Condé was painfully toiling up the steps of the court below. ‘Don’t -hurry yourself, my cousin,’ cries Magnanimity; ‘one who has to carry so -many laurels cannot walk fast.’ At which all the courtiers, lackeys, -mistresses, chamberlains, Jesuits, and scullions clasp their hands and -burst into tears. Men are affected by the tale to this very day. For a -century and three-quarters have not all the books that speak of -Versailles, or Louis Quatorze, told the story?—‘Don’t hurry yourself, -my cousin!’ O admirable King and Christian! what a pitch of -condescension is here, that the greatest King of all the world should go -for to say anything so kind, and really tell a tottering old gentleman, -worn out with gout, age, and wounds, not to walk too fast!</p> - -<p>What a proper fund of slavishness is there in the composition of -mankind, that histories like these should be found to interest and awe -them. Till the world’s end, most likely, this story will have its place -in the history-books; and unborn generations will read it, and tenderly -be moved by it. I am sure that Magnanimity went to bed that night -pleased and happy, intimately convinced that he had done an action of -sublime virtue, and had easy slumbers and sweet dreams,—especially if -he had taken a light supper, and not too vehemently attacked his <i>en cas -de nuit</i>.</p> - -<p>That famous adventure, in which the <i>en cas de nuit</i> was brought into -use, for the sake of one Poquelin, <i>alias</i> Molière:—how often has it -been described and admired? This Poquelin, though King’s <i>valet de -chambre</i>, was by profession a vagrant; and as such looked coldly on by -the great lords of the palace, who refused to eat with him. Majesty -hearing of this, ordered his <i>en cas de nuit</i> to be placed on the table, -and positively cut off a wing, with his own knife and fork, for -Poquelin’s use. O thrice happy Jean Baptiste! The King has actually sate -down with him cheek by jowl, had the liver-wing of a fowl, and given -Molière the gizzard; put his imperial legs under the same mahogany, <i>sub -iisdem trabibus</i>. A man, after such an honour, can look for little else -in this world: he has tasted the utmost conceivable earthly happiness, -and has nothing to do now but to fold his arms and look up to heaven, -and sing ‘Nunc dimittis’ and die.</p> - -<p>Do not let us abuse poor old Louis on account of this monstrous pride; -but only lay it to the charge of the fools who believed and worshipped -it. If, honest man, he believed himself to be almost a god, it was only -because thousands of people had told him so—<a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>people only half liars, -too; who did, in the depths of their slavish respect, admire the man -almost as much as they said they did. If, when he appeared in his -five-hundred-million coat, as he is said to have done, before the -Siamese Ambassadors, the courtiers began to shade their eyes and long -for parasols, as if this Bourbonic sun was too hot for them; indeed, it -is no wonder that he should believe that there was something dazzling -about his person; he had half a million of eager testimonies to this -idea. Who was to tell him the truth?—Only in the last years of his life -did trembling courtiers dare whisper to him, after much circumlocution, -that a certain battle had been fought at a place called Blenheim, and -that Eugene and Marlborough had stopped his long career of triumphs.</p> - -<p>‘On n’est plus heureux à notre âge,’ says the old man, to one of his old -generals, welcoming Tallard, after his defeat; and he rewards him with -honours, as if he had come from a victory. There is, if you will, -something magnanimous in this welcome to his conquered general, this -stout protest against Fate. Disaster succeeds disaster; armies after -armies march out to meet fiery Eugene and that dogged fatal Englishman, -and disappear in the smoke of the enemies’ cannon. Even at Versailles -you may almost hear it roaring at last; but when courtiers, who have -forgotten their god, now talk of quitting this grand temple of his, old -Louis plucks up heart and will never hear of surrender. All the gold and -silver at Versailles he melts, to find bread for his armies: all the -jewels on his five-hundred-million coat he pawns resolutely; and, -bidding Villars go and make the last struggle but one, promises, if his -general is defeated, to place himself at the head of his nobles, and die -King of France. Indeed, after a man, for sixty years, has been -performing the part of a hero, some of the real heroic stuff must have -entered into his composition, whether he would or not. When the great -Elliston was enacting the part of King George the Fourth, in the play of -<i>The Coronation</i>, at Drury Lane, the galleries applauded very loudly his -suavity and majestic demeanour, at which Elliston, inflamed by the -popular loyalty (and by some fermented liquor in which, it is said, he -was in the habit of indulging), burst into tears, and, spreading out his -arms, exclaimed: ‘Bless ye, bless ye, my people!’ Don’t let us laugh at -his Ellistonian majesty, nor at the people who clapped hands and yelled -‘Bravo!’ in praise of him. The tipsy old manager did really feel that he -was a hero at that moment; and the people, wild with delight and -attachment for a magnificent coat and breeches, surely were uttering the -true sentiments of loyalty: which consists in reverencing these and -other articles of<a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a> costume. In this fifth act, then, of his long Royal -drama, old Louis performed his part excellently; and when the curtain -drops upon him, he lies, dressed majestically, in a becoming kingly -attitude, as a king should.</p> - -<p>The King his successor has not left, at Versailles, half so much -occasion for moralising: perhaps the neighbouring Parc aux Cerfs would -afford better illustrations of his reign. The life of his -great-grandsire, the Grand Llama of France, seems to have frightened -Louis the Well-beloved; who understood that loneliness is one of the -necessary conditions of divinity, and, being of a jovial companionable -turn, aspired not beyond manhood. Only in the matter of ladies did he -surpass his predecessor, as Solomon did David. War he eschewed, as his -grandfather bade him; and his simple taste found little in this world to -enjoy beyond the mulling of chocolate and the frying of pancakes. Look, -here is the room called Laboratoire du Roi, where, with his own hands, -he made his mistress’s breakfast—here is the little door through which, -from her apartments in the upper story, the chaste Du Barri came -stealing down to the arms of the weary, feeble, gloomy old man. But of -women he was tired long since, and even pancake-frying had palled upon -him. What had he to do, after forty years of reign;—after having -exhausted everything? Every pleasure that Dubois could invent for his -hot youth, or cunning Lebel could minister to his old age, was flat and -stale; used up to the very dregs; every shilling in the national purse -had been squeezed out, by Pompadour and Du Barri and such brilliant -ministers of state. He had found out the vanity of pleasure, as his -ancestor had discovered the vanity of glory; indeed it was high time -that he should die. And die he did; and round his tomb, as round that of -his grandfather before him, the starving people sang a dreadful chorus -of curses, which were the only epitaphs for good or for evil that were -raised to his memory.</p> - -<p>As for the courtiers—the knights and nobles, the unbought grace of -life—they, of course, forgot him in one minute after his death, as the -way is. When the King dies, the officer appointed opens his chamber -window, and calling out into the court below, <i>Le Roi est mort</i>, breaks -his cane, takes another and waves it, exclaiming <i>Vive le Roi!</i> -Straightway all the loyal nobles begin yelling <i>Vive le Roi!</i> and the -officer goes round solemnly and sets yonder great clock in the Cour de -Marbre to the hour of the King’s death. This old Louis had solemnly -ordained; but the Versailles clock was only set twice: there was no -shouting of <i>Vive le Roi</i> when the successor of Louis XV. mounted to -heaven to join his sainted family.<a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a></p> - -<p>Strange stories of the deaths of kings have always been very recreating -and profitable to us: what a fine one is that of the death of Louis XV., -as Madame Campan tells it! One night the gracious monarch came back ill -from Trianon; the disease turned out to be the small-pox; so violent -that ten people of those who had to enter his chamber caught the -infection and died. The whole Court flies from him; only poor old fat -Mesdames the King’s daughters persist in remaining at his bedside, and -praying for his soul’s welfare.</p> - -<p>On the 10th May 1774, the whole Court had assembled at the château; the -Œil de Bœuf was full. The Dauphin had determined to depart as soon -as the King had breathed his last. And it was agreed by the people of -the stables, with those who watched in the King’s room, that a lighted -candle should be placed in a window, and should be extinguished as soon -as he had ceased to live. The candle was put out. At that signal, -guards, pages, and squires mounted on horseback, and everything was made -ready for departure. The Dauphin was with the Dauphiness, waiting -together for the news of the King’s demise. <i>An immense noise, as if of -thunder, was heard in the next room</i>; it was the crowd of courtiers, who -were deserting the dead King’s apartment in order to pay their court to -the new power of Louis XVI. Madame de Noailles entered, and was the -first to salute the Queen by her title of Queen of France, and begged -their Majesties to quit their apartments to receive the princes and -great lords of the Court desirous to pay their homage to the new -sovereigns. Leaning on her husband’s arm, a handkerchief to her eyes, in -the most touching attitude, Marie Antoinette received these first -visits. On quitting the chamber where the dead King lay, the Duc de -Villequier bade M. Andervillé, first surgeon of the King, to open and -embalm the body: it would have been certain death to the surgeon. ‘I am -ready, sir,’ says he; ‘but, whilst I am operating, you must hold the -head of the corpse: your charge demands it.’ The Duke went away without -a word, and the body was neither opened nor embalmed. A few humble -domestics and poor workmen watched by the remains, and performed the -last offices to their master. The surgeons ordered spirits of wine to be -poured into the coffin.</p> - -<p>They huddled the King’s body into a postchaise; and in this deplorable -equipage, with an escort of about forty men, Louis the Well-beloved was -carried, in the dead of night, from Versailles to Saint-Denis, and then -thrown into the tomb of the kings of France!</p> - -<p>If any man is curious, and can get permission, he may mount to the roofs -of the palace, and see where Louis XVI. used royally<a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> to amuse himself, -by gazing upon the doings of all the townspeople below with a telescope. -Behold that balcony where, one morning, he, his Queen, and the little -Dauphin stood, with Cromwell Grandison Lafayette by their side, who -kissed her Majesty’s hand, and protected her; and then, lovingly -surrounded by his people, the King got into a coach and came to Paris: -nor did his Majesty ride much in coaches after that.</p> - -<p>There is a portrait of the King, in the upper galleries, clothed in red -and gold, riding a fat horse, brandishing a sword, on which the word -‘Justice’ is inscribed, and looking remarkably stupid and uncomfortable. -You see that the horse will throw him at the very first fling; and as -for the sword, it never was made for such hands as his, which were good -at holding a corkscrew or a carving-knife, but not clever at the -management of weapons of war. Let those pity him who will: call him -saint and martyr if you please; but a martyr to what principle was he? -Did he frankly support either party in his kingdom, or cheat and tamper -with both? He might have escaped, but he must have his supper, and so -his family was butchered, and his kingdom lost, and he had his bottle of -Burgundy in comfort at Varennes. A single charge upon the fatal tenth of -August, and the monarchy might have been his once more; but he is so -tender-hearted, that he lets his friends be murdered before his eyes -almost: or, at least, when he has turned his back upon his duty and his -kingdom, and has skulked for safety into the reporters’ box at the -National Assembly. There were hundreds of brave men who died that day, -and were martyrs, if you will: poor neglected tenth-rate courtiers, for -the most part, who had forgotten old slights and disappointments, and -left their places of safety to come and die, if need were, sharing in -the supreme hour of the monarchy. Monarchy was a great deal too humane -to fight along with these, and so left them to the pikes of Santerre and -the mercy of the men of the Sections. But we are wandering a good ten -miles from Versailles, and from the deeds which Louis XVI. performed -there.</p> - -<p>He is said to have been such a smart journeyman blacksmith, that he -might, if Fate had not perversely placed a crown on his head, have -earned a couple of louis every week by the making of locks and keys. -Those who will, may see the workshop where he employed many useful -hours; Madame Elizabeth was at prayers; meanwhile, the Queen was making -pleasant parties with her ladies; Monsieur the Count d’Artois was -learning to dance on the tight-rope; and Monsieur de Provence was -cultivating <i>l’eloquence du billet</i> and studying his favourite Horace. -It is said that each member of the august family succeeded remarkably -well in his or<a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a> her pursuits: big Monsieur’s little notes are still -cited. At a minuet or sillabub, poor Antoinette was unrivalled; and -Charles, on the tight-rope, was so graceful and so <i>gentil</i>, that Madame -Saqui might envy him. The time only was out of joint. Oh, cursed spite, -that ever such harmless creatures as these were bidden to right it!</p> - -<p>A walk to the Little Trianon is both pleasing and moral: no doubt the -reader has seen the pretty fantastical gardens which environ it; the -groves and temples; the streams and caverns (whither, as the guide tells -you, during the heat of summer, it was the custom of Marie Antoinette to -retire, with her favourite, Madame de Lamballe): the lake and Swiss -village are pretty little toys, moreover; and the cicerone of the place -does not fail to point out the different cottages which surround the -piece of water, and tell the names of the Royal masqueraders who -inhabited each. In the long cottage close upon the lake dwelt the -Seigneur du Village, no less a personage than Louis XV.; Louis XVI., the -Dauphin, was the Bailli; near his cottage is that of Monseigneur the -Count d’Artois, who was the Miller; opposite lived the Prince de Condé, -who enacted the part of Gamekeeper (or, indeed, any other <i>rôle</i>, for it -does not signify much); near him was the Prince de Roham, who was the -Aumônier; and yonder is the pretty little dairy, which was under the -charge of the fair Marie Antoinette herself.</p> - -<p>I forget whether Monsieur, the fat Count of Provence, took any share of -this royal masquerading; but look at the names of the other six actors -of the comedy, and it will be hard to find any person for whom Fate had -such dreadful visitations in store. Fancy the party, in the days of -their prosperity, here gathered at Trianon, and seated under the tall -poplars by the lake, discoursing familiarly together: suppose, of a -sudden, some conjuring Cagliostro of the time is introduced among them, -and foretells to them the woes that are about to come. ‘You, Monsieur -l’Aumônier, the descendant of a long line of princes, the passionate -admirer of that fair Queen who sits by your side, shall be the cause of -her ruin and your own,<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> and shall die in disgrace and exile. You, son -of the Condés, shall live long enough to see your Royal race overthrown, -and shall die by the hands of a hangman.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> You, oldest son of St. -Louis, shall perish by the executioner’s axe; that beautiful head, O -Antoinette, the same ruthless blade shall sever.’ ‘They shall kill me -first,’ says Lamballe, at the Queen’s side. ‘Yes, truly,’ replies the -soothsayer, ‘for Fate prescribes ruin for<a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a> your mistress and all who -love her.’<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> ‘And,’ cries Monsieur d’Artois, ‘do I not love my sister -too? I pray you not to omit me in your prophecies.’</p> - -<p>To whom Monsieur Cagliostro says scornfully, ‘You may look forward to -fifty years of life, after most of these are laid in the grave. You -shall be a king, but not die one; and shall leave the crown only; not -the worthless head that shall wear it. Thrice shall you go into exile: -you shall fly from the people, first, who would have no more of you and -your race; and you shall return home over half a million of human -corpses, that have been made for the sake of you, and of a tyrant as -great as the greatest of your family. Again driven away, your bitterest -enemy shall bring you back. But the strong limbs of France are not to be -chained by such a paltry yoke as you can put on her; you shall be a -tyrant, but in will only, and shall have a sceptre, but to see it robbed -from your hand.’</p> - -<p>‘And pray, Sir Conjurer, who shall be the robber?’ asked Monsieur the -Count d’Artois.</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>This I cannot say, for here my dream ended. The fact is, I had fallen -asleep on one of the stone benches in the Avenue de Paris, and at this -instant was awakened by a whirling of carriages and a great clattering -of national guards, lancers, and outriders, in red. <span class="smcap">His Majesty Louis -Philippe</span> was going to pay a visit to the palace, which contains several -pictures of his own glorious actions, and which has been dedicated, by -him, to All the Glories of France.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p class="c">THE END</p> - -<p><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb">THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK<br /><br /> -OF 1842<br /> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a> </p> - -<p class="c">TO DR.<br /><br /> -CHARLES LEVER<br /><br /> -<small>OF TEMPLEOGUE HOUSE, NEAR DUBLIN</small></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Lever</span>,</p> - -<p class="ind">Harry Lorrequer needs no complimenting in a dedication; and I would not -venture to inscribe these volumes to the Editor of the <i>Dublin -University Magazine</i>, who, I fear, must disapprove of a great deal which -they contain.</p> - -<p>But allow me to dedicate my little book to a good Irishman (the hearty -charity of whose visionary redcoats, some substantial personages in -black might imitate to advantage), and to a friend from whom I have -received a hundred acts of kindness and cordial hospitality.</p> - -<p>Laying aside for a moment the travelling title of Mr. Titmarsh, let me -acknowledge these favours in my own name, and subscribe myself, my dear -Lever,</p> - -<p class="c"> -Most sincerely and gratefully yours,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="r"> -W. M. THACKERAY.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>April 27, 1843</i>.<a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_IRISH_SKETCH_BOOK" id="THE_IRISH_SKETCH_BOOK"></a>THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK</h2> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>A SUMMER DAY IN DUBLIN, OR THERE AND THEREABOUTS</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> coach that brings the passenger by wood and mountain, by brawling -waterfall and gloomy plain, by the lonely lake of Festiniog, and across -the swinging world’s-wonder of a Menai Bridge, through dismal Anglesea -to dismal Holyhead—the Birmingham mail,—manages matters so cleverly, -that after ten hours’ ride the traveller is thrust incontinently on -board the packet, and the steward says there’s no use in providing -dinner on board because the passage is so short.</p> - -<p>That is true; but why not give us half-an-hour on shore? Ten hours spent -on a coach-box render the dinner question one of extreme importance; and -as the packet reaches Kingstown at midnight, when all the world is -asleep, the inn-larders locked up, and the cook in bed; and as the mail -is not landed until five in the morning (at which hour the passengers -are considerately awakened by a great stamping and shouting overhead), -might not Lord Lowther give us one little half-hour? Even the steward -agreed that it was a useless and atrocious tyranny; and, indeed, after a -little demur, produced a half-dozen of fried eggs, a feeble makeshift -for a dinner.</p> - -<p>Our passage across from the Head was made in a rain so pouring and -steady, that sea and coast were entirely hidden from us, and one could -see very little beyond the glowing tip of the cigar which remained -alight nobly in spite of the weather. When the gallant exertions of that -fiery spirit were over for ever, and, burning bravely to the end, it had -breathed its last in doing its master service, all became black and -cheerless around; the passengers had dropped off one by one, preferring -to be dry and ill below rather<a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a> than wet and squeamish above; even the -mate, with his gold-laced cap (who is so astonishingly like Mr. Charles -Dickens, that he might pass for that gentleman)—even the mate said he -would go to his cabin and turn in. So there remained nothing for it but -to do as all the world had done.</p> - -<p>Hence it was impossible to institute the comparison between the Bay of -Naples and that of Dublin (the Bee of Neeples the former is sometimes -called in this country), where I have heard the likeness asserted in a -great number of societies and conversations. But how could one see the -Bay of Dublin in the dark? and how, supposing one could see it, should a -person behave who has never seen the Bay of Naples? It is but to take -the similarity for granted, and remain in bed till morning.</p> - -<p>When everybody was awakened at five o’clock by the noise made upon the -removal of the mail-bags, there was heard a cheerless dribbling and -pattering overhead, which led one to wait still further until the rain -should cease. At length the steward said the last boat was going ashore, -and receiving half a crown for his own services (the regular tariff), -intimated likewise that it was the custom for gentlemen to compliment -the stewardess with a shilling, which ceremony was also complied with. -No doubt she is an amiable woman, and deserves any sum of money. As for -inquiring whether she merited it or not in this instance, that surely is -quite unfair. A traveller who stops to inquire the deserts of every -individual claimant of a shilling on his road, had best stay quiet at -home. If we only got what we <i>deserved</i>,—Heaven save us!—many of us -might whistle for a dinner.</p> - -<p>A long pier, with a steamer or two at hand, and a few small vessels -lying on either side of the jetty; a town irregularly built, with many -handsome terraces, some churches, and showy-looking hotels; a few people -straggling on the beach; two or three cars at the railroad station, -which runs along the shore as far as Dublin; the sea stretching -interminably eastward; to the north the Hill of Howth, lying grey behind -the mist; and, directly under his feet, upon the wet, black, shining, -slippery deck, an agreeable reflection of his own legs, disappearing -seemingly in the direction of the cabin from which he issues; are the -sights which a traveller may remark on coming on deck at Kingstown pier -on a wet morning—let us say on an <i>average</i> morning; for according to -the statement of well-informed natives, the Irish day is more often -rainy than otherwise. A hideous obelisk, stuck upon four fat balls, and -surmounted with a crown on a cushion (the latter were no bad emblems -perhaps of the monarch in whose honour they were raised), commemorates -the sacred spot at which George IV. <i>quitted</i><a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a> Ireland: you are landed -here from the steamer; and a carman, who is dawdling in the -neighbourhood, with a straw in his mouth, comes leisurely up to ask -whether you’ll go to Dublin? Is it natural indolence, or the effect of -despair because of the neighbouring railroad, which renders him so -indifferent?—He does not even take the straw out of his mouth as he -proposes the question, and seems quite careless as to the answer.</p> - -<p>He said he would take me to Dublin ‘in three quarthers,’ as soon as we -began a parley; as to the fare, he would not hear of it—he said he -would leave it to my honour; he would take me for nothing. Was it -possible to refuse such a genteel offer? The times are very much changed -since those described by the facetious Jack Hinton, when the carmen -tossed up for the passenger, and those who won him took him; for the -remaining cars on the stand did not seem to take the least interest in -the bargain, or offer to overdrive or underbid their comrade in any way.</p> - -<p>Before that day, so memorable for joy and sorrow, for rapture at -receiving its monarch and tearful grief at losing him, when George IV. -came and left the maritime resort of the citizens of Dublin, it bore a -less genteel name than that which it owns at present, and was called -Dunleary. After that glorious event Dunleary disdained to be Dunleary -any longer, and became Kingstown henceforward and for ever. Numerous -terraces and pleasure-houses have been built in the place—they stretch -row after row along the banks of the sea, and rise one above another on -the hill. The rents of these houses are said to be very high; the Dublin -citizens crowd into them in summer; and a great source of pleasure and -comfort must it be to them to have the fresh sea-breezes and prospects -so near to the metropolis.</p> - -<p>The better sort of houses are handsome and spacious; but the fashionable -quarter is yet in an unfinished state, for enterprising architects are -always beginning new roads, rows and terraces; nor are those already -built by any means complete. Besides the aristocratic part of the town -is a commercial one, and nearer to Dublin stretch lines of low cottages -which have not a Kingstown look at all, but are evidently of the -Dunleary period. It is quite curious to see in the streets where the -shops are, how often the painter of the signboards begins with big -letters, and ends, for want of space, with small; and the Englishman -accustomed to the thriving neatness and regularity which characterise -towns, great and small, in his own country, can’t fail to notice the -difference here. The houses have a battered rakish look, and seem going -to ruin before their time. As seamen of all nations come hither who have -made no vow of temperance, there are plenty of liquor-shops<a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a> still, and -shabby cigar-shops, and shabby milliners’ and tailors’ with fly-blown -prints of old fashions. The bakers and apothecaries make a great brag of -their calling, and you see <span class="smcap">MEDICAL HALL</span>, or <span class="smcap">PUBLIC BAKERY</span>, <i>BALLYRAGGET -FLOUR-STORE</i> (or whatever the name may be) pompously inscribed over very -humble tenements. Some comfortable grocers’ and butchers’ shops, and -numbers of shabby sauntering people, the younger part of whom are -bare-legged and bareheaded, make up the rest of the picture which the -stranger sees as his car goes jingling through the street.</p> - -<p>After the town come the suburbs of pleasure-houses; low, one-storied -cottages for the most part; some neat and fresh; some that have passed -away from the genteel state altogether, and exhibiting downright -poverty; some in a state of transition, with broken windows and pretty -romantic names upon tumbledown gates. Who lives in them? One fancies -that the chairs and tables inside are broken, and the teapot on the -breakfast-table has no spout, and the tablecloth is ragged and sloppy, -and the lady of the house is in dubious curl-papers, and the gentleman -with an imperial to his chin and a flaring dressing-gown all ragged at -the elbows.</p> - -<p>To be sure, a traveller who in ten minutes can see not only the outsides -of houses, but the interiors of the same, must have remarkably keen -sight; and it is early yet to speculate. It is clear, however, that -these are pleasure-houses for a certain class; and looking at the -houses, one can’t but fancy the inhabitants resemble them somewhat. The -car, on its road to Dublin, passes by numbers of these—by more -shabbiness than a Londoner will see in the course of his home -peregrinations for a year.</p> - -<p>The capabilities of the country, however, are very, very great, and in -many instances have been taken advantage of; for you see, besides the -misery, numerous handsome houses and parks along the road, having fine -lawns and woods, and the sea in our view, at a quarter of an hour’s ride -from Dublin. It is the continual appearance of this sort of wealth which -makes the poverty more striking; and thus between the two (for there is -no vacant space of fields between Kingstown and Dublin) the car reaches -the city. There is but little commerce on this road, which was also in -extremely bad repair. It is neglected for the sake of its thriving -neighbour the railroad, on which a dozen pretty little stations -accommodate the inhabitants of the various villages through which we -pass.</p> - -<p>The entrance to the capital is very handsome. There is no bustle and -throng of carriages, as in London; but you pass by numerous rows of neat -houses, fronted with gardens, and adorned with all sorts of gay-looking -creepers. Pretty market-gardens, with<a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a> trim beds of plants and shining -glass-houses, give the suburbs a <i>riante</i> and cheerful look; and, -passing under the arch of the railway, we are in the city itself. Hence -you come upon several old-fashioned, well-built, airy, stately streets, -and through Fitzwilliam Square, a noble place, the garden of which is -full of flowers and foliage. The leaves are green, and not black as in -similar places in London; the red-brick houses tall and handsome. -Presently the car stops before an extremely big red house, in that -extremely large square, Stephen’s Green, where Mr. O’Connell says there -is one day or other to be a Parliament. There is room enough for that, -or for any other edifice which fancy or patriotism may have a mind to -erect, for part of one of the sides of the square is not yet built, and -you see the fields and the country beyond.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>This then is the chief city of the aliens.—The hotel to which I had -been directed is a respectable old edifice, much frequented by families -from the country, and where the solitary traveller may likewise find -society. For he may either use the Shelburne as an hotel or a -boarding-house, in which latter case he is comfortably accommodated at -the very moderate daily charge of six-and-eight-pence. For this charge a -copious breakfast is provided for him in the coffee-room, a perpetual -luncheon is likewise there spread, a plentiful dinner is ready at six -o’clock; after which, there is a drawing-room and a rubber of whist, -with <i>tay</i> and coffee and cakes in plenty to satisfy the largest -appetite. The hotel is majestically conducted by clerks and other -officers; the landlord himself does not appear, after the honest -comfortable English fashion, but lives in a private mansion hard by, -where his name may be read inscribed on a brass-plate, like that of any -other private gentleman.</p> - -<p>A woman melodiously crying ‘Dublin Bay herrings’ passed just as we came -up to the door, and as that fish is famous throughout Europe, I seized -the earliest opportunity and ordered a broiled one for breakfast. It -merits all its reputation: and in this respect I should think the Bay of -Dublin is far superior to its rival of Naples. Are there any herrings in -Naples Bay? Dolphins there may be; and Mount Vesuvius, to be sure, is -bigger than even the Hill of Howth: but a dolphin is better in a sonnet -than at a breakfast, and what poet is there that, at certain periods of -the day, would hesitate in his choice between the two?</p> - -<p>With this famous broiled herring the morning papers are served up; and a -great part of these, too, gives opportunity of reflection to the -new-comer, and shows him how different this country is from<a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a> his own. -Some hundred years hence, when students want to inform themselves of the -history of the present day, and refer to files of <i>Times</i> and -<i>Chronicle</i> for the purpose, I think it is possible that they will -consult, not so much those luminous and philosophical leading articles -which call our attention at present both by the majesty of their -eloquence and the largeness of their type, but that they will turn to -those parts of the journals into which information is squeezed into the -smallest possible print, to the advertisements, namely, the law and -police reports, and to the instructive narratives supplied by that -ill-used body of men who transcribe knowledge at the rate of a penny a -line.</p> - -<p>The papers before me (the <i>Morning Register</i>, Liberal and Roman -Catholic; <i>Saunders’s News-Letter</i>, neutral and Conservative) give a -lively picture of the movement of city and country on this present -fourth day of July, and the Englishman can scarcely fail, as he reads -them, to note many small points of difference existing between his own -country and this. How do the Irish amuse themselves in the capital? The -love for theatrical exhibitions is evidently not very great. Theatre -Royal—Miss Kemble and the Sonnambula, an Anglo-Italian importation. -Theatre Royal, Abbey Street—The Temple of Magic and the Wizard, last -week. Adelphi Theatre, Great Brunswick Street—The Original Seven -Lancashire Bell-ringers: a delicious excitement indeed! Portobello -Gardens—‘<span class="smcap">THE LAST ERUPTION BUT SIX</span>,’ says the advertisement in -capitals. And, finally, ‘Miss Hayes will give her first and farewell -concert at the Rotunda, previous to leaving her native country.’ Only -one instance of Irish talent do we read of, and that, in a desponding -tone, announces its intention of quitting its native country. All the -rest of the pleasures of the evening are importations from cockney-land. -The Sonnambula from Covent Garden, the Wizard from the Strand, the Seven -Lancashire Bell-ringers, from Islington or the City Road, no doubt; and -as for ‘The last Eruption but Six,’ it has <i>erumped</i> near the Elephant -and Castle any time these two years, until the cockneys would wonder at -it no longer.</p> - -<p>The commercial advertisements are but few—a few horses and cars for -sale; some flaming announcements of insurance companies; some -‘emporiums’ of Scotch tweeds and English broadcloths; an auction for -damaged sugar; and an estate or two for sale. They lie in the columns -languidly, and at their ease as it were: how different from the throng, -and squeeze, and bustle of the commercial part of a London paper, where -every man (except Mr. George Robins) states his case as briefly as -possible, because thousands more are to be heard besides himself, and as -if he had no time for talking!<a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a></p> - -<p>The most active advertisers are the schoolmasters. It is now the happy -time of the Midsummer holidays; and the pedagogues make wonderful -attempts to encourage parents, and to attract fresh pupils for the -ensuing half-year. Of all these announcements that of <span class="smcap">Madame Shanahan</span> (a -delightful name) is perhaps the most brilliant. ‘To Parents and -Guardians.—Paris.—Such parents and guardians as may wish to entrust -their children for education <i>in its fullest extent</i> to <span class="smcap">Madame Shanahan</span>, -<i>can have the advantage of being conducted to Paris</i> by her brother, the -Rev. J. P. O’Reilly, of Church Street Chapel:’ which admirable -arrangement carries the parents to Paris and leaves the children in -Dublin. Ah, Madame, you may take a French title; but your heart is still -in your country, and you are to the <i>fullest extent</i> an Irishwoman -still!</p> - -<p>Fond legends are to be found in Irish books regarding places where you -may now see a round tower and a little old chapel, twelve feet square, -where famous universities are once said to have stood, and which have -accommodated myriads of students. Mrs. Hall mentions Glendalough, in -Wicklow, as one of these places of learning; nor can the fact be -questioned, as the universities existed hundreds of years since, and no -sort of records are left regarding them. A century hence some antiquary -may light upon a Dublin paper, and form marvellous calculations -regarding the state of education in the country. For instance, at -Bective-House seminary, conducted by Dr. J. L. Burke, Ex-Scholar T.C.D., -no less than <i>two hundred and three</i> young gentlemen took prizes at the -Midsummer examination: nay, some of the most meritorious carried off a -dozen premiums a piece. A Dr. Delamere, Ex-Scholar T.C.D., distributed -three hundred and twenty rewards to his young friends; and if we allow -that one lad in twenty is a prizeman, it is clear that there must be six -thousand four hundred and forty youths under the Doctor’s care.</p> - -<p>Other schools are advertised in the same journals, each with its hundred -of prize-bearers; and if other schools are advertised, how many more -must there be in the country which are not advertised! There must be -hundreds of thousands of prizemen, millions of scholars: besides -national schools, hedge schools, infant schools, and the like. The -English reader will see the accuracy of the calculation.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Morning Register</i>, the Englishman will find something to the -full as curious and startling to him: you read gravely in the English -language how the Bishop of Aureliopolis has just been consecrated; and -that the distinction has been conferred upon him by—the Holy -Pontiff!—the Pope of Rome, by all that is holy!<a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a> Such an announcement -sounds quite strange <i>in English</i>, and in your own country, as it were; -or isn’t it your own country? Suppose the Archbishop of Canterbury were -to send over a clergyman to Rome, and consecrate him Bishop of the -Palatine or the Suburra, I wonder how his Holiness would like <i>that</i>?</p> - -<p>There is a report of Dr. Miley’s sermon upon the occasion of the new -bishop’s consecration; and the <i>Register</i> happily lauds the discourse -for its ‘refined and fervent eloquence.’ The doctor salutes the Lord -Bishop of Aureliopolis on his admission among the ‘Princes of the -Sanctuary,’ gives a blow <i>en passant</i> at the Established Church, whereof -the revenues, he elegantly says, ‘might excite the zeal of Dives or -Epicurus to become a Bishop,’ and having vented his sly wrath upon the -‘courtly artifice and intrigue’ of the Bench, proceeds to make the most -outrageous comparisons with regard to my Lord of Aureliopolis; his -virtues, his sincerity, and the severe privations and persecutions which -acceptance of the episcopal office entails upon him.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘That very evening,’ says the <i>Register</i>, ‘the new bishop -entertained at dinner, in the Chapel-house, a select number of -friends; amongst whom were the officiating prelates and clergymen -who assisted in the ceremonies of the day. The repast was provided -by Mr. Jude, of Grafton Street, and was served up in a style of -elegance and comfort that did great honour to that gentleman’s -character as a <i>restaurateur</i>. <i>The wines were of the richest and -rarest quality.</i> It may be truly said to have been an entertainment -where the feast of reason and the flow of soul predominated. The -company broke up at nine.’</p></div> - -<p>And so, my lord is scarcely out of chapel but his privations begin! -Well. Let us hope that, in the course of his episcopacy, he incur no -greater hardships, and that Dr. Miley may come to be a bishop too in his -time; when perhaps he will have a better opinion of the Bench.</p> - -<p>The ceremony and feelings described are curious, I think; and more so -perhaps to a person who was in England only yesterday, and quitted it -just as their Graces, Lordships, and Reverences were sitting down to -dinner. Among what new sights, ideas, customs, does the English -traveller find himself after that brief six hours’ journey from -Holyhead!</p> - -<p>There is but one part more of the papers to be looked at; and that is -the most painful of all. In the law reports of the Tipperary Special -Commission sitting at Clonmel, you read that Patrick Byrne is brought up -for sentence, for the murder of Robert Hall, Esq.:<a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a> and Chief Justice -Doherty says: ‘Patrick Byrne, I will not now recapitulate the -circumstances of your enormous crime; but guilty as you are of the -barbarity of having perpetrated with your hand the foul murder of an -unoffending old man—barbarous, cowardly, and cruel as that act -was—there lives one more guilty man, and that is he whose diabolical -mind hatched the foul conspiracy of which you were but the instrument -and the perpetrator. Whoever that may be, I do not envy him his -protracted existence. He has sent that aged gentleman, without one -moment’s warning, to face his God: but he has done more, he has brought -you, unhappy man, with more deliberation and more cruelty, to face your -God, <i>with the weight of that man’s blood upon you</i>. I have now only to -pronounce the sentence of the law:’—it is the usual sentence, with the -usual prayer of the judge, that the Lord may have mercy upon the -convict’s soul.</p> - -<p>Timothy Woods, a young man of twenty years of age, is then tried for the -murder of Michael Laffan. The Attorney-General states the case:—On the -19th of May last, two assassins dragged Laffan from the house of Patrick -Cummins, fired a pistol-shot at him, and left him dead as they thought. -Laffan, though mortally wounded, crawled away after the fall; when the -assassins, still seeing him give signs of life, rushed after him, -fractured his skull by blows of a pistol, and left him on a dunghill -dead. There Laffan’s body lay for several hours, and <i>nobody dared to -touch it</i>. Laffan’s widow found the body there two hours after the -murder, and <i>an inquest was held on the body as it lay on the dunghill</i>. -Laffan was driver on the lands of Kilnertin, which were formerly held by -Pat Cummins, <i>the man who had the charge of the lands before Laffan was -murdered</i>; and the latter was dragged out of Cummins’s house in the -presence of a witness who refused to swear to the murderers, and was -shot in sight of another witness, James Meara, who with other men was on -the road: and when asked whether he cried out, or whether he went to -assist the deceased, Meara answers, ‘<i>Indeed I did not; we would not -interfere—it was no business of ours!</i>’</p> - -<p>Six more instances are given of attempts to murder; on which the judge, -in passing sentence, comments in the following way:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>‘The Lord Chief Justice addressed the several persons, and said—It -was now his painful duty to pronounce upon them severally and -respectively the punishment which the law and the court awarded -against them, for the crimes of which they had been convicted. -Those crimes were one and all of them of no ordinary enormity—they -were crimes which, in point of morals, involved<a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a> the atrocious -guilt of murder; and if it had pleased God to spare their souls -from the pollution of that offence, the court could not still shut -its eyes to the fact, that although death had not ensued in -consequence of the crimes of which they had been found guilty, yet -it was not owing to their forbearance that such a dreadful crime -had not been perpetrated. The prisoner, Michael Hughes, had been -convicted of firing a gun at a person of the name of John Ryan -(Luke); his horse had been killed, and no one could say that the -balls were not intended for the prosecutor himself. The prisoner -had fired one shot himself, and then called on his companion in -guilt to discharge another. One of these shots killed Ryan’s mare, -and it was by the mercy of God that the life of the prisoner had -not become forfeited by his own act. The next culprit was John -Pound, who was equally guilty of the intended outrage perpetrated -on the life of an unoffending individual—that individual a female, -surrounded by her little children, five or six in number. With a -complete carelessness to the probable consequences, while she and -her family were going, or had gone, to bed, the contents of a gun -were discharged through the door, which entered the panel in three -different places. The deaths resulting from this act might have -been extensive, but it was not a matter of any moment how many were -deprived of life. The woman had just risen from her prayers, -preparing herself to sleep under the protection of that arm which -would shield the child and protect the innocent, when she was -wounded. As to Cornelius Flynn and Patrick Dwyer, they likewise -were the subjects of similar imputations and similar observations. -There was a very slight difference between them, but not such as to -amount to any real distinction. They had gone upon a common illegal -purpose, to the house of a respectable individual, for the purpose -of interfering with the domestic arrangements he thought fit to -make. They had no sort of right to interfere with the disposition -of a man’s affairs; and what would be the consequences if the -reverse were to be held? No imputation had ever been made upon the -gentleman whose house was visited, but he was desired to dismiss -another, under the pains and penalties of death, although that -other was not a retained servant, but a friend who had come to Mr. -Hogan on a visit. Because this visitor used sometimes to inspect -the men at work, the lawless edict issued that he should be put -away. Good God! to what extent did the prisoners and such misguided -men intend to carry out their objects? Where was their dictation to -cease? and they, and those in a similar rank, to take upon -themselves to regulate how many and what men a farmer should take -into his employment? Were they to be the judges whether a<a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a> servant -had discharged his duty to his principal? or was it because a -visitor happened to come, that the host should turn him away, under -the pains and penalties of death? His lordship, after adverting to -the guilt of the prisoners in this case—the last two persons -convicted, Thos. Stapleton and Thos. Gleeson—said their case was -so recently before the public, that it was sufficient to say they -were morally guilty of what might be considered wilful and -deliberate murder. Murder was most awful, because it could only be -suggested by deliberate malice, and the act of the prisoners was -the result of that base, malicious, and diabolical disposition. -What was the cause of resentment against the unfortunate man who -had been shot at, and so desperately wounded? Why, he had dared to -comply with the wishes of a just landlord; and because the -landlord, for the benefit of his tenantry, proposed that the farms -should be squared, those who acquiesced in his wishes were to be -equally the victims of the assassin. What were the facts in this -case? The two prisoners at the bar, Stapleton and Gleeson, sprung -out at the man as he was leaving work, placed him on his knees, and -without giving him a moment of preparation, commenced the work of -blood, intending deliberately to despatch that unprepared and -unoffending individual to eternity. What country was it that they -lived in, in which such crimes could be perpetrated in the open -light of day? It was not necessary that deeds of darkness should be -shrouded in the clouds of night, for the darkness of the deeds -themselves was considered a sufficient protection. He (the Chief -Justice) was not aware of any solitary instance at the present -Commission, to show that the crimes committed were the consequences -of poverty. Poverty should be no justification, however; it might -be some little palliation, but on no trial at this Commission did -it appear that the crime could be attributed to distress. His -lordship concluded a most impressive address, by sentencing the six -prisoners called up to transportation for life.</p> - -<p>‘The clock was near midnight as the court was cleared, and the -whole of the proceedings were solemn and impressive in the extreme. -The Commission is likely to prove extremely beneficial in its -results on the future tranquillity of the country.’</p></div> - -<p>I confess, for my part, to that common cant and sickly sentimentality, -which, thank God! is felt by a great number of people nowadays, and -which leads them to revolt against murder, whether performed by a -ruffian’s knife or a hangman’s rope: whether accompanied with a curse -from the thief as he blows his victim’s brains out, or a prayer from my -lord on the bench in his wig and black cap. Nay, is all the cant and -sickly sentimentality on our<a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a> side, and might not some such charge be -applied to the admirers of the good old fashion? Long ere this is -printed, for instance, Byrne and Woods have been hanged:<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> sent ‘to -face their God,’ as the Chief Justice says, ‘with the weight of their -victim’s blood upon them,’—a just observation; and remember that it is -<i>we who send them</i>. It is true that the judge hopes Heaven will have -mercy upon their souls; but are such recommendations of particular -weight because they come from the bench? Psha! If we go on killing -people without giving them time to repent, let us at least give up the -cant of praying for their souls’ salvation. We find a man drowning in a -well, shut the lid upon him, and heartily pray that he may get out. Sin -has hold of him, as the two ruffians of Laffan yonder, and we stand -aloof, and hope that he may escape. Let us give up the ceremony of -condolence, and be honest, like the witness, and say, ‘Let him save -himself or not, it’s no business of ours.’ ... Here a waiter, with a -very broad, though insinuating accent, says, ‘Have you done with the -<i>Sandthers</i>, sir, there’s a gentleman waiting for’t these two hours?’ -And so he carries off that strange picture of pleasure and pain, trade, -theatres, schools, courts, churches, life and death, in Ireland, which a -man may buy for a fourpenny-piece.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>The papers being read, it became my duty to discover the town; and a -handsomer town, with fewer people in it, it is impossible to see on a -summer’s day. In the whole wide square of Stephen’s Green, I think there -were not more than two nursery-maids, to keep company with the statue of -George I., who rides on horseback in the middle of the garden, the horse -having his foot up to trot, as if he wanted to go out of town too. Small -troops of dirty children (too poor and dirty to have lodgings at -Kingstown) were squatting here and there upon the sunshiny steps, the -only clients at the thresholds of the professional gentlemen whose names -figure on brass-plates on the doors. A stand of lazy carmen, a policeman -or two with clinking boot-heels, a couple of moaning beggars leaning -against the rails and calling upon the Lord, and a fellow with a toy and -book stall, where the lives of St. Patrick, Robert Emmet, and Lord -Edward Fitzgerald may be bought for double their value, were all the -population of the Green.</p> - -<p>At the door of the Kildare Street Club, I saw eight gentlemen<a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a> looking -at two boys playing at leapfrog: at the door of the University six lazy -porters, in jockey-caps, were sunning themselves on a bench—a sort of -blue-bottle race; and the Bank on the opposite side did not look as if -sixpence-worth of change had been negotiated there during the day. There -was a lad pretending to sell umbrellas under the colonnade, almost the -only instance of trade going on; and I began to think of Juan Fernandez, -or Cambridge in the long vacation. In the courts of the College, scarce -the ghost of a gyp or the shadow of a bed-maker.</p> - -<p>In spite of the solitude, the square of the College is a fine sight—a -large ground, surrounded by buildings of various ages and styles, but -comfortable, handsome, and in good repair; a modern row of rooms; a row -that has been Elizabethan once; a hall and senate-house, facing each -other, of the style of George I.; and a noble library, with a range of -many windows, and a fine manly simple façade of cut stone. The library -was shut. The librarian, I suppose, is at the seaside; and the only part -of the establishment which I could see was the museum, to which one of -the jockey-capped porters conducted me, up a wide dismal staircase -(adorned with an old pair of jack-boots, a dusty canoe or two, a few -helmets, and a South Sea Islander’s armour) which passes through a hall -hung round with cobwebs (with which the blue-bottles are too wise to -meddle), into an old mouldy room, filled with dingy glass-cases, under -which the articles of curiosity or science were partially visible. In -the middle was a very <i>seedy</i> camelopard (the word has grown to be -English by this time), the straw splitting through his tight old skin -and the black cobblers’-wax stuffing the dim orifices of his eyes. Other -beasts formed a pleasing group around him, not so tall, but equally -mouldy and old. The porter took me round to the cases, and told me a -great number of fibs concerning their contents: there was the harp of -Brian Borou, and the sword of some one else, and other cheap old -gimcracks with their corollary of lies. The place would have been a -disgrace to Don Saltero. I was quite glad to walk out of it, and down -the dirty staircase again, about the ornaments of which the -jockey-capped gyp had more figments to tell; an atrocious one (I forget -what) relative to the pair of boots; near which—a fine specimen of -collegiate taste—were the shoes of Mr. O’Brien, the Irish giant. If the -collection is worth preserving,—and indeed the mineralogical specimens -look quite as awful as those in the British Museum,—one thing is clear, -that the rooms are worth sweeping. A pail of water costs nothing, a -scrubbing-brush not much, and a charwoman might be hired for a trifle, -to keep the room in a decent state of cleanliness.</p> - -<p>Among the curiosities is a mask of the Dean—not the scoffer<a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a> and giber, -not the fiery politician, nor the courtier of St. John and Harley, -equally ready with servility and scorn; but the poor old man, whose -great intellect had deserted him, and who died old, wild, and sad. The -tall forehead is fallen away in a ruin, the mouth has settled in a -hideous, vacant smile. Well, it was a mercy for Stella that she died -first; it was better that she should be killed by his unkindness than by -the sight of his misery; which, to such a gentle heart as that, would -have been harder still to bear.</p> - -<p>The Bank and other public buildings of Dublin are justly famous. In the -former may still be seen the room which was the House of Lords formerly, -and where the Bank directors now sit, under a clean marble image of -George III. The House of Commons has disappeared, for the accommodation -of clerks and cashiers. The interior is light, splendid, airy, well -furnished, and the outside of the building not less so. The Exchange, -hard by, is an equally magnificent structure; but the genius of commerce -has deserted it, for all its architectural beauty. There was nobody -inside when I entered, but a pert statue of George III. in a Roman toga, -simpering and turning out his toes; and two dirty children playing, -whose hoop-sticks caused great clattering echoes under the vacant -sounding dome. The neighbourhood is not cheerful, and has a dingy -poverty-stricken look.</p> - -<p>Walking towards the river, you have on either side of you, at Carlisle -Bridge, a very brilliant and beautiful prospect. The Four Courts and -their dome to the left, the Custom-house and its dome to the right; and -in this direction seaward, a considerable number of vessels are moored, -and the quays are black and busy with the cargoes discharged from ships. -Seamen cheering, herring-women bawling, coal-carts loading—the scene is -animated and lively. Yonder is the famous Corn Exchange; but the Lord -Mayor is attending to his duties in Parliament, and little of note is -going on. I had just passed his lordship’s mansion in Dawson Street,—a -queer old dirty brick house, with dumpy urns at each extremity, and -looking as if a story of it had been cut off—a <i>rasée</i> house. Close at -hand, and peering over a paling, is a statue of our blessed sovereign -George II. How absurd these pompous images look, of defunct majesties, -for whom no breathing soul cares a halfpenny! It is not so with the -effigy of William III., who has done something to merit a statue. At -this minute the Lord Mayor has William’s effigy under a canvas, and is -painting him of a bright green picked out with yellow—his lordship’s’ -own livery.</p> - -<p>The view along the quays to the Four Courts has no small resemblance to -a view along the quays at Paris, though not so<a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a> lively as are even those -quiet walks. The vessels do not come above-bridge, and the marine -population remains constant about them, and about numerous dirty -liquor-shops, eating-houses, and marine-store establishments, which are -kept for their accommodation along the quay. As far as you can see, the -shining Liffey flows away eastward, hastening (like the rest of the -inhabitants of Dublin) to the sea.</p> - -<p>In front of Carlisle Bridge, and not in the least crowded, though in the -midst of Sackville Street, stands Nelson upon a stone pillar. The Post -Office is on his right hand (only it is cut off); and on his left, -Gresham’s and the Imperial Hotel. Of the latter let me say (from -subsequent experience) that it is ornamented by a cook who could dress a -dinner by the side of M. Borel or M. Soyé. Would there were more such -artists in this ill-fated country! The street is exceedingly broad and -handsome; the shops at the commencement, rich and spacious; but in Upper -Sackville Street, which closes with the pretty building and gardens of -the Rotunda, the appearance of wealth begins to fade somewhat, and the -houses look as if they had seen better days. Even in this, the great -street of the town, there is scarcely any one, and it is as vacant and -listless as Pall Mall in October. In one of the streets off Sackville -Street is the house and exhibition of the Irish Academy, which I went to -see, as it was positively to close at the end of the week. While I was -there, two <i>other</i> people came in; and we had, besides, the money-taker -and porter, to whom the former was reading, out of a newspaper, those -Tipperary murders which were mentioned in a former page. The echo took -up the theme, and hummed it gloomily through the vacant place.</p> - -<p>The drawings and reputation of Mr. Burton are well known in England: his -pieces were the most admired in the collection. The best draughtsman is -an imitator of Maclise, Mr. Bridgeman, whose pictures are full of -vigorous drawing, and remarkable too for their grace. I gave my -catalogue to the two young ladies before mentioned, and have forgotten -the names of other artists of merit, whose works decked the walls of the -little gallery. Here, as in London, the Art Union is making a stir; and -several of the pieces were marked as the property of members of that -body. The possession of some of these one would not be inclined to -covet; but it is pleasant to see that people begin to buy pictures at -all, and there will be no lack of artists presently, in a country where -nature is so beautiful, and genius so plenty. In speaking of the fine -arts and of views of Dublin, it may be said that Mr. Petrie’s designs -for Curry’s Guide-book of the City are<a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a> exceedingly beautiful, and, -above all, <i>trustworthy</i>: no common quality in a descriptive artist at -present.</p> - -<p>Having a couple of letters of introduction to leave, I had the pleasure -to find the blinds down at one house, and the window in papers at -another; and at each place the knock was answered in that leisurely way -by one of those dingy female lieu-tenants who have no need to tell you -that families are out of town. So the solitude became very painful, and -I thought I would go back and talk to the waiter at the Shelburne, the -only man in the whole kingdom that I knew. I had been accommodated with -a queer little room and dressing-room on the ground-floor, looking -towards the Green: a black-faced good-humoured chambermaid had promised -to perform a deal of scouring which was evidently necessary (which fact -she might have observed for six months back, only she is no doubt of an -absent turn), and when I came back from the walk, I saw the little room -was evidently enjoying itself in the sunshine, for it had opened its -window, and was taking a breath of fresh air, as it looked out upon the -Green. Here is a portrait of the little window.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 70px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p286_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p286_sml.jpg" width="70" height="108" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>As I came up to it in the street, its appearance made me burst out -laughing, very much to the surprise of a ragged cluster of idlers -lolling upon the steps next door; and I have drawn it here, not because -it is a particularly picturesque or rare kind of window, but because, as -I fancy, there is a sort of <i>moral</i> in it. You don’t see such windows -commonly in respectable English inns—windows leaning gracefully upon -hearth-brooms for support. Look out of that window without the -hearth-broom and it would cut your head off: how the beggars would start -that are always sitting on the steps next door! Is it prejudice that -makes one prefer the English window, that relies on its own ropes and -ballast (or lead if you like), and does not need to be propped by any -foreign aid? or is this only a solitary instance of the kind, and are -there no other specimens in Ireland of the careless, dangerous, -extravagant hearth-broom system?</p> - -<p>In the midst of these reflections (which might have been carried much -farther, for a person with an allegorical turn might examine the entire -country through this window), a most wonderful cab, with an immense -prancing cab-horse, was seen to stop at the door of the hotel, and Pat -the waiter tumbling into the room<a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a> swiftly with a card in his hand, -says, ‘Sir, the gentleman of this card is waiting for you at the door.’ -Mon Dieu! it was an invitation to dinner! and I almost leapt into the -arms of the man in the cab—so delightful was it to find a friend in a -place where, a moment before, I had been as lonely as Robinson Crusoe.</p> - -<p>The only drawback, perhaps, to pure happiness, when riding in such a -gorgeous equipage as this, was that we could not drive up Regent Street, -and meet a few creditors, or acquaintances at least. However, Pat, I -thought, was exceedingly awe-stricken by my disappearance in this -vehicle; which had evidently, too, a considerable effect upon some other -waiters at the Shelburne, with whom I was not as yet so familiar. The -mouldy camelopard at the Trinity College ‘Musayum’ was scarcely taller -than the bay horse in the cab; the groom behind was of a corresponding -smallness. The cab was of a lovely olive-green, picked out white, high -on high springs and enormous wheels, which, big as they were, scarcely -seemed to touch the earth. The little tiger swung gracefully up and -down, holding on by the hood, which was of the material of which the -most precious and polished boots are made. As for the <i>lining</i>—but here -we come too near the sanctity of private life; suffice that there was a -kind friend inside, who (though by no means of the fairy sort) was as -welcome as any fairy in the finest chariot. W—— had seen me landing -from the packet that morning, and was the very man who in London, a -month previous, had recommended me to the Shelburne. These facts are not -of much consequence to the public, to be sure, except that an -explanation was necessary of the miraculous appearance of the cab and -horse.</p> - -<p>Our course, as may be imagined, was towards the seaside; for whither -else should an Irishman at this season go? Not far from Kingstown is a -house devoted to the purpose of festivity: it is called Salt Hill, -stands upon a rising ground, commanding a fine view of the bay and the -railroad, and is kept by persons bearing the celebrated name of -Lovegrove. It is in fact a sea-Greenwich; and though there are no marine -whitebait, other fishes are to be had in plenty, and especially the -famous Bray trout, which does not ill deserve its reputation.</p> - -<p>Here we met three young men, who may be called by the names of their -several counties—Mr. Galway, Mr. Roscommon, and Mr. Clare; and it -seemed that I was to complain of solitude no longer: for one straightway -invited me to his county, where was the finest salmon-fishing in the -world; another said he would drive me through the county Kerry in his -four-in-hand drag; and<a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a> the third had some propositions of sport equally -hospitable. As for going down to some races, on the Curragh of Kildare I -think, which were to be held on the next and the three following days, -there seemed to be no question about <i>that</i>. That a man should miss a -race within forty miles, seemed to be a point never contemplated by -these jovial sporting fellows.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p288_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p288_sml.jpg" width="166" height="255" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>Strolling about in the neighbourhood before dinner, we went down to the -sea-shore, and to some caves which had lately been discovered there; and -two Irish ladies, who were standing at the entrance of one of them, -permitted me to take the following portraits, which were pronounced to -be pretty accurate.<a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a></p> - -<p>They said they had not acquiesced in the general Temperance movement -that had taken place throughout the country; and, indeed, if the truth -must be known, it was only under promise of a glass of whisky apiece -that their modesty could be so far overcome as to permit them to sit for -their portraits. By the time they were done, a crowd of both sexes had -gathered round and expressed themselves quite ready to sit upon the same -terms. But though there was great variety in their countenances, there -was not much beauty; and besides, dinner was by this time ready, which -has at certain periods a charm even greater than art.</p> - -<p>The bay, which had been veiled in mist and grey in the morning, was now -shining under the most beautiful clear sky, which presently became rich -with a thousand gorgeous hues of sunset. The view was as smiling and -delightful a one as can be conceived,—just such a one as should be seen -<i>à travers</i> a good dinner, with no fatiguing sublimity or awful beauty -in it, but brisk, brilliant, sunny, enlivening. In fact, in placing his -banqueting-house here, Mr. Lovegrove had, as usual, a brilliant idea. -You must not have too much view, or a severe one, to give a relish to a -good dinner; nor too much music, nor too quick, nor too slow, nor too -loud; any reader who has dined at a <i>table-d’hôte</i> in Germany will know -the annoyance of this—a set of musicians immediately at your back will -sometimes play you a melancholy polonaise; and a man with a good ear -must perforce eat in time, and your soup is quite cold before it is -swallowed; then, all of a sudden, crash goes a brisk galop! and you are -obliged to gulp your victuals at the rate of ten miles an hour. And in -respect of conversation during a good dinner, the same rules of -propriety should be consulted. Deep and sublime talk is as improper as -sublime prospects. Dante and champagne (I was going to say Milton and -oysters, but that is a pun) are quite unfit themes of dinner-talk. Let -it be light, brisk, not oppressive to the brain. Our conversation was, I -recollect, just the thing. We talked about the last Derby the whole -time, and the state of the odds for the St. Leger; nor was the Ascot Cup -forgotten; and a bet or two was gaily booked.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the sky, which had been blue and then red, assumed, towards -the horizon, as the red was sinking under it, a gentle delicate cast of -green. Howth Hill became of a darker purple, and the sails of the boats -rather dim. The sea grew deeper and deeper in colour. The lamps at the -railroad dotted the line with fire; and the lighthouses of the bay began -to flame. The trains to and from the city rushed flashing and hissing -by—in a word,<a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a> everybody said it was time to light a cigar, which was -done, the conversation about the Derby still continuing.</p> - -<p>‘Put out that candle,’ said Roscommon to Clare; which the latter -instantly did by flinging the taper out of window upon the lawn, which -is a thoroughfare; and where a great laugh arose among half a score of -beggar-boys, who had been under the window for some time past, -repeatedly requesting the company to throw out sixpence between them.</p> - -<p>Two other sporting young fellows had now joined the company; and as by -this time claret began to have rather a mawkish taste, whisky-and-water -was ordered, which was drunk upon the <i>perron</i> before the house, whither -the whole party adjourned, and where for many hours we delightfully -tossed for sixpences—a noble and fascinating sport. Nor would these -remarkable events have been narrated, had I not received express -permission from the gentlemen of the party to record all that was said -and done. Who knows but, a thousand years hence, some antiquary or -historian may find a moral in this description of the amusement of the -British youth at the present enlightened time?</p> - -<p class="cb"><small>HOT LOBSTER</small></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><i>P.S.</i>—You take a lobster, about three feet long if possible, -remove the shell, cut or break the flesh of the fish in pieces not -too small. Some one else meanwhile makes a mixture of mustard, -vinegar, catsup, and lots of cayenne pepper. You produce a machine -called a <i>despatcher</i>, which has a spirit-lamp under it that is -usually illuminated with whisky. The lobster, the sauce, and near -half a pound of butter are placed in the despatcher, which is -immediately closed. When boiling, the mixture is stirred up, the -lobster being sure to heave about in the pan in a convulsive -manner, while it emits a remarkably rich and agreeable odour -through the apartment. A glass and a-half of sherry is now thrown -into the pan, and the contents served out hot, and eaten by the -company. Porter is commonly drunk, and whisky-punch afterwards, and -the dish is fit for an emperor.</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<p><i>N.B.</i>—You are recommended not to hurry yourself in getting up the next -morning, and may take soda-water with advantage.—<i>Probatum est.</i><a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN KILDARE—SKETCHES OF AN IRISH FAMILY AND FARM</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">I<small>T</small> had been settled among my friends, I don’t know for what particular -reason, that the Agricultural Show at Cork was an exhibition I was -specially bound to see; when, therefore, a gentleman to whom I had -brought a letter of introduction, kindly offered me a seat in his -carriage, which was to travel by short days’ journeys to that city, I -took an abrupt farewell of Pat the waiter, and some other friends in -Dublin, proposing to renew our acquaintance, however, upon some future -day.</p> - -<p>We started then one fine afternoon on the road from Dublin to Naas, -which is the main southern road from the capital to Leinster and -Munster, and met, in the course of the ride of a score of miles, a dozen -of coaches very heavily loaded, and bringing passengers to the city. The -exit from Dublin this way is not much more elegant than the outlet by -way of Kingstown, for though the great branches of the city appear -flourishing enough as yet, the small outer ones are in a sad state of -decay. Houses drop off here and there, and dwindle woefully in size; we -are got into the back premises of the seemingly prosperous place, and it -looks miserable, careless, and deserted. We passed through a street -which was thriving once, but has fallen since into a sort of decay, to -judge outwardly,—St. Thomas’s Street. Emmet was hanged in the midst of -it; and on pursuing the line of street, and crossing the great Canal, -you come presently to a fine tall square building in the outskirts of -the town, which is no more nor less than Kilmainham Jail, or castle. -Poor Emmet is the Irish darling still—his history is on every bookstall -in the city, and yonder trim-looking brick jail a spot where Irishmen -may go and pray. Many a martyr of theirs has appeared and died in front -of it,—found guilty of ‘wearing of the green.’</p> - -<p>There must be a fine view from the jail windows, for we presently come -to a great stretch of brilliant green country, leaving the Dublin hills -lying to the left, picturesque in their outline, and of wonderful -colour. It seems to me to be quite a different colour to that in -England—different-shaped clouds—different shadows and lights. The -country is well tilled, well peopled; the hay-harvest on the ground, and -the people taking advantage of the sunshine to gather it in; but in -spite of everything, green meadows, white<a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a> villages and sunshine, the -place has a sort of sadness in the look of it.</p> - -<p>The first town we passed, as appears by reference to the Guide-book, is -the little town of Rathcoole; but in the space of three days Rathcoole -has disappeared from my memory, with the exception of a little low -building which the village contains, and where are the quarters of the -Irish constabulary. Nothing can be finer than the trim, orderly, and -soldierlike appearance of this splendid corps of men.</p> - -<p>One has glimpses all along the road of numerous gentlemen’s places, -looking extensive and prosperous, of a few mills by streams here and -there; but though the streams run still, the mill-wheels are idle for -the chief part; and the road passes more than one long low village, -looking bare and poor, but neat and whitewashed. It seems as if the -inhabitants were determined to put a decent look upon their poverty. One -or two villages there were evidently appertaining to gentlemen’s seats; -these are smart enough, especially that of Johnstown, near Lord Mayo’s -fine domain, where the houses are of the Gothic sort, with pretty -porches, creepers, and railings. Noble purple hills to the left and -right keep up, as it were, an accompaniment to the road.</p> - -<p>As for the town of Naas, the first after Dublin that I have seen, what -can be said of it but that it looks poor, mean, and yet somehow -cheerful? There was a little bustle in the small shops, a few cars were -jingling along the broadest street of the town—some sort of dandies and -military individuals were lolling about right and left; and I saw a fine -Court-house, where the assizes of Kildare county are held.</p> - -<p>But by far the finest, and I think the most extensive edifice in Naas, -was a haystack in the inn-yard, the proprietor of which did not fail to -make me remark its size and splendour. It was of such dimensions as to -strike a cockney with respect and pleasure; and here standing just as -the new crops were coming in, told a tale of opulent thrift and good -husbandry. Are there many more such haystacks, I wonder, in Ireland? The -crops along the road seemed healthy, though rather light: wheat and oats -plenty, and especially flourishing; hay and clover not so good; and -turnips (let the important remark be taken at its full value) almost -entirely wanting.</p> - -<p>The little town, as they call it, of Kilcullen, tumbles down a hill and -struggles up another; the two being here picturesquely divided by the -Liffey, over which goes an antique bridge. It boasts, moreover, of a -portion of an abbey wall, and a piece of round tower, both on the hill -summit, and to be seen (says the<a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a> Guide-book) for many miles round. Here -we saw the first public evidences of the distress of the country. There -was no trade in the little place, and but few people to be seen, except -a crowd round a meal-shop, where meal is distributed once a week by the -neighbouring gentry. There must have been some hundreds of persons -waiting about the doors; women for the most part: some of their children -were to be found loitering about the bridge much farther up the street; -but it was curious to note, amongst these undeniably starving people, -how healthy their looks were. Going a little farther, we saw women -pulling weeds and nettles in the hedges, on which dismal sustenance the -poor creatures live, having no bread, no potatoes, no work—well! these -women did not look thinner or more unhealthy than many a well-fed -person. A company of English lawyers, now, look more cadaverous than -these starving creatures.</p> - -<p>Stretching away from Kilcullen bridge, for a couple of miles or more, -near the fine house and plantations of the Latouche family, is to be -seen a much prettier sight, I think, than the finest park and mansion in -the world. This is a tract of excessively green land, dotted over with -brilliant white cottages, each with its couple of trim acres of garden, -where you see thick potato ridges covered with blossom, great blue plots -of comfortable cabbages, and such pleasant plants of the poor man’s -garden. Two or three years since, the land was a marshy common, which -had never since the days of the Deluge fed any being bigger than a -snipe, and into which the poor people descended, draining and -cultivating, and rescuing the marsh from the water, and raising their -cabins and setting up their little enclosures of two or three acres upon -the land which they had thus created. ‘Many of ‘em has passed months in -jail for that,’ said my informant (a groom on the back seat of my host’s -phaeton); for it appears that certain gentlemen in the neighbourhood -looked upon the titles of these new colonists with some jealousy, and -would have been glad to depose them; but there were some better -philosophers among the surrounding gentry, who advised that instead of -discouraging the settlers it would be best to help them; and the -consequence has been, that there are now two hundred flourishing little -homesteads upon this rescued land, and as many families in comfort and -plenty.</p> - -<p>Just at the confines of this pretty rustic republic, our pleasant -afternoon’s drive ended; and I must begin this tour by a monstrous -breach of confidence by first describing what I saw.</p> - -<p>Well, then, we drove through a neat lodge-gate, with no stone lions or -supporters, but riding well on its hinges, and looking fresh and white; -and passed by a lodge, not Gothic, but decorated with<a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a> flowers and -evergreens, with clean windows and a sound slate roof; and then went -over a trim road, through a few acres of grass, adorned with plenty of -young firs and other healthy trees, under which were feeding a dozen of -fine cows or more. The road led up to a house, or rather a congregation -of rooms, built seemingly to suit the owner’s convenience, and -increasing with his increasing wealth, or whim, or family. This latter -is as plentiful as everything else about the place; and as the arrows -increased, the good-natured lucky father has been forced to multiply the -quivers.</p> - -<p>First came out a young gentleman, the heir of the house, who, after -greeting his papa, began examining the horses with much interest; whilst -three or four servants, quite neat and well dressed and, wonderful to -say, without any talking, began to occupy themselves with the carriage, -the passengers, and the trunks. Meanwhile, the owner of the house had -gone into the hall, which is snugly furnished as a morning-room, and -where one, two, three young ladies came in to greet him. The young -ladies having concluded their embraces, performed (as I am bound to say -from experience, both in London and Paris) some very appropriate and -well-finished curtsies to the strangers arriving; and these three young -persons were presently succeeded by some still younger, who came without -any curtsies at all; but, bounding and jumping, and shouting out ‘Papa’ -at the top of their voices, they fell forthwith upon that worthy -gentleman’s person, taking possession this of his knees, that of his -arms, that of his whiskers, as fancy or taste might dictate.</p> - -<p>‘Are there any more of you?’ says he, with perfect good-humour; and, in -fact, it appeared that there were some more in the nursery, as we -subsequently had occasion to see.</p> - -<p>Well, this large happy family are lodged in a house than which a -prettier or more comfortable is not to be seen even in England; of the -furniture of which it may be in confidence said, that each article is -only made to answer one purpose:—thus, that chairs are never called -upon to exercise the versatility of their genius by propping up windows; -that chests of drawers are not obliged to move their unwieldy persons in -order to act as locks to doors; that the windows are not variegated by -paper, or adorned with wafers, as in other places which I have seen; in -fact, that the place is just as comfortable as a place can be.</p> - -<p>And if these comforts and reminiscences of three days’ date are enlarged -upon at some length, the reason is simply this:—this is written at what -is supposed to be the best inn at one of the best towns of Ireland, -Waterford. Dinner is just over; it is assize-week, and the -<i>table-d’hôte</i> was surrounded for the chief part by<a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a> English -attorneys—the cyouncillors (as the bar are pertinaciously called) -dining upstairs in private. Well, on going to the public room, and being -about to lay down my hat on the sideboard, I was obliged to pause—out -of regard to a fine thick coat of dust, which had been kindly left to -gather for some days past, I should think, and which it seemed a shame -to misplace. Yonder is a chair basking quietly in the sunshine; some -round object has evidently reposed upon it (a hat or plate probably), -for you see a clear circle of black horsehair in the middle of the -chair, and dust all round it. Not one of those dirty napkins that the -four waiters carry would wipe away the grime from the chair, and take to -itself a little dust more! The people in the room are shouting out for -the waiters, who cry, ‘Yes, sir,’ peevishly, and don’t come; but stand -bawling and jangling, and calling each other names, at the sideboard. -The dinner is plentiful and nasty—raw ducks, raw peas, on a crumpled -tablecloth, over which a waiter has just spirted a pint of obstreperous -cider. The windows are open, to give free view of a crowd of old -beggar-women, and of a fellow playing a cursed Irish pipe. Presently -this delectable apartment fills with choking peat-smoke; and on asking -what is the cause of this agreeable addition to the pleasures of the -place, you are told that they are lighting a fire in a back-room.</p> - -<p>Why should lighting a fire in a back-room fill a whole enormous house -with smoke? Why should four waiters stand and <i>jaw</i> and gesticulate -among themselves, instead of waiting on the guests? Why should ducks be -raw, and dust lie quiet in places where a hundred people pass daily? All -these points make one think very regretfully of neat, pleasant, -comfortable, prosperous H—— town, where the meat was cooked, and the -rooms were clean, and the servants didn’t talk. Nor need it be said -here, that it is as cheap to have a house clean as dirty, and that a raw -leg of mutton costs exactly the same sum as one <i>cuit à point</i>. And by -this moral earnestly hoping that all Ireland may profit, let us go back -to H——, and the sights to be seen there.</p> - -<p>There is no need to particularise the chairs and tables any further, nor -to say what sort of conversation and claret we had; nor to set down the -dishes served at dinner. If an Irish gentleman does not give you a more -hearty welcome than an Englishman, at least he has a more hearty manner -of welcoming you; and while the latter reserves his fun and humour (if -he possess those qualities) for his particular friends, the former is -ready to laugh and talk his best with all the world, and give way -entirely to his mood. And it would be a good opportunity here for a man -who is clever at philosophising to expound various theories upon the -modes of<a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a> hospitality practised in various parts of Europe. In a couple -of hours’ talk, an Englishman will give you his notions on trade, -politics, the crops: the last run with the hounds, or the weather: it -requires a long sitting, and a bottle of wine at the least, to induce -him to laugh cordially, or to speak unreservedly; and if you joke with -him before you know him, he will assuredly set you down as a low -impertinent fellow. In two hours, and over a pipe, a German will be -quite ready to let loose the easy floodgates of his sentiment, and -confide to you many of the secrets of his soft heart. In two hours a -Frenchman will say a hundred and twenty smart, witty, brilliant, false -things, and will care for you as much then as he would if you saw him -every day for twenty years—that is, not one single straw; and in two -hours an Irishman will have allowed his jovial humour to unbutton, and -gambolled and frolicked to his heart’s content. Which of these, putting -<i>Monsieur</i> out of the question, will stand by his friend with the most -constancy, and maintain his steady wish to serve him? That is a question -which the Englishman (and I think with a little of his ordinary cool -assumption) is disposed to decide in his own favour; but it is clear -that for a stranger the Irish ways are the pleasantest, for here he is -at once made happy and at home, or at ease rather; for home is a strong -word, and implies much more than any stranger can expect, or even desire -to claim.</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more delightful to witness than the evident affection -which the children bore to one another and to their parents, and the -cheerfulness and happiness of their family parties. The father of one -lad went with a party of his friends and family on a pleasure party, in -a handsome coach-and-four. The little fellow sate on the coach-box and -played with the whip very wistfully for some time: the sun was shining, -the horses came out in bright harness, with glistening coats; one of the -girls brought a geranium to stick in papa’s button-hole, who was to -drive. But although there was room in the coach, and though papa said he -should go if he liked, and though the lad longed to go—as who -wouldn’t—he jumped off the box and said he would not go: mamma would -like him to stop at home and keep his sister company; and so down he -went like a hero. Does this story appear trivial to any one who reads -this? If so, he is a pompous fellow, whose opinion is not worth the -having; or he has no children of his own; or he has forgotten the day -when he was a child himself; or he has never repented of the surly -selfishness with which he treated brothers and sisters, after the habit -of young English gentlemen.</p> - -<p>‘That’s a list that uncle keeps of his children,’ said the same young -fellow, seeing his uncle reading a paper; and to understand<a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a> this joke, -it must be remembered that the children of the gentleman called uncle -came into the breakfast-room by half-dozens. ‘That’s a <i>rum</i> fellow,’ -said the eldest of these latter to me, as his father went out of the -room, evidently thinking his papa was the greatest wit and wonder in the -whole world. And a great merit, as it appeared to me, on the part of -these worthy parents was, that they consented not only to make, but to -take jokes from their young ones; nor was the parental authority in the -least weakened by this kind familiar intercourse.</p> - -<p>A word with regard to the ladies so far. Those I have seen appear to the -full as well educated and refined, and far more frank and cordial, than -the generality of the fair creatures on the other side of the Channel. I -have not heard anything about poetry, to be sure, and in only one house -have seen an album; but I have heard some capital music, of an excellent -family sort—that sort which is used, namely, to set young people -dancing, which they have done merrily for some nights. In respect of -drinking, among the gentry, teetotalism does not, thank Heaven! as yet -appear to prevail; but although the claret has been invariably good, -there has been no improper use of it<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a>. Let all English be recommended -to be very careful of whisky, which experience teaches to be a very -deleterious drink. Natives say that it is wholesome, and may be -sometimes seen to use it with impunity; but the whisky-fever is -naturally more fatal to strangers than inhabitants of the country; and -whereas an Irishman will sometimes imbibe a half-dozen tumblers of the -poison, two glasses will often be found sufficient to cause headaches, -heartburns, and fevers to a person newly arrived in the country. The -said whisky is always to be had for the asking, but is not produced at -the bettermost sort of tables.</p> - -<p>Before setting out on our second day’s journey, we had time to accompany -the well-pleased owner of H—— town over some of his fields and -out-premises. Nor can there be a pleasanter sight to owner or stranger. -Mr. P—— farms four hundred acres of land about his house; and employs -on this estate no less than a hundred and ten persons. He says there is -full work for every one of them; and to see the elaborate state of -cultivation in which the land was, it is easy to understand how such an -agricultural regiment were employed. The estate is like a well-ordered -garden—we walked into a huge field of potatoes, and the landlord made -us remark that there was not a single weed between the furrows;<a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a> and the -whole formed a vast flower-bed of a score of acres. Every bit of land up -to the hedge-side was fertilised and full of produce: the space left for -the plough having afterwards been gone over, and yielding its fullest -proportion of ‘fruit.’ In a turnip-field were a score or more of women -and children, who were marching through the ridges, removing the young -plants where two or three had grown together, and leaving only the most -healthy. Every individual root in the field was thus the object of -culture; and the owner said that this extreme cultivation answered his -purpose, and that the employment of all these hands (the women and -children earn 6d. and 8d. a day all the year round), which gained him -some reputation as a philanthropist, brought him profit as a farmer too; -for his crops were the best that land could produce. He has further the -advantage of a large stock for manure, and does everything for the land -which art can do.</p> - -<p>Here we saw several experiments in manuring. An acre of turnips prepared -with bone-dust; another with ‘Murray’s Composition,’ whereof I do not -pretend to know the ingredients; another with a new manure called guano. -As far as turnips and a first year’s crop went, the guano carried the -day. The plants on the guano acre looked to be three weeks in advance of -their neighbours, and were extremely plentiful and healthy. I went to -see this field two months after the above passage was written: the guano -acre still kept the lead; the bone-dust ran guano very hard; and -composition was clearly distanced.</p> - -<p>Behind the house is a fine village of corn and hay ricks, and a street -of outbuildings, where all the work of the farm is prepared. Here were -numerous people coming with pails for buttermilk, which the good-natured -landlord made over to them. A score of men or more were busied about the -place; some at a grindstone, others at a forge—other fellows busied in -the cart-houses and stables, all of which were as neatly kept as in the -best farm in England. A little farther on was a flower-garden, a -kitchen-garden, a hothouse just building, a kennel of fine pointers and -setters;—indeed a noble feature of country neatness, thrift, and -plenty.</p> - -<p>We went into the cottages and gardens of several of Mr. P——‘s -labourers, which were all so neat, that I could not help fancying they -were pet cottages erected under the landlord’s own superintendence, and -ornamented to his order. But he declared that it was not so; that the -only benefit his labourers got from him was constant work, and a house -rent-free; and that the neatness of the gardens and dwellings was of -their own doing. By making them a present of the house, he said, he made -them a<a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a> present of the pig and live stock, with which almost every Irish -cotter pays his rent, so that each workman could have a bit of meat for -his support;—would that all labourers in the empire had as much! With -regard to the neatness of the houses, the best way to ensure this, he -said, was for the master constantly to visit them—to awaken as much -emulation as he could amongst the cottagers, so that each should make -his place as good as his neighbour’s—and to take them good-humouredly -to task if they failed in the requisite care.</p> - -<p>And so this pleasant day’s visit ended. A more practical person would -have seen, no doubt, and understood much more than a mere citizen could, -whose pursuits have been very different from those noble and useful ones -here spoken of. But a man has no call to be a judge of turnips or live -stock, in order to admire such an establishment as this, and heartily to -appreciate the excellence of it. There are some happy organisations in -the world which possess the great virtue of <i>prosperity</i>. It implies -cheerfulness, simplicity, shrewdness, perseverance, honesty, good -health. See how, before the good-humoured resolution of such characters, -ill-luck gives way, and fortune assumes their own smiling complexion! -Such men grow rich without driving a single hard bargain; their -condition being to make others prosper along with themselves. Thus, his -very charity, another informant tells me, is one of the causes of my -host’s good fortune. He might have three pounds a year from each of -forty cottages, but instead prefers a hundred healthy workmen; or he -might have a fourth of the number of workmen, and a farm yielding a -produce proportionately less; but instead of saving the money of their -wages, prefers a farm the produce of which, as I have heard from a -gentleman whom I take to be good authority, is unequalled elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Besides the cottages, we visited a pretty school, where children of an -exceeding smallness were at their work,—the children of the Catholic -peasantry. The few Protestants of the district do not attend the -national school, nor learn their alphabet or their multiplication table -in company with their little Roman Catholic brethren. The clergyman, who -lives hard by the gate of H—— town, in his communication with his -parishioners cannot fail to see how much misery is relieved and how much -good is done by his neighbour; but though the two gentlemen are on good -terms, the clergyman will not break bread with his Catholic -fellow-Christian. There can be no harm, I hope, in mentioning this fact, -as it is rather a public than a private matter; and, unfortunately, it -is only a stranger that is surprised by such a circumstance, which is -quite familiar to residents of the country. There are Catholic inns and<a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a> -Protestant inns in the towns; Catholic coaches and Protestant coaches on -the roads; nay, in the North, I have since heard of a High Church coach -and a Low Church coach adopted by travelling Christians of either party.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p300_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p300_sml.jpg" width="97" height="72" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>FROM CARLOW TO WATERFORD</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> next morning being fixed for the commencement of our journey towards -Waterford, a carriage made its appearance in due time before the -hall-door: an amateur stage-coach, with four fine horses, that were to -carry us to Cork. The crew of the ‘drag,’ for the present, consisted of -two young ladies, and two who will not be old, please Heaven! for these -thirty years; three gentlemen, whose collected weights might amount to -fifty-four stone; and one of smaller proportions, being as yet only -twelve years old: to these were added a couple of grooms and a -lady’s-maid. Subsequently we took in a dozen or so more passengers, who -did not seem in the slightest degree to inconvenience the coach or the -horses; and thus was formed a tolerably numerous and merry party. The -governor took the reins, with his geranium in his button-hole, and the -place on the box was quarrelled for without ceasing, and taken by turns.</p> - -<p>Our day’s journey lay through a country more picturesque, though by no -means so prosperous and well-cultivated as the district through which we -had passed on our drive from Dublin. This trip carried us through the -county of Carlow and the town of that name: a wretched place enough, -with a fine court-house, and a couple of fine churches; the Protestant -church, a noble structure; and the Catholic cathedral, said to be built -after some Continental model. The Catholics point to the structure with -considerable pride: it was the first, I believe, of the many handsome -cathedrals for their worship which have been built of late years in -this<a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a> country by the noble contributions of the poor man’s penny, and by -the untiring energies and sacrifices of the clergy. Bishop Doyle, the -founder of the church, has the place of honour within it; nor, perhaps, -did any Christian pastor ever merit the affection of his flock more than -that great and high-minded man. He was the best champion the Catholic -Church and cause ever had in Ireland; in learning, and admirable -kindness and virtue, the best example to the clergy of his religion: and -if the country is now filled with schools, where the humblest peasant in -it can have the benefit of a liberal and wholesome education, it owes -this great boon mainly to his noble exertions, and to the spirit which -they awakened.</p> - -<p>As for the architecture of the cathedral, I do not fancy a professional -man would find much to praise in it: it seems to me overloaded with -ornaments, nor were its innumerable spires and pinnacles the more -pleasing to the eye because some of them were off the perpendicular. The -interior is quite plain, not to say bare and unfinished. Many of the -chapels in the country that I have since seen are in a similar -condition; for when the walls are once raised, the enthusiasm of the -subscribers to the building seems somewhat characteristically to grow -cool, and you enter at a porch that would suit a palace, with an -interior scarcely more decorated than a barn. A wide large floor, some -confession-boxes against the blank walls here and there, with some -humble pictures at the ‘stations,’ and the statue, under a mean canopy -of red woollen stuff, were the chief furniture of the cathedral.</p> - -<p>The severe homely features of the good bishop were not very favourable -subjects for Mr. Hogan’s chisel; but a figure of prostrate, weeping -Ireland, kneeling by the prelate’s side, and for whom he is imploring -protection, has much beauty. In the chapels of Dublin and Cork some of -this artist’s works may be seen, and his countrymen are exceedingly -proud of him.</p> - -<p>Connected with the Catholic cathedral is a large tumbledown-looking -divinity college: there are upwards of a hundred students here, and the -college is licensed to give degrees in arts as well as divinity; at -least so the officer of the church said, as he showed us the place -through the bars of the sacristy-windows, in which apartment may be seen -sundry crosses, a pastoral letter of Dr. Doyle, and a number of -ecclesiastical vestments formed of laces, poplins, and velvets, -handsomely laced with gold. There is a convent by the side of the -cathedral, and, of course, a parcel of beggars all about, and indeed all -over the town, profuse in their prayers and invocations of the Lord, and -whining flatteries of the persons whom they address. One wretched old -tottering hag began whining the Lord’s Prayer as a proof of her -sincerity, and<a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a> blundered in the very midst of it, and left us -thoroughly disgusted after the very first sentence.</p> - -<p>It was market-day in the town, which is tolerably full of poor-looking -shops, the streets being thronged with donkey-carts, and people eager to -barter their small wares. Here and there were picture-stalls, with huge -hideous coloured engravings of the Saints; and indeed the objects of -barter upon the banks of the clear bright river Barrow, seemed scarcely -to be of more value than the articles which change hands, as one reads -of, in a town of African huts and traders on the banks of the Quarra. -Perhaps the very bustle and cheerfulness of the people served only, to a -Londoner’s eyes, to make it look the more miserable. It seems as if they -had no <i>right</i> to be eager about such a parcel of wretched rags and -trifles as were exposed to sale.</p> - -<p>There are some old towers of a castle here, looking finely from the -river; and near the town is a grand modern residence belonging to -Colonel Bruen, with an oak-park on one side of the road, and a deer-park -on the other. These retainers of the Colonel’s lay, in their rushy green -enclosures, in great numbers and seemingly in flourishing condition.</p> - -<p>The road from Carlow to Leighlin Bridge is exceedingly beautiful: noble -purple hills rising on either side, and the broad silver Barrow flowing -through rich meadows of that astonishing verdure which is only to be -seen in this country. Here and there was a country-house, or a tall mill -by a stream-side: but the latter buildings were for the most part empty, -the gaunt windows gaping without glass, and their great wheels idle. -Leighlin Bridge, lying up and down a hill by the river, contains a -considerable number of pompous-looking warehouses, that looked for the -most part to be doing no more business than the mills on the Carlow -road, but stood by the roadside staring at the coach, as it were, and -basking in the sun, swaggering, idle, insolvent, and out-at-elbows. -There are one or two very pretty, modest, comfortable-looking -country-places about Leighlin Bridge, and on the road thence to a -miserable village called the Royal Oak, a beggarly sort of bustling -place.</p> - -<p>Here stands a dilapidated hotel and posting-house: and indeed on every -road, as yet, I have been astonished at the great movement and -stir;—the old coaches being invariably crammed, cars jingling about -equally full, and no want of gentlemen’s carriages to exercise the -horses of the Royal Oak and similar establishments. In the time of the -rebellion, the landlord of this Royal Oak, a great character in those -parts, was a fierce United Irishman. One day it happened that Sir John -Anderson came to the inn, and<a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a> was eager for horses on. The landlord, -who knew Sir John to be a Tory, vowed and swore he had no horses; that -the judges had the last going to Kilkenny; that the yeomanry had carried -off the best of them; that he could not give a horse for love or money. -‘Poor Lord Edward!’ said Sir John, sinking down in a chair, and clasping -his hands, ‘my poor dear misguided friend, and must you die for the loss -of a few hours and the want of a pair of horses?’</p> - -<p>‘Lord <i>What</i>?’ says the landlord.</p> - -<p>‘Lord Edward Fitzgerald,’ replied Sir John. ‘The Government has seized -his papers, and got scent of his hiding-place; if I can’t get to him -before two hours, Sirr will have him.’</p> - -<p>‘My dear Sir John,’ cried the landlord, ‘it’s not two horses but it’s -eight I’ll give you, and may the judges go hang for me! Here, Larry! -Tim! First and second pair for Sir John Anderson; and long life to you, -Sir John, and the Lord reward you for your good deed this day.’</p> - -<p>Sir John, my informant told me, had invented this predicament of Lord -Edward’s in order to get the horses; and by way of corroborating the -whole story, pointed out an old chaise which stood at the inn-door with -its window broken, a great crevice in the panel, some little wretches -crawling underneath the wheels, and two huge blackguards lolling against -the pole,—‘and that,’ says he, ‘is no doubt the very postchaise Sir -John Anderson had.’ It certainly looked ancient enough.</p> - -<p>Of course, as we stopped for a moment in the place, troops of slatternly -ruffianly-looking fellows assembled round the carriage, dirty heads -peeped out of all the dirty windows, beggars came forward with a joke -and a prayer, and troops of children raised their shouts and halloos. I -confess, with regard to the beggars, that I have never yet had the -slightest sentiment of compassion for the very oldest or dirtiest of -them, or been inclined to give them a penny: they come crawling round -you with lying prayers and loathsome compliments, that make the stomach -turn; they do not even disguise that they are lies; for, refuse them, -and the wretches turn off with a laugh and a joke, a miserable grinning -cynicism that creates distrust and indifference, and must be, one would -think, the very best way to close the purse, not to open it, for objects -so unworthy.</p> - -<p>How do all these people live? one can’t help wondering;—these -multifarious vagabonds, without work or workhouse, or means of -subsistence? The Irish Poor Law Report says that there are twelve -hundred thousand people in Ireland—a sixth of the population—who have -no means of livelihood but charity, and<a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a> whom the State, or individual -members of it, must maintain. How <i>can</i> the State support such an -enormous burthen; or the twelve hundred thousand be supported? What a -strange history it would be, could one but get it true,—that of the -manner in which a score of these beggars have maintained themselves for -a fortnight past!</p> - -<p>Soon after quitting the Royal Oak our road branches off to the -hospitable house where our party, consisting of a dozen persons, was to -be housed and fed for the night. Fancy the look which an English -gentleman of moderate means would assume, at being called on to receive -such a company! A pretty road of a couple of miles, thickly grown with -ash and oak trees, under which the hats of coach-passengers suffered -some danger, leads to the house of D——. A young son of the house, on a -white pony, was on the look-out, and great cheering and shouting took -place among the young people as we came in sight.</p> - -<p>Trotting away by the carriage-side, he brought us through a gate with a -pretty avenue of trees leading to the pleasure-grounds of the house—a -handsome building commanding noble views of river, mountains, and -plantations. Our entertainer only rents the place; so I may say, without -any imputation against him, that the house was by no means so handsome -within as without,—not that the want of finish in the interior made our -party the less merry, or the host’s entertainment less hearty and -cordial.</p> - -<p>The gentleman who built and owns the house, like many other proprietors -in Ireland, found his mansion too expensive for his means, and has -relinquished it. I asked what his income might be, and no wonder that he -was compelled to resign his house; which a man with four times the -income in England would scarcely venture to inhabit. There were numerous -sitting-rooms below; a large suite of rooms above, in which our large -party, with their servants, disappeared without any seeming -inconvenience, and which already accommodated a family of at least a -dozen persons and a numerous train of domestics. There was a great -courtyard, surrounded by capital offices, with stabling and coach-houses -sufficient for a half-dozen of country gentlemen. An English squire of -ten thousand a year might live in such a place—the original owner, I am -told, had not many more hundreds.</p> - -<p>Our host has wisely turned the chief part of the pleasure-ground round -the house into a farm; nor did the land look a bit the worse, as I -thought, for having rich crops of potatoes growing in place of grass, -and fine plots of waving wheat and barley. The care, skill, and neatness -everywhere exhibited, and the immense luxuriance of the crops, could not -fail to strike even a cockney;<a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a> and one of our party, a very well-known -practical farmer, told me that there was at least five hundred pounds’ -worth of produce upon the little estate of some sixty acres, of which -only five-and-twenty were under the plough.</p> - -<p>As at H—— town, on the previous day, several men and women appeared -sauntering in the grounds, and as the master came up asked for work, or -sixpence, or told a story of want. There are lodge-gates at both ends of -the demesne; but it appears the good-natured practice of the country -admits a beggar as well as any other visitor. To a couple our landlord -gave money, to another a little job of work; another he sent roughly out -of the premises: and I could judge thus what a continual tax upon the -Irish gentleman these travelling paupers must be, of whom his ground is -never free.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p305_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p305_sml.jpg" width="136" height="183" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>There, loitering about the stables and outhouses, were several people -who seemed to have acquired a sort of right to be there: women and -children who had a claim upon the buttermilk; men who did an odd job now -and then; loose hangers-on of the family: and in the lodging-houses and -inns I have entered, the same sort of ragged vassals are to be found; in -a house however poor, you<a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a> are sure to see some poorer dependant who is -a stranger, taking a meal of potatoes in the kitchen; a Tim or Mike -loitering hard by, ready to run on a message, or carry a bag. This is -written, for instance, at a lodging over a shop in Cork. There sits in -the shop a poor old fellow quite past work, but who totters up and down -stairs to the lodgers, and does what little he can for his easily-won -bread. There is another fellow outside who is sure to make his bow to -anybody issuing from the lodging, and ask if his honour wants an errand -done? Neither class of such dependants exist with us. What housekeeper -in London is there will feed an old man of seventy that’s good for -nothing, or encourage such a disreputable hanger-on as yonder shuffling, -smiling cad?</p> - -<p>Nor did Mr. M——‘s ‘irregulars’ disappear with the day; for when, -after a great deal of merriment, and kind happy dancing and romping of -young people, the fineness of the night suggested the propriety of -smoking a certain cigar (it is never more acceptable than at that -season), the young squire voted that we should adjourn to the stables -for the purpose, where accordingly the cigars were discussed. There were -still the inevitable half-dozen hangers-on: one came grinning with a -lantern, all nature being in universal blackness except his grinning -face; another ran obsequiously to the stables to show a favourite -mare—I think it was a mare—though it may have been a mule, and your -humble servant not much the wiser. The cloths were taken off; the -fellows with the candles crowded about; and the young squire bade me -admire the beauty of her fore-leg, which I did with the greatest -possible gravity. ‘Did you ever see such a fore-leg as that in your -life?’ says the young squire, and further discoursed upon the horse’s -points, the amateur grooms joining in chorus.</p> - -<p>There was another young squire of our party, a pleasant gentlemanlike -young fellow, who danced as prettily as any Frenchman, and who had -ridden over from a neighbouring house: as I went to bed, the two lads -were arguing whether young Squire B—— should go home or stay at D—— -that night. There was a bed for him—there was a bed for everybody, it -seemed, and a kind welcome too. How different was all this to the ways -of a severe English house!</p> - -<p>Next morning the whole of our merry party assembled round a long, jovial -breakfast-table, stored with all sorts of good things; and the biggest -and jovialest man of all, who had just come in fresh from a walk in the -fields, and vowed that he was as hungry as a hunter, and was cutting -some slices out of an inviting ham on the side-table, suddenly let fall -his knife and fork with dismay. ‘Sure, John, don’t you know it’s -Friday?’ cried a lady from the<a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a> table; and back John came with a most -lugubrious queer look on his jolly face, and fell to work upon bread and -butter, as resigned as possible, amidst no small laughter, as may be -well imagined. On this I was bound, as a Protestant, to eat a large -slice of pork, and discharged that duty nobly, and with much -self-sacrifice.</p> - -<p>The famous ‘drag’ which had brought us so far seemed to be as hospitable -and elastic as the house which we now left, for the coach accommodated, -inside and out, a considerable party from the house, and we took our -road leisurely, in a cloudless, scorching day, towards Waterford. The -first place we passed through was the little town of Gowran, near which -is a grand, well-ordered park, belonging to Lord Clifden, and where his -mother resides, with whose beautiful face, in Lawrence’s pictures, every -reader must be familiar. The kind English lady has done the greatest -good in the neighbourhood, it is said, and the little town bears marks -of her beneficence, in its neatness, prettiness, and order. Close by the -church there are the ruins of a fine old abbey here, and a still finer -one a few miles on, at Thomastown, most picturesquely situated amidst -trees and meadow, on the river Nore. The place within, however, is dirty -and ruinous—the same wretched suburbs, the same squalid congregation of -beggarly loungers, that are to be seen elsewhere. The monastic ruin is -very fine, and the road hence to Thomastown rich with varied cultivation -and beautiful verdure, pretty gentlemen’s mansions shining among the -trees on either side of the way. There was one place along this rich -tract that looked very strange and ghastly—a huge old pair of gate -pillars, flanked by a ruinous lodge, and a wide road winding for a mile -up a hill. There had been a park once, but all the trees were gone; -thistles were growing in the yellow sickly land, and rank thin grass on -the road. Far away you saw in this desolate tract a ruin of a house: -many a butt of claret has been emptied there, no doubt, and many a merry -party come out with hound and horn. But what strikes the Englishman with -wonder is not so much, perhaps, that an owner of the place should have -been ruined and a spendthrift, as that the land should lie there useless -ever since. If one is not successful with us another man will be, or -another will try, at least. Here lies useless a great capital of -hundreds of acres of land; barren, where the commonest effort might make -it productive, and looking as if for a quarter of a century past no soul -ever looked or cared for it. You might travel five hundred miles through -England and not see such a spectacle.</p> - -<p>A short distance from Thomastown is another abbey; and presently, after -passing through the village of Knocktopher, we<a name="page_308" id="page_308"></a> came to a posting-place -called Ballyhale, of the <i>moral</i> aspect of which the following scrap -taken in the place will give a notion.</p> - -<p>A dirty, old, contented, decrepit idler was lolling in the sun at a -shop-door, and hundreds of the population of the dirty, old, decrepit, -contented place were employed in the like way. A dozen of boys were -playing at pitch-and-toss; other male and female beggars were sitting on -a wall looking into a stream; scores of ragamuffins, of course, round -the carriage; and beggars galore at the door of the little alehouse or -hotel. A gentleman’s carriage changed horses as we were baiting here. It -was a rich sight to see the cattle, and the way of starting them: -‘Halloo! Yoop, Hoop!’ a dozen of ragged ostlers and amateurs running by -the side of the miserable old horses, the postillion shrieking, yelling, -and belabouring them with his whip. Down goes one horse among the -new-laid stones; the postillion has him up with a cut of the whip and a -curse, and takes advantage of the start caused by the stumble to get the -brute into a gallop, and to go down the hill. ‘I know it for a fact,’ a -gentleman of our party says, ‘that no horses <i>ever</i> got out of Ballyhale -without an accident of some kind.’</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p308_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p308_sml.jpg" width="167" height="166" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>‘Will your honour like to come and see a big pig?’ here asked a man of -the above gentleman, well known as a great farmer and<a name="page_309" id="page_309"></a> breeder. We all -went to see the big pig, not very fat as yet, but, upon my word, it is -as big as a pony. The country round is, it appears, famous for the -breeding of such, especially a district called the Welsh mountains, -through which we had to pass on our road to Waterford.</p> - -<p>This is a curious country to see, and has curious inhabitants: for -twenty miles there is no gentleman’s house: gentlemen dare not live -there. The place was originally tenanted by a clan of Welshes; hence its -name; and they maintain themselves in their occupancy of the farms in -Tipperary fashion, by simply putting a ball into the body of any man who -would come to take a farm over any one of them. Some of the crops in the -fields of the Welsh country seemed very good, and the fields well -tilled; but it is common to see, by the side of one field that is well -cultivated, another that is absolutely barren; and the whole tract is -extremely wretched. Appropriate histories and reminiscences accompany -the traveller; at a chapel near Mullinavat is the spot where sixteen -policemen were murdered in the tithe campaign; farther on you come to a -limekiln, where the guard of a mail-coach was seized and <i>roasted -alive</i>. I saw here the first hedge-school I have seen; a crowd of -half-savage-looking lads and girls looked up from their studies in the -ditch, their college or lecture-room being in a mud cabin hard by.</p> - -<p>And likewise, in the midst of this wild tract, a fellow met us who was -trudging the road with a fish-basket over his shoulder, and who stopped -the coach, hailing two of the gentlemen in it by name, both of whom -seemed to be much amused by his humour. He was a handsome rogue, a -poacher, or salmon-taker, by profession, and presently poured out such a -flood of oaths, and made such a monstrous display of grinning wit and -blackguardism, as I have never heard equalled by the best Billingsgate -practitioner, and as it would be more than useless to attempt to -describe. Blessings, jokes, and curses trolled off the rascal’s lips -with a volubility which caused his Irish audience to shout with -laughter, but which were quite beyond a cockney. It was a humour so -purely national as to be understood by none but natives, I should think. -I recollect the same feeling of perplexity while sitting, the only -Englishman, in a company of jocular Scotchmen. They bandied about puns, -jokes, imitations, and applauded with shrieks of laughter what, I -confess, appeared to me the most abominable dulness—nor was the -salmon-taker’s jocularity any better. I think it rather served to -frighten than to amuse; and I am not sure but that I looked out for a -band of jocular cut-throats of his sort, to come up at a given guffaw, -and playfully rob us all round.<a name="page_310" id="page_310"></a> However, he went away quite peaceably, -calling down for the party the benediction of a great number of saints, -who must have been somewhat ashamed to be addressed by such a rascal.</p> - -<p>Presently we caught sight of the valley through which the Suire flows, -and descended the hill towards it, and went over the thundering old -wooden bridge to Waterford.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>FROM WATERFORD TO CORK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> view of the town, from the bridge and the heights above it, is very -imposing; as is the river both ways. Very large vessels sail up almost -to the doors of the houses, and the quays are flanked by tall red -warehouses, that look at a little distance as if a world of business -might be doing within them. But as you get into the place, not a soul is -there to greet you except the usual society of beggars, and a sailor or -two, or a green-coated policeman sauntering down the broad pavement. We -drove up to the Coach Inn, a huge, handsome, dirty building, of which -the discomforts have been pathetically described elsewhere. The landlord -is a gentleman and considerable horse-proprietor, and though a perfectly -well-bred, active, and intelligent man, far too much of a gentleman to -play the host well: at least as an Englishman understands that -character.</p> - -<p>Opposite the town is a tower of questionable antiquity and undeniable -ugliness; for though the inscription says it was built in the year one -thousand and something, the same document adds that it was rebuilt in -1819—to either of which dates the traveller is thus welcomed. The quays -stretch for a considerable distance along the river, poor -patched-windowed, mouldy-looking shops forming the basement-story of -most of the houses. We went into one, a jeweller’s, to make a -purchase—it might have been of a gold watch for anything the owner -knew; but he was talking with a friend in his back-parlour, gave us a -look as we entered, allowed us to stand some minutes in the empty shop, -and at length to walk out without being served. In another shop a boy -was lolling behind a counter, but could not say whether the articles we -wanted were to be had; turned out a heap of drawers, and could not find -them; and finally went for the master, who could not come. True -commercial independence, and an easy way enough of life.<a name="page_311" id="page_311"></a></p> - -<p>In one of the streets leading from the quay is a large, dingy Catholic -chapel, of some pretensions within; but, as usual, there had been a -failure for want of money, and the front of the chapel was unfinished, -presenting the butt-end of a portico, and walls on which the stone -coating was to be laid. But a much finer ornament to the church than any -of the questionable gewgaws which adorned the ceiling was the piety, -stern, simple, and unaffected, of the people within. Their whole soul -seemed to be in their prayers, as rich and poor knelt indifferently on -the flags. There is of course an Episcopal cathedral, well and neatly -kept, and a handsome Bishop’s palace: near it was a convent of nuns, and -a little chapel-bell clinking melodiously. I was prepared to fancy -something romantic of the place; but as we passed the convent gate, a -shoeless slattern of a maid opened the door—the most dirty and -unpoetical of housemaids.</p> - -<p>Assizes were held in the town, and we ascended to the court-house -through a steep street, a sort of rag-fair, but more villainous and -miserable than any rag-fair in St. Giles’s: the houses and stock of the -Seven Dials look as if they belonged to capitalists when compared with -the scarecrow wretchedness of the goods here hung out for sale. Who -wanted to buy such things? I wondered. One would have thought that the -most part of the articles had passed the possibility of barter for -money, even out of the reach of the half-farthings coined of late. All -the street was lined with wretched hucksters and their merchandise of -gooseberries, green apples, children’s dirty cakes, cheap crockeries, -brushes, and tin-ware; among which objects the people were swarming -about busily. Before the court is a wide street, where a similar market -was held, with a vast number of donkey-carts urged hither and thither, -and great shrieking, chattering, and bustle. It is five hundred years -ago since a poet who accompanied Richard II. in his voyage hither spoke -of ‘<i>Watreforde ou moult vilaine et orde y sont la gente</i>.’ They don’t -seem to be much changed now, but remain faithful to their ancient -habits.</p> - -<p>About the court-house swarms of beggars of course were collected, varied -by personages of a better sort: grey-coated farmers, and women with -their picturesque blue cloaks, who had trudged in from the country -probably. The court-house is as beggarly and ruinous as the rest of the -neighbourhood; smart-looking policemen kept order about it, and looked -very hard at me as I ventured to take a sketch.</p> - -<p>The figures as I saw them were thus disposed. The man in the dock, the -policeman seated easily above him, the woman looking down from a -gallery. The man was accused of stealing a<a name="page_312" id="page_312"></a> sack of wool, and, having no -counsel, made for himself as adroit a defence as any one of the -councillors (they are without robes or wigs here, by the way) could have -made for him. He had been seen examining a certain sack of wool in a -coffee-shop at Dungarvan, and next day was caught sight of in Waterford -Market, standing under an archway from the rain, with the sack by his -side.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 124px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p312_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p312_sml.jpg" width="124" height="261" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>‘Wasn’t there twenty other people under the arch?’ said he to a witness, -a noble-looking beautiful girl—the girl was obliged to own there were. -‘Did you see me touch the wool, or stand nearer to it than a dozen of -the dacent people there?’ and the girl confessed she had not. ‘And this -it is, my lord,’ says he to the bench; ‘they attack me because I’m poor -and ragged, but they never think of charging the crime on a rich -farmer.’</p> - -<p>But alas for the defence! another witness saw the prisoner with his legs -round the sack, and being about to charge him with the theft, the -prisoner fled into the arms of a policeman, to whom his first words -were, ‘I know nothing about the sack.’ So, as the sack had been stolen, -as he had been seen handling it four minutes before it was stolen, and -holding it for sale the day after, it was concluded that Patrick Malony -had stolen the sack, and he was accommodated with eighteen months -accordingly.</p> - -<p>In another case we had a woman and her child on the table; and others -followed, in the judgment of which it was impossible not to admire the -extreme leniency, acuteness, and sensibility of<a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a> the judge presiding, -Chief Justice Pennefather:—the man against whom all the Liberals in -Ireland, and every one else who has read his charge too, must be angry, -for the ferocity of his charge against a Belfast newspaper editor. It -seems as if no parties here will be dispassionate when they get to a -party question, and that natural kindness has no claim, when Whig and -Tory come into collision.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 84px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p313_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p313_sml.jpg" width="84" height="156" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>The juryman is here placed on a table instead of a witness-box; nor was -there much further peculiarity to remark, except in the dirt of the -court, the absence of the barristerial wig and gown, and the great -coolness with which a fellow who seemed a sort of clerk, usher, and -Irish interpreter to the court, recommended a prisoner, who was making -rather a long defence, to be quiet. I asked him why the man might not -have his say. ‘Sure,’ says he, ‘he’s said all he has to say, and there’s -no use in any more.’ But there was no use in attempting to convince Mr. -Usher that the prisoner was best judge on this point; in fact the poor -devil shut his mouth at the admonition, and was found guilty with -perfect justice.</p> - -<p>A considerable poorhouse has been erected at Waterford, but the beggars -of the place as yet prefer their liberty, and less certain means of -gaining support. We asked one who was calling down all the blessings of -all the saints and angels upon us, and telling a most piteous tale of -poverty, why she did not go to the poorhouse. The woman’s look at once -changed from a sentimental whine to a grin. ‘Dey owe two hundred pounds -at dat house,’ said she, ‘and faith, an honest woman can’t go dere;’ -with which wonderful reason ought not the most squeamish to be content?</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>After describing, as accurately as words may, the features of a -landscape, and stating that such a mountain was to the left, and such a -river or town to the right, and putting down the situations and names of -the villages, and the bearings of the roads, it has no doubt struck the -reader of books of travels that the writer has not given him the -slightest idea of the country, and that he would have been just as wise -without perusing the letterpress landscape through which he has toiled. -It will be as well then, under such<a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a> circumstances, to spare the public -any lengthened description of the road from Waterford to Dungarvan; -which was the road we took, followed by benedictions delivered gratis -from the beggar-hood of the former city. Not very far from it you see -the dark plantations of the magnificent domain of Curraghmore, and pass -through a country blue, hilly, and bare, except where gentlemen’s seats -appear with their ornaments of wood. Presently, after leaving Waterford, -we came to a certain town called Kilmacthomas, of which all the -information I have to give is, that it is situated upon a hill and -river, and that you may change horses there. The road was covered with -carts of seaweed, which the people were bringing for manure from the -shore some four miles distant; and beyond Kilmacthomas we beheld the -Cummeragh Mountains, ‘often named in maps the Nennavoulagh,’ either of -which names the reader may select at pleasure.</p> - -<p>Thence we came to ‘Cushcam,’ at which village be it known that the -turnpike-man kept the drag a very long time waiting. ‘I think the fellow -must be writing a book,’ said the coachman, with a most severe look of -drollery at a cockney tourist, who tried, under the circumstances, to -blush, and not to laugh. I wish I could relate or remember half the mad -jokes that flew about among the jolly Irish crew on the top of the -coach, and which would have made a journey through the Desert jovial. -When the ‘pike-man had finished his composition (that of a -turnpike-ticket, which he had to fill), we drove on to Dungarvan; the -two parts of which town, separated by the river Colligan, have been -joined by a causeway three hundred yards along, and a bridge erected at -an enormous outlay by the Duke of Devonshire. In former times, before -his Grace spent his eighty thousand pounds upon the causeway, this wide -estuary was called ‘Dungarvan Prospect,’ because the ladies of the -country, walking over the river at low water, took off their shoes and -stockings (such as had them), and tucking up their clothes, -exhibited,—what I have never seen, and cannot, therefore, be expected -to describe. A large and handsome Catholic chapel, a square with some -pretensions to regularity of building, a very neat and comfortable inn, -and beggars and idlers still more numerous than at Waterford, were what -we had leisure to remark in half an hour’s stroll through the town.</p> - -<p>Near the prettily situated village of Cappoquin is the Trappist house of -Mount Meilleraie, of which we could only see the pinnacles. The brethren -were presented some years since with a barren mountain, which they have -cultivated most successfully. They have among themselves workmen to -supply all their frugal wants, ghostly tailors and shoemakers, spiritual -gardeners and<a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a> bakers, working in silence, and serving Heaven after -their way. If this reverend community, for fear of the opportunity of -sinful talk, choose to hold their tongues, the next thing will be to cut -them out altogether, and so render the danger impossible—if, being men -of education and intelligence, they incline to turn butchers and -cobblers, and smother their intellects by base and hard menial labour, -who knows but one day a sect may be more pious still, and rejecting even -butchery and bakery, as savouring too much of worldly convenience and -pride, take to a wild-beast life at once? Let us concede that suffering, -and mental and bodily debasement, are the things most agreeable to -Heaven, and there is no knowing where such piety may stop. I was very -glad we had not time to see the grovelling place; and as for seeing -shoes made or fields tilled by reverend amateurs, we can find cobblers -and ploughboys to do the work better.</p> - -<p>By the way, the Quakers have set up in Ireland a sort of monkery of -their own. Not far from Carlow we met a couple of cars drawn by white -horses, and holding white Quakers and Quakeresses, in white hats, -clothes, shoes, with wild maniacal-looking faces, bumping along the -road. Let us hope that we may soon get a community of Fakeers and -howling Dervises into the country. It would be a refreshing thing to see -such ghostly men in one’s travels, standing at the corners of roads, and -praising the Lord by standing on one leg, or cutting and hacking -themselves with knives like the prophets of Baal. Is it not as pious for -a man to deprive himself of his leg as of his tongue, and to disfigure -his body with the gashes of a knife, as with the hideous white raiment -of the illuminated Quakers?</p> - -<p>While these reflections were going on, the beautiful Blackwater river -suddenly opened before us, and driving along it for three miles through -some of the most beautiful, rich country ever seen, we came to Lismore. -Nothing can be certainly more magnificent than this drive. Parks and -rocks covered with the grandest foliage; rich handsome seats of -gentlemen in the midst of fair lawns, and beautiful bright plantations -and shrubberies; and at the end, the graceful spire of Lismore church, -the prettiest I have seen in, or, I think, out of Ireland. Nor in any -country that I have visited have I seen a view more noble—it is too -rich and peaceful to be what is called romantic, but lofty, large, and -<i>generous</i>, if the term may be used; the river and banks as fine as the -Rhine; the castle not as large, but as noble and picturesque as Warwick. -As you pass the bridge, the banks stretch away on either side in amazing -verdure, and the castle-walks remind one somewhat of the dear old -terrace of St. Germains, with its groves, and long grave avenues of -trees.<a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a></p> - -<p>The salmon-fishery of the Blackwater is let, as I hear, for a thousand a -year. In the evening, however, we saw some gentlemen who are likely to -curtail the profits of the farmer of the fishery—a company of ragged -boys, to wit—whose occupation, it appears, is to poach. These young -fellows were all lolling over the bridge, as the moon rose rather -mistily, and pretended to be deeply enamoured of the view of the river. -They answered the questions of one of our party with the utmost -innocence and openness, and one would have supposed the lads were so -many Arcadians, but for the arrival of an old woman, who suddenly coming -up among them poured out, upon one and all, a volley of curses, both -deep and loud, saying that perdition would be their portion, and calling -them ‘shchamers’ at least a hundred times. Much to my wonder, the young -men did not reply to the voluble old lady for some time, who then told -us the cause of her anger. She had a son,—‘Look at him there, the -villain.’ The lad was standing, looking very unhappy. ‘His father, -that’s now dead, paid a fistful of money to bind him ‘prentice at -Dungarvan: but these shchamers followed him there; made him break his -indentures, and go poaching and thieving and shchaming with them.’ The -poor old woman shook her hands in the air, and shouted at the top of her -deep voice; there was something very touching in her grotesque sorrow, -nor did the lads make light of it at all, contenting themselves with a -surly growl, or an oath, if directly appealed to by the poor creature.</p> - -<p>So, cursing and raging, the woman went away. The son, a lad of fourteen, -evidently the fag of the big bullies round about him, stood dismally -away from them, his head sunk down. I went up and asked him, ‘Was that -his mother?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Was she good and kind to him when he was -at home?’ He said, ‘Oh yes.’ ‘Why not come back to her?’ I asked him; -but he said ‘he couldn’t.’ Whereupon I took his arm, and tried to lead -him away by main force; but he said, ‘Thank you, sir, but I can’t go -back,’ and released his arm. We stood on the bridge some minutes longer, -looking at the view; but the boy, though he kept away from his comrades, -would not come. I wonder what they have done together, that the poor boy -is past going home? The place seemed to be so quiet and beautiful, and -far away from London, that I thought crime couldn’t have reached it; and -yet, here it lurks somewhere among six boys of sixteen, each with a -stain in his heart, and some black history to tell. The poor widow’s -yonder was the only family about which I had a chance of knowing -anything in this remote place; nay, in all Ireland; and, God help us, -hers was a sad lot!—A husband gone dead,—an only child gone to ruin. -It is<a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a> awful to think that there are eight millions of stories to be -told in this island. Seven million nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand -nine hundred and ninety-eight more lives that I, and all brother -cockneys, know nothing about. Well, please God, they are not all like -this.</p> - -<p>That day, I heard <i>another</i> history. A little old disreputable man in -tatters, with a huge steeple of a hat, came shambling down the street, -one among the five hundred blackguards there. A fellow standing under -the sun portico (a sort of swaggering, chattering, cringing <i>touter</i>, -and master of ceremonies to the gutter) told us something with regard to -the old disreputable man. His son had been hanged the day before at -Clonmel, for one of the Tipperary murders. That blackguard in our eyes -instantly looked quite different from all other blackguards—I saw him -gesticulating at the corner of a street, and watched him with wonderful -interest.</p> - -<p>The church with the handsome spire, that looks so graceful among the -trees, is a cathedral church, and one of the neatest-kept and prettiest -edifices I have seen in Ireland. In the old graveyard Protestants and -Catholics lie together—that is, not together; for each has a side of -the ground, where they sleep, and, so occupied, do not quarrel. The sun -was shining down upon the brilliant grass—and I don’t think the shadows -of the Protestant graves were any longer or shorter than those of the -Catholics. Is it the right or the left side of the graveyard which is -nearest heaven, I wonder? Look, the sun shines upon both alike, ‘and the -blue sky bends over all.’</p> - -<p>Raleigh’s house is approached by a grave old avenue, and well-kept wall, -such as is rare in this country; and the court of the castle within has -the solid, comfortable, quiet look, equally rare. It is like one of our -colleges at Oxford: there is a side of the quadrangle with pretty -ivy-covered gables; another part of the square is more modern; and by -the main body of the castle is a small chapel exceedingly picturesque. -The interior is neat and in excellent order; but it was unluckily done -up some thirty years ago (as I imagine from the style), before our -architects had learned Gothic, and all the ornamental work is -consequently quite ugly and out of keeping. The church has probably been -arranged by the same hand. In the castle are some plainly furnished -chambers, one or two good pictures, and a couple of oriel windows, the -views from which up and down the river are exceedingly lovely. You hear -praises of the Duke of Devonshire as a landlord wherever you go among -his vast estates; it is a pity that, with such a noble residence as -this, and with such a wonderful country round about it, his Grace should -not inhabit it more.<a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a></p> - -<p>Of the road from Lismore to Fermoy it does not behove me to say much, -for a pelting rain came on very soon after we quitted the former place, -and accompanied us almost without ceasing to Fermoy. Here we had a -glimpse of a bridge across the Blackwater, which we had skirted in our -journey from Lismore. Now enveloped in mist and cloud—now spanned by a -rainbow, at another time basking in sunshine, Nature attired the -charming prospect for us in a score of different ways; and it appeared -before us like a coquettish beauty who was trying what dress in her -wardrobe might most become her. At Fermoy we saw a vast barrack, and an -overgrown inn, where, however, good fare was provided; and thence -hastening came by Rathcormack, and Watergrass Hill, famous for the -residence of Father Prout, whom my friend, the Rev. Francis Sylvester, -has made immortal; from which descending we arrived at the beautiful -wooded village of Glanmire, with its mills and steeples, and streams, -and neat school-houses, and pleasant country residences. This brings us -down upon the superb stream which leads from the sea to Cork.</p> - -<p>The view for three miles on both sides is magnificently beautiful. Fine -gardens, and parks, and villas cover the shore on each bank; the river -is full of brisk craft moving to the city or out to sea; and the city -finely ends the view, rising upon two hills on either side of the -stream. I do not know a town to which there is an entrance more -beautiful, commodious, and stately.</p> - -<p>Passing by numberless handsome lodges, and, nearer the city, many -terraces in neat order, the road conducts us near a large tract of some -hundred acres which have been reclaimed from the sea, and are destined -to form a park and pleasure-ground for the citizens of Cork. In the -river, and up to the bridge, some hundreds of ships were lying; and a -fleet of steamboats opposite the handsome house of the St. George’s -Steam Packet Company. A church stands prettily on the hill above it, -surrounded by a number of new habitations very neat and white. On the -road is a handsome Roman Catholic chapel, or a chapel which will be -handsome so soon as the necessary funds are raised to complete it. But, -as at Waterford, the chapel has been commenced, and the money has -failed, and the fine portico which is to decorate it one day, as yet -only exists on the architect’s paper. St. Patrick’s Bridge, over which -we pass, is a pretty building; and Patrick Street, the main street of -the town, has an air of business and cheerfulness, and looks densely -thronged.</p> - -<p>As the carriage drove up to those neat, comfortable, and extensive -lodgings which Mrs. MacO’Boy has to let, a magnificent mob was formed -round the vehicle, and we had an opportunity of<a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a> at once making -acquaintance with some of the dirtiest rascally faces that all Ireland -presents. Besides these professional rogues and beggars, who make a -point to attend on all vehicles, everybody else seemed to stop too, to -see that wonder, a coach and four horses. People issued from their -shops, heads appeared at windows. I have seen the Queen pass in state in -London, and not bring together a crowd near so great as that which -assembled in the busiest street of the second city of the kingdom, just -to look at a green coach and four bay horses. Have they nothing else to -do?—or is it that they <i>will</i> do nothing but stare, swagger, and be -idle in the streets?</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>CORK—THE AGRICULTURAL SHOW—FATHER MATHEW</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A <small>MAN</small> has no need to be an agriculturalist in order to take a warm -interest in the success of the Irish Agricultural Society, and to see -what vast good may result from it to the country. The National Education -scheme—a noble and liberal one, at least as far as a stranger can see, -which might have united the Irish people, and brought peace into this -most distracted of all countries—failed unhappily of one of its -greatest ends. The Protestant clergy have always treated the plan with -bitter hostility: and I do believe, in withdrawing from it, have struck -the greatest blow to themselves as a body, and to their own influence in -the country, which has been dealt to them for many a year. Rich, -charitable, pious, well educated, to be found in every parish in -Ireland, had they chosen to fraternise with the people and the plan, -they might have directed the educational movement; they might have -attained the influence which is now given over entirely to the priest; -and when the present generation, educated in the National Schools, were -grown up to manhood, they might have had an interest in almost every man -in Ireland. Are they as pious, and more polished, and better educated -than their neighbours the priests? There is no doubt of it; and by -constant communion with the people they would have gained all the -benefits of the comparison, and advanced the interests of their religion -far more than now they can hope to do. Look at the National School: -throughout the country it is commonly by the chapel side—it is a -Catholic school, directed and fostered by the priest; and as no people -are more eager for learning, more apt to receive it, or more<a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a> grateful -for kindness than the Irish, he gets all the gratitude of the scholars -who flock to the school, and all the future influence over them, which -naturally and justly comes to him. The Protestant wants to better the -condition of these people; he says that the woes of the country are -owing to its prevalent religion; and in order to carry his plans of -amelioration into effect, he obstinately refuses to hold communion with -those whom he is desirous to convert to what he believes are sounder -principles and purer doctrines. The clergyman will reply, that points of -principle prevented him: with this fatal doctrinal objection, it is not -of course the province of a layman to meddle; but this is clear, that -the parson might have had an influence over the country, and he would -not; that he might have rendered the Catholic population friendly to -him, and he would not; but, instead, has added one cause of estrangement -and hostility more to the many which already existed against him. This -is one of the attempts at union in Ireland, and one can’t but think with -the deepest regret and sorrow of its failure.</p> - -<p>Mr. O’Connell and his friends set going another scheme for advancing the -prosperity of the country,—the notable project of home manufactures, -and of a coalition against foreign importation. This was a union -certainly, but a union of a different sort to that noble and peaceful -one which the National Education Board proposed. It was to punish -England, while it pretended to secure the independence of Ireland, by -shutting out our manufactures from the Irish markets; which were one day -or other, it was presumed, to be filled by native produce. Large bodies -of tradesmen and private persons in Dublin and other towns in Ireland -associated together, vowing to purchase no articles of ordinary -consumption or usage but what were manufactured in the country. This -bigoted old-world scheme of restriction—not much more liberal than -Swing’s crusade against the threshing-machines or the coalitions in -England against machinery—failed, as it deserved to do. For the benefit -of a few tradesmen, who might find their account in selling at dear -rates their clumsy and imperfect manufactures, it was found impossible -to tax a people that are already poor enough; nor did the party take -into account the cleverness of the merchants across sea, who were by no -means disposed to let go their Irish customers. The famous Irish frieze -uniform which was to distinguish these patriots, and which Mr. O’Connell -lauded so loudly and so simply, came over made at half-price from Leeds -and Glasgow, and was retailed as real Irish by many worthies who had -been first to join the union. You may still see shops here and there -with their pompous announcement of ‘Irish Manufactures’;<a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a> but the scheme -is long gone to ruin—it could not stand against the vast force of -English and Scotch capital and machinery, any more than the Ulster -spinning-wheel against the huge factories and steam-engines which one -may see about Belfast.</p> - -<p>The scheme of the Agricultural Society is a much more feasible one; and -if, please God, it can be carried out, likely to give not only -prosperity to the country, but union likewise in a great degree. As yet, -Protestants and Catholics concerned in it have worked well together; and -it is a blessing to see them meet upon <i>any</i> ground without heartburning -and quarrelling. Last year, Mr. Purcell, who is well known in Ireland as -the principal mail-coach contractor for the country,—who himself -employs more workmen in Dublin than perhaps any other person there, and -has also more land under cultivation than most of the great landed -proprietors in the country,—wrote a letter to the newspapers, giving -his notions of the fallacy of the exclusive-dealing system, and pointing -out at the same time how he considered the country might be -benefited—by agricultural improvement, namely. He spoke of the -neglected state of the country, and its amazing natural fertility; and, -for the benefit of all, called upon the landlords and landholders to use -their interest and develop its vast agricultural resources. Manufactures -are at best but of slow growth, and demand not only time but capital; -meanwhile, until the habits of the people should grow to be such as to -render manufactures feasible, there was a great neglected treasure, -lying under their feet, which might be the source of prosperity to all. -He pointed out the superior methods of husbandry employed in Scotland -and England, and the great results obtained upon soils naturally much -poorer; and, taking the Highland Society for an example, the -establishment of which had done so much for the prosperity of Scotland, -he proposed the formation in Ireland of a similar association.</p> - -<p>The letter made an extraordinary sensation throughout the country. -Noblemen and gentry of all sides took it up; and numbers of these wrote -to Mr. Purcell, and gave him their cordial adhesion to the plan. A -meeting was held, and the Society formed: subscriptions were set on -foot, headed by the Lord-Lieutenant (Fortescue) and the Duke of -Leinster, each with a donation of £200; and the trustees had soon £5000 -at their disposal; with, besides, an annual revenue of £1000. The -subscribed capital is funded; and political subjects strictly excluded. -The Society has a show yearly in one of the principal towns of Ireland; -it corresponds with the various local agricultural associations -throughout the country; encourages the formation of new ones; and -distributes prizes and rewards. It has further in<a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a> contemplation to -establish a large Agricultural School for farmers’ sons; and has formed -in Dublin an Agricultural Bazaar and Museum.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>It was the first meeting of the Society which we were come to see at -Cork. Will it be able to carry its excellent intentions into effect? -Will the present enthusiasm of its founders and members continue? Will -one political party or another get the upper hand in it? One can’t help -thinking of these points with some anxiety—of the latter especially: as -yet, happily, the clergy of either side have kept aloof, and the union -seems pretty cordial and sincere.</p> - -<p>There are in Cork, as no doubt in every town of Ireland sufficiently -considerable to support a plurality of hotels, some especially devoted -to the Conservative and Liberal parties. Two dinners were to be given <i>à -propos</i> of the Agricultural Meeting; and in order to conciliate all -parties, it was determined that the Tory landlord should find the cheap -ten-shilling dinner for one thousand, the Whig landlord the genteel -guinea dinner for a few select hundreds.</p> - -<p>I wish Mr. Cuff, of the Freemasons’ Tavern, could have been at Cork to -take a lesson from the latter gentleman; for he would have seen that -there are means of having not merely enough to eat, but enough of the -very best, for the sum of a guinea; that persons can have not only wine, -but good wine; and, if inclined (as some topers are on great occasions) -to pass to another bottle,—a second, a third, or a fifteenth bottle for -what I know, is very much at their service. It was a fine sight to see -Mr. MacDowall presiding over an ice-well, and extracting the bottles of -champagne. With what calmness he did it! How the corks popped, and the -liquor fizzed, and the agriculturalists drank the bumpers off! And how -good the wine was too—the greatest merit of all! Mr. MacDowall did -credit to his liberal politics by his liberal dinner.</p> - -<p>‘Sir,’ says a waiter whom I had asked for currant-jelly for the -haunch—(there were a dozen such smoking on various parts of the -table—think of that, Mr. Cuff!)—‘Sir,’ says the waiter, ‘there’s no -jelly, but I’ve brought you <i>some very fine lobster-sauce</i>.’ I think -this was the most remarkable speech of the evening, not excepting that -of my Lord Bernard, who, to three hundred gentlemen more or less -connected with farming, had actually the audacity to quote the words of -the great agricultural poet of Rome—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘O fortunatos nimium sua si,’ et cætera.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>How long are our statesmen in England to continue to back their opinions -by the Latin Grammar? Are the Irish agricultural<a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a>ists so <i>very</i> happy, -if they did but know it—at least those out of doors? Well, those within -were jolly enough. Champagne and claret, turbot and haunch, are gifts of -the <i>justissima tellus</i>, with which few husbandmen will be disposed to -quarrel;—no more let us quarrel either with eloquence after dinner.</p> - -<p>If the Liberal landlord had shown his principles in his dinner, the -Conservative certainly showed his; by conserving as much profit as -possible for himself. We sat down one thousand to some two hundred and -fifty cold joints of meat. Every man was treated with a pint of wine, -and very bad too, so that there was the less cause to grumble because -more was not served. Those agriculturalists who had a mind to drink -whisky-and-water had to pay extra for their punch. Nay, after shouting -in vain for half an hour to a waiter for some cold water, the unhappy -writer could only get it by promising a shilling. The sum was paid on -delivery of the article; but as everybody round was thirsty too, I got -but a glassful from the decanter, which only served to make me long for -more. The waiter (the rascal!) promised more, but never came near us -afterwards: he had got his shilling, and so he left us in a hot room, -surrounded by a thousand hot fellow-creatures, one of them making a dry -speech. The agriculturalists were not on this occasion <i>nimium -fortunati</i>.</p> - -<p>To have heard a nobleman, however, who discoursed the meeting, you would -have fancied that we were the luckiest mortals under the broiling July -sun. He said he could conceive nothing more delightful than to see, ‘on -proper occasions’—(mind, <i>on proper occasions</i>!)—‘the landlord mixing -with his tenantry; and to look around him at a scene like this, and see -<i>the condescension</i> with which the gentry mingled with the farmers!’ -Prodigious condescension truly! This neat speech seemed to me an -oratoric slap on the face to about nine hundred and seventy persons -present; and being one of the latter, I began to hiss by way of -acknowledgment of the compliment, and hoped that a strong party would -have destroyed the harmony of the evening, and done likewise. But not -one hereditary bondsman would join in the compliment—and they were -quite right too. The old lord who talked about condescension is one of -the greatest and kindest landlords in Ireland. If he thinks he -condescends by doing his duty and mixing with men as good as himself, -the fault lies with the latter. Why are they so ready to go down on -their knees to my lord? A man can’t help ‘condescending’ to another who -will persist in kissing his shoestrings. They respect rank in -England—the people seem almost to adore it here.</p> - -<p>As an instance of the intense veneration for lords which dis<a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a>tinguishes -this county of Cork, I may mention what occurred afterwards. The members -of the Cork Society gave a dinner to their guests of the Irish -Agricultural Association. The founder of the latter, as Lord Downshire -stated, was Mr. Purcell: and as it was agreed on all hands that the -Society so founded was likely to prove of the greatest benefit to the -country, one might have supposed that any compliment paid to it might -have been paid to it through its founder. Not so. The Society asked the -lords to dine, and Mr. Purcell to meet the lords.</p> - -<p>After the grand dinner came a grand ball, which was indeed one of the -gayest and prettiest sights ever seen; nor was it the less agreeable, -because the ladies of the city mixed with the ladies from the country, -and vied with them in grace and beauty. The charming gaiety and -frankness of the Irish ladies have been noted and admired by every -foreigner who has had the good fortune to mingle in their society; and I -hope it is not detracting from the merit of the upper classes to say -that the lower are not a whit less pleasing. I never saw in any country -such a general grace of manner and <i>ladyhood</i>. In the midst of their -gaiety, too, it must be remembered that they are the chastest of women, -and that no country in Europe can boast of such a general purity.</p> - -<p>In regard of the Munster ladies, I had the pleasure to be present at two -or three evening parties at Cork, and must say that they seem to excel -the English ladies not only in wit and vivacity, but in the still more -important article of the toilette. They are as well dressed as -Frenchwomen, and incomparably handsomer; and if ever this book reaches a -thirtieth edition, and I can find out better words to express -admiration, they shall be inserted here. Among the ladies’ -accomplishments, I may mention that I have heard in two or three private -families such fine music as is rarely to be met with out of a capital. -In one house we had a supper and songs afterwards, in the old honest -fashion. Time was in Ireland when the custom was a common one; but the -world grows languid as it grows genteel; and I fancy it requires more -than ordinary spirit and courage now for a good old gentleman, at the -head of his kind family table, to strike up a good old family song.</p> - -<p>The delightful old gentleman who sung the song here mentioned could not -help talking of the temperance movement with a sort of regret, and said -that all the fun had gone out of Ireland since Father Mathew banished -the whisky from it. Indeed, any stranger going amongst the people can -perceive that they are now anything but gay. I have seen a great number -of crowds and meetings of people in all parts of Ireland, and found them -all gloomy. There is nothing like the merry-making one reads of in<a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a> the -Irish novels. Lever and Maxwell must be taken as chroniclers of the old -times—the pleasant but wrong old times—for which one can’t help having -an antiquarian fondness.</p> - -<p>On the day we arrived at Cork, and as the passengers descended from ‘the -drag,’ a stout, handsome, honest-looking man, of some two-and-forty -years, was passing by, and received a number of bows from the crowd -around. It was</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p325_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p325_sml.jpg" width="124" height="17" alt="Theobald Mathew" title="" /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">with whose face a thousand little print-shop windows had already -rendered me familiar. He shook hands with the master of the carriage -very cordially, and just as cordially with the master’s coachman, a -disciple of temperance, as at least half Ireland is at present. The day -after the famous dinner at MacDowall’s, some of us came down rather -late, perhaps in consequence of the events of the night before (I think -it was Lord Bernard’s quotation from Virgil, or else the absence of the -currant-jelly for the venison, that occasioned a slight headache among -some of us, and an extreme longing for soda-water),—and there was the -Apostle of Temperance seated at the table drinking tea. Some of us felt -a little ashamed of ourselves, and did not like to ask somehow for the -soda-water in such an awful presence as that. Besides, it would have -been a confession to a Catholic priest, and, as a Protestant, I am above -it.</p> - -<p>The world likes to know how a great man appears even to a <i>valet de -chambre</i>, and I suppose it is one’s vanity that is flattered in such -rare company to find the great man quite as unassuming as the very -smallest personage present; and so like to other mortals, that we would -not know him to be a great man at all, did we not know his name, and -what he had done. There is nothing remarkable in Mr. Mathew’s manner, -except that it is exceedingly simple, hearty, and manly, and that he -does not wear the downcast, demure look which, I know not why, certainly -characterises the chief part of the gentlemen of his profession. Whence -comes that general scowl which darkens the faces of the Irish -priesthood? I have met a score of these reverend gentlemen in the -country, and not one of them seemed to look or speak frankly, except Mr. -Mathew and a couple more. He is almost the only man, too, that I have -met in Ireland, who, in speaking of public matters, did not talk as a -partisan. With the state of the country, of landlord, tenant, and -peasantry, he seemed to be most curiously and intimately acquainted; -speaking of their wants,<a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a> differences, and the means of bettering them, -with the minutest practical knowledge. And it was impossible in hearing -him to know, but from previous acquaintance with his character, whether -he was Whig or Tory, Catholic or Protestant. Why does not Government -make a Privy Councillor of him?—that is, if he would honour the Right -Honourable body by taking a seat amongst them. His knowledge of the -people is prodigious, and their confidence in him as great; and what a -touching attachment that is which these poor fellows show to any one who -has their cause at heart—even to any one who says he has!</p> - -<p>Avoiding all political questions, no man seems more eager than he for -the practical improvement of this country. Leases and rents, farming -improvements, reading societies, music societies—he was full of these, -and of his schemes of temperance above all. He never misses a chance of -making a convert, and has his hand ready and a pledge in his pocket for -sick or poor. One of his disciples in a livery-coat came into the room -with a tray—Mr. Mathew recognised him and shook him by the hand -directly; so he did with the strangers who were presented to him; and -not with a courtly popularity-hunting air, but, as it seemed, from sheer -hearty kindness, and a desire to do every one good.</p> - -<p>When breakfast was done—(he took but one cup of tea, and says that, -from having been a great consumer of tea and refreshing liquids before, -a small cup of tea, and one glass of water at dinner, now serve him for -his day’s beverage)—he took the ladies of our party to see his -burying-ground—a new and handsome cemetery, lying a little way out of -the town, and where, thank God! Protestants and Catholics may lie -together, without clergymen quarrelling over their coffins.</p> - -<p>It is a handsome piece of ground, and was formerly a botanic garden; but -the funds failed for that undertaking, as they have for a thousand other -public enterprises in this poor disunited country; and so it has been -converted into a <i>hortus siccus</i> for us mortals. There is already a -pretty large collection. In the midst is a place for Mathew -himself—honour to him living or dead! Meanwhile, numerous stately -monuments have been built, flowers planted here and there over dear -remains, and the garden in which they lie is rich, green, and beautiful. -Here is a fine statue, by Hogan, of a weeping genius that broods over -the tomb of an honest merchant and clothier of the city. He took a -liking to the artist, his fellow-townsman, and ordered his own monument, -and had the gratification to see it arrive from Rome a few weeks before -his death. A prettier thing even than the statue is the tomb of a little -boy, which has been shut in by a<a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a> large and curious <i>grille</i> of -ironwork. The father worked it, a blacksmith, whose darling the child -was, and he spent three years in hammering out this mausoleum. It is the -beautiful story of the pot of ointment told again at the poor -blacksmith’s anvil; and who can but like him for placing this fine -gilded cage over the body of his poor little one? Presently you come to -a Frenchwoman’s tomb, with a French epitaph, by a French husband, and a -pot of artificial flowers in a niche—a wig, and a pot of rouge, as it -were, just to make the dead look passably well. It is <i>his</i> manner of -showing his sympathy for an immortal soul that has passed away. The poor -may be buried here for nothing; and here, too, once more <span class="smcap">thank God!</span> each -may rest without priests or parsons scowling hell-fire at his neighbour -unconscious under the grass.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>CORK—THE URSULINE CONVENT</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HERE</small> is a large Ursuline convent at Blackrock, near Cork, and a lady -who had been educated there was kind enough to invite me to join a party -to visit the place. Was not this a great privilege for a heretic? I have -peeped into convent chapels abroad, and occasionally caught glimpses of -a white veil or black gown; but to see the pious ladies in their own -retreat was quite a novelty—much more exciting than the exhibition of -Long Horns and Short Horns by which we had to pass on our road to -Blackrock.</p> - -<p>The three miles’ ride is very pretty. As far as Nature goes, she has -done her best for the neighbourhood; and the noble hills on the opposite -coast of the river, studded with innumerable pretty villas, and -garnished with fine trees and meadows, the river itself dark blue under -a brilliant cloudless heaven, and lively with its multiplicity of gay -craft, accompany the traveller along the road; except here and there -where the view is shut out by fine avenues of trees, a beggarly row of -cottages, or a villa wall. Rows of dirty cabins, and smart bankers’ -country-houses, meet one at every turn; nor do the latter want for fine -names, you may be sure. The Irish grandiloquence displays itself finely -in the invention of such; and, to the great inconvenience, I should -think, of the postman, the names of the houses appear to change with the -tenants: for I saw many old houses with new placards in front, setting -forth the <i>last</i> title of the house.<a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a></p> - -<p>I had the box of the carriage (a smart vehicle that would have done -credit to the ring), and found the gentleman by my side very -communicative. He named the owners of the pretty mansions and lawns -visible on the other side of the river: they appear almost all to be -merchants, who have made their fortunes in the city. In the like manner, -though the air of the town is extremely fresh and pure to a pair of -London lungs, the Cork shopkeeper is not satisfied with it, but -contrives for himself a place (with an euphonious name, no doubt) in the -suburbs of the city. These stretch to a great extent along the -beautiful, liberal-looking banks of the stream.</p> - -<p>I asked the man about the Temperance, and whether he was a temperance -man? He replied by pulling a medal out of his waistcoat pocket, saying -that he always carried it about with him for fear of temptation. He said -that he took the pledge two years ago, before which time, as he -confessed, he had been a sad sinner in the way of drink. ‘I used to -take,’ said he, ‘from eighteen to twenty glasses of whisky a day; I was -always at the drink; I’d be often up all night at the public; I was -turned away by my present master on account of it;’—and all of a sudden -he resolved to break off. I asked him whether he had not at first -experienced ill-health from the suddenness of the change in his habits: -but he said—and let all persons meditating a conversion from liquor -remember the fact—that the abstinence never affected him in the least, -but that he went on growing better and better in health every day, -stronger and more able of mind and body.</p> - -<p>The man was a Catholic, and in speaking of the numerous places of -worship along the road as we passed, I’m sorry to confess, dealt some -rude cuts with his whip regarding the Protestants. Coachman as he was, -the fellow’s remarks seemed to be correct; for it appears that the -religious world of Cork is of so excessively enlightened a kind, that -one church will not content one pious person; but that, on the contrary, -they will be at Church of a morning, at Independent Church of an -afternoon, at a Darbyite congregation of an evening, and so on, -gathering excitement or information from all sources by which they could -come at it. Is not this the case? are not some of the ultra-serious as -eager after a new preacher, as the ultra-worldly for a new dancer? don’t -they talk and gossip about him as much? Though theology from the -coach-box is rather questionable (after all, the man was just as much -authorised to propound his notions as many a fellow from an amateur -pulpit), yet he certainly had the right here, as far as his charge -against certain Protestants went.<a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a></p> - -<p>The reasoning from it was quite obvious, and I’m sure was in the man’s -mind, though he did not utter it, as we drove by this time into the -convent gate. ‘Here,’ says coachman, ‘is <i>our</i> church. <i>I</i> don’t drive -my master and mistress from church to chapel, from chapel to -conventicle, hunting after new preachers every Sabbath. I bring them -every Sunday and set them down at the same place, where they know that -everything they hear <i>must</i> be right. Their fathers have done the same -thing before them; and the young ladies and gentlemen will come here -too; and all the new-fangled doctors and teachers may go roaring through -the land, and still here we come regularly, not caring a whit for the -vagaries of others, knowing that we ourselves are in the real old right -original way.’</p> - -<p>I am sure this was what the fellow meant by his sneer at the -Protestants, and their gadding from one doctrine to another; but there -was no call and no time to have a battle with him, as by this time we -had entered a large lawn covered with haycocks, and prettily, as I -think, ornamented with a border of blossoming potatoes, and drove up to -the front door of the convent. It is a huge old square house, with many -windows, having probably been some flaunting squire’s residence; but the -nuns have taken off somewhat from its rakish look, by flinging out a -couple of wings, with chapels, or buildings like chapels, at either end.</p> - -<p>A large, lofty, clean, trim hall was open to a flight of steps, and we -found a young lady in the hall, playing, instead of a pious -sonata—which I vainly thought was the practice in such godly seminaries -of learning—that abominable rattling piece of music called ‘La -Violette,’ which it has been my lot to hear executed by other young -ladies; and which (with its like) has always appeared to me to be -constructed upon this simple fashion—to take a tune, and then, as it -were, to fling it down and upstairs. As soon as the young lady playing -‘The Violet’ saw us, she quitted the hall and retired to an inner -apartment, where she resumed that delectable piece at her leisure. -Indeed, there were pianos all over the educational part of the house.</p> - -<p>We were shown into a gay parlour (where hangs a pretty drawing -representing the melancholy old convent which the Sisters previously -inhabited in Cork), and presently Sister No. Two-Eight made her -appearance—a pretty and graceful lady, thus attired.</p> - -<p>‘’Tis the prettiest nun of the whole house,’ whispered the lady who had -been educated at the convent; and I must own that, slim, gentle, and -pretty as this young lady was, and calculated, with her kind smiling -face and little figure, to frighten no one in<a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a> the world, a great -six-foot Protestant could not help looking at her with a little tremble. -I have never been in a nun’s company before; I’m afraid of such—I don’t -care to own—in their black mysterious robes and awful veils. As priests -in gorgeous vestments, and little rosy incense-boys in red, bob their -heads and knees up and down before altars, or clatter silver pots full -of smoking odours, I feel I don’t know what sort of thrill and secret -creeping terror. Here I was, in a room with a real live nun, pretty and -pale—I wonder has she any of her sisterhood immured in <i>oubliettes</i> -down below: is her poor little, weak, delicate body scarred all over -with scourgings, iron collars, hair shirts? What has she had for dinner -to-day?—as we passed the refectory there was a faint sort of vapid -nunlike vegetable smell, speaking of fasts and wooden platters; and I -could picture to myself silent sisters eating their meal—a grim old -yellow one in the reading-desk, croaking out an extract from a sermon -for their edification.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p330_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p330_sml.jpg" width="100" height="148" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>But is it policy, or hypocrisy, or reality? These nuns affect extreme -happiness and content with their condition; a smiling beatitude, which -they insist belongs peculiarly to them, and about which the only -doubtful point is the manner in which it is produced before strangers. -Young ladies educated in convents have often mentioned this fact, how -the nuns persist in declaring and proving to them their own extreme -enjoyment of life.</p> - -<p>Were all the smiles of that kind-looking Sister Two-Eight perfectly -sincere? Whenever she spoke her face was lighted up with one. She seemed -perfectly radiant with happiness, tripping lightly before us, and -distributing kind compliments to each, which made me in a very few -minutes forget the introductory fright which her poor little presence -had occasioned.</p> - -<p>She took us through the hall (where was the vegetable savour before -mentioned), and showed us the contrivance by which the name of Two-Eight -was ascertained. Each nun has a number, or a combination of numbers, -prefixed to her name; and a bell is pulled a corresponding number of -times, by which each sister knows<a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a> when she is wanted. Poor souls! are -they always on the look-out for that bell, that the ringing of it should -be supposed infallibly to awaken their attention?</p> - -<p>From the hall the sister conducted us through ranges of apartments, and -I had almost said avenues of pianofortes, whence here and there a -startled pensioner would rise, <i>hinnuleo similis</i>, at our approach, -seeking a <i>pavidam matrem</i>, in the person of a demure old stout mother -hard by. We were taken through a hall decorated with series of pictures -of Pope Pius VI.,—wonderful adventures, truly, in the life of the -gentle old man. In one, you see him gracefully receiving a Prince and -Princess of Russia (tremendous incident!). The Prince has a pigtail, the -Princess powder and a train, the Pope a—— but never mind, we shall -never get through the house at this rate.</p> - -<p>Passing through Pope Pius’s gallery, we came into a long, clean, lofty -passage, with many little doors on each side; and here I confess my -heart began to thump again. These were the doors of the cells of the -Sisters. Bon Dieu! and is it possible that I shall see a nun’s cell? Do -I not recollect the nun’s cell in <i>The Monk</i>, or in <i>The Romance of the -Forest</i>? or, if not there, at any rate in a thousand noble romances, -read in early days of half-holiday perhaps—romances at twopence a -volume.</p> - -<p>Come in, in the name of the saints! Here is the cell. I took off my hat -and examined the little room with much curious wonder and reverence. -There was an iron bed, with comfortable curtains of green serge. There -was a little clothes-chest of yellow wood, neatly cleaned, and a wooden -chair beside it, and a desk on the chest, and about six pictures on the -wall,—little religious pictures: a saint with gilt paper round him; the -Virgin showing on her breast a bleeding heart, with a sword run through -it; and other sad little subjects, calculated to make the inmate of the -cell think of the sufferings of the saints and martyrs of the Church. -Then there was a little crucifix, and a wax candle on a ledge; and here -was the place where the poor black-veiled things were to pass their -lives for ever!</p> - -<p>After having seen a couple of these little cells, we left the corridors -in which they were, and were conducted, with a sort of pride on the -nun’s part, I thought, into the grand room of the convent—a parlour -with pictures of saints and a gay paper, and a series of small fineries, -such only as women very idle know how to make. There were some portraits -in the room, one an atrocious daub of an ugly old woman, surrounded by -children still more hideous. Somebody had told the poor nun that this -was a fine thing, and she believed it—Heaven bless her!—quite -implicitly;<a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a> nor is the picture of the ugly old Canadian woman the first -reputation that has been made this way.</p> - -<p>Then from the fine parlour we went to the museum. I don’t know how we -should be curious of such trifles; but the chronicling of small-beer is -the main business of life—people only differing, as Tom Moore wisely -says in one of his best poems, about their own peculiar tap. The poor -nuns’ little collection of gimcracks was displayed in great state; there -were spars in one drawer; and I think a Chinese shoe and some Indian -wares in another; and some medals of the Popes, and a couple of score of -coins; and a clean glass case, full of antique works of French theology -of the distant period of Louis XV., to judge by the bindings—and this -formed the main part of the museum. ‘The chief objects were gathered -together by a single nun,’ said the sister with a look of wonder, and -she went prattling on, and leading us hither and thither, like a child -showing her toys.</p> - -<p>What strange mixture of pity and pleasure is it which comes over you -sometimes when a child takes you by the hand, and leads you up solemnly -to some little treasure of its own—a feather, or a string of glass -beads? I declare I have often looked at such with more delight than at -diamonds; and felt the same sort of soft wonder examining the nuns’ -little treasure-chamber. There was something touching in the very -poverty of it;—had it been finer it would not have been half so good.</p> - -<p>And now we had seen all the wonders of the house but the chapel, and -thither we were conducted; all the ladies of our party kneeling down as -they entered the building, and saying a short prayer.</p> - -<p>This, as I am on sentimental confessions, I must own affected me too. It -was a very pretty and tender sight. I should have liked to kneel down -too, but was ashamed; our northern usages not encouraging—among men at -least—that sort of abandonment of dignity. Do any of us dare to sing -psalms at church? and don’t we look with rather a sneer at a man who -does?</p> - -<p>The chapel had nothing remarkable in it except a very good organ, as I -was told; for we were allowed only to see the exterior of that -instrument, our pious guide with much pleasure removing an oil-cloth -which covered the mahogany. At one side of the altar is a long high -<i>grille</i>, through which you see a hall, where the nuns have their -stalls, and sit in chapel time; and beyond this hall is another small -chapel, with a couple of altars, and one beautiful print in one of -them—a German Holy Family—a prim, mystical, tender piece, just -befitting the place.</p> - -<p>In the <i>grille</i> is a little wicket and a ledge before it. It is to<a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a> this -wicket that women are brought to kneel; and a bishop is in the chapel on -the other side, and takes their hands in his, and receives their vows. I -had never seen the like before, and own that I felt a sort of shudder at -looking at the place. There rest the girl’s knees as she offers herself -up, and forswears the sacred affections which God gave her; there she -kneels and denies for ever the beautiful duties of her being:—no tender -maternal yearnings, no gentle attachments are to be had for her or from -her—there she kneels and commits suicide upon her heart. O honest -Martin Luther! thank God, you came to pull that infernal, wicked, -unnatural altar down—that cursed Paganism! Let people, solitary, worn -out by sorrow or oppressed with extreme remorse, retire to such places: -fly and beat your breasts in caverns and wildernesses, O women, if you -will, but be Magdalens first. It is shameful that any young girl, with -any vocation however seemingly strong, should be allowed to bury herself -in this small tomb of a few acres. Look at yonder nun—pretty, smiling, -graceful, and young—what has God’s world done to <i>her</i>, that she should -run from it, or she done to the world, that she should avoid it? What -call has she to give up all her duties and affections; and would she not -be best serving God with a husband at her side, and a child on her knee?</p> - -<p>The sights in the house having been seen, the nun led us through the -grounds and gardens. There was the hay in front, a fine yellow cornfield -at the back of the house, and a large, melancholy-looking -kitchen-garden; in all of which places the nuns, for certain hours in -the day, are allowed to take recreation. ‘The nuns here are allowed to -amuse themselves more than ours at New Hall,’ said a little girl who is -educated at that English Convent: ‘do you know that here the nuns may -make hay?’ What a privilege is this! We saw none of the black sisterhood -availing themselves of it, however: the hay was neatly piled into cocks -and ready for housing; so the poor souls must wait until next year -before they can enjoy this blessed sport once more.</p> - -<p>Turning into a narrow gate with the nun at our head, we found ourselves -in a little green quiet enclosure—it was the burial-ground of the -convent. The poor things know the places where they are to lie: she who -was with us talked smilingly of being stretched there one day, and -pointed out the resting-place of a favourite old sister who had died -three months back, and been buried in the very midst of the little -ground. And here they come to live and die. The gates are open, but they -never go out. All their world lies in a dozen acres of ground; and they -sacrifice their lives in early youth, many of them passing from the -grave upstairs in the<a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a> house to the one scarcely narrower in the -churchyard here; and are seemingly not unhappy.</p> - -<p>I came out of the place quite sick; and looking before me,—there, thank -God! was the blue spire of Monkstown church soaring up into the free -sky—a river in front rolling away to the sea—liberty, sunshine, all -sorts of glad life and motion round about: and I couldn’t but thank -Heaven for it, and the Being whose service is freedom, and who has given -us affections that we may use them—not smother and kill them; and a -noble world to live in, that we may admire it and Him who made it—not -shrink from it, as though we dared not live there, but must turn our -backs upon it and its bountiful Provider.</p> - -<p>And in conclusion, if that most cold-blooded and precise of all -personages, the respectable and respected English reader, may feel -disposed to sneer at the above sentimental homily, or to fancy that it -has been written for effect—let him go and see a convent for himself. I -declare I think for my part that we have as much right to permit -Sutteeism in India as to allow women in the United Kingdom to take these -wicked vows, or Catholic Bishops to receive them; and that Government -has as good a right to interpose in such cases, as the police has to -prevent a man from hanging himself, or the doctor to refuse a glass of -prussic acid to any one who may have a wish to go out of the world.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>CORK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A<small>MIDST</small> the bustle and gaieties of the Agricultural Meeting, the -working-day aspect of the city was not to be judged of: but I passed a -fortnight in the place afterwards, during which time it settled down to -its calm and usual condition. The flashy French and plated-goods shops, -which made a show for the occasion of the meeting, disappeared; you were -no longer crowded and jostled by smart male and female dandies in -walking down Patrick Street or the Mall; the poor little theatre had -scarcely a soul in its bare benches: I went once, but the dreadful -brass-band of a dragoon regiment blew me out of doors. This music could -be heard much more pleasantly at some distance off in the street.</p> - -<p>One sees in this country many a grand and tall iron gate leading into a -very shabby field covered with thistles; and the<a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a> simile of the gate -will in some degree apply to this famous city of Cork,—which is -certainly not a city of palaces, but of which the outlets are -magnificent. That towards Killarney leads by the Lee, the old Avenue of -Mardyke, and the rich green pastures stretching down to the river; and -as you pass by the portico of the county gaol, as fine and as glancing -as a palace, you see the wooded heights on the other side of the fair -stream, crowded with a thousand pretty villas and terraces, presenting -every image of comfort and prosperity. The entrance from Cove has been -mentioned before; nor is it easy to find anywhere a nobler, grander, and -more cheerful scene.</p> - -<p>Along the quays up to St. Patrick’s Bridge there is a certain bustle. -Some forty ships may be lying at anchor along the walls of the quay; and -its pavements are covered with goods of various merchandise: here a -cargo of hides; yonder a company of soldiers, their kits, and their -Dollies, who are taking leave of the redcoats at the steamer’s side. -Then you shall see a fine, squeaking, shrieking drove of pigs embarking -by the same conveyance, and insinuated into the steamer by all sorts of -coaxing, threatening, and wheedling. Seamen are singing and yeehoing on -board; grimy colliers smoking at the liquor-shops along the quay; and as -for the bridge—there is a crowd of idlers on <i>that</i>, you may be sure, -sprawling over the balustrade for ever and ever, with long ragged coats, -steeple-hats, and stumpy doodeens.</p> - -<p>Then along the coal-quay you may see a clump of jingle-drivers, who have -all a word for your honour; and in Patrick Street, at three o’clock, -when ‘The Rakes of Mallow’ gets under weigh (a cracked old coach with -the paint rubbed off, some smart horses, and an exceedingly dingy -harness)—at three o’clock, you will be sure to see at least forty -persons waiting to witness the departure of the said coach; so that the -neighbourhood of the inn has an air of some bustle.</p> - -<p>At the other extremity of the town, if it be assize time, you will see -some five hundred persons squatting in the Court-house, or buzzing and -talking within; the rest of the respectable quarter of the city is -pretty free from anything like bustle. There is no more life in Patrick -Street than in Russell Square of a sunshiny day; and as for the Mall, it -is as lonely as the chief street of a German Residenz.</p> - -<p>I have mentioned the respectable quarter of the city—for there are -quarters in it swarming with life, but of such a frightful kind as no -pen need care to describe; alleys where the odours and rags and darkness -are so hideous, that one runs frightened away from them. In some of -them, they say, not the policeman, only the<a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a> priest, can penetrate. I -asked a Roman Catholic clergyman of the city to take me into some of -these haunts, but he refused very justly; and indeed a man may be quite -satisfied with what he can see in the mere outskirts of the districts, -without caring to penetrate farther. Not far from the quays is an open -space where the poor hold a market or bazaar. Here is liveliness and -business enough: ragged women chattering and crying their beggarly -wares; ragged boys gloating over dirty apple-and pie-stalls; fish -frying, and raw and stinking; clothes-booths, where you might buy a -wardrobe for scarecrows; old nails, hoops, bottles, and marine-wares; -old battered furniture, that has been sold against starvation. In the -streets round about this place, on a sunshiny day, all the black gaping -windows and mouldy steps are covered with squatting lazy figures—women, -with bare breasts, nursing babies, and leering a joke as you pass -by—ragged children paddling everywhere. It is but two minutes’ walk out -of Patrick Street, where you come upon a fine flashy shop of plated -goods, or a grand French emporium of dolls, walking-sticks, carpet-bags, -and perfumery. The markets hard by have a rough, old-fashioned, cheerful -look; it’s a comfort after the misery to hear a red butcher’s wife -crying after you to buy an honest piece of meat.</p> - -<p>The poorhouse, newly established, cannot hold a fifth part of the -poverty of this great town; the richer inhabitants are untiring in their -charities, and the Catholic clergyman before mentioned took me to see a -delivery of rice, at which he presides every day until the potatoes -shall come in. This market, over which he presides so kindly, is held in -an old bankrupt warehouse, and the rice is sold considerably under the -prime cost to hundreds of struggling applicants who come when lucky -enough to have wherewithal to pay.</p> - -<p>That the city contains much wealth is evidenced by the number of -handsome villas round about it, where the rich merchants dwell; but the -warehouses of the wealthy provision-merchants make no show to the -stranger walking the streets; and of the retail shops, if some are -spacious and handsome, most look as if too big for the business carried -on within. The want of ready money was quite curious. In three of the -principal shops I purchased articles, and tendered a pound in -exchange—not one of them had silver enough; and as for a five-pound -note, which I presented at one of the topping booksellers, his boy went -round to various places in vain, and finally set forth to the bank, -where change was got. In another small shop I offered half-a-crown to -pay for a sixpenny article—it was all the same. ‘Tim,’ says the good -woman, ‘run out in a hurry and fetch the gentleman change.’ Two of the -shopmen, seeing an Englishman, were very particular to tell me<a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a> in what -years they themselves had been in London. It seemed a merit in these -gentlemen’s eyes to have once dwelt in that city; and I see in the -papers continually ladies advertising as governesses, and specifying -particularly that they are ‘English ladies.’</p> - -<p>I received six £5 post-office orders; I called four times on as many -different days at the Post Office before the capital could be -forthcoming, getting on the third application £20 (after making a great -clamour, and vowing that such things were unheard of in England), and on -the fourth call the remaining £10. I saw poor people, who may have come -from the country with their orders, refused payment of an order of some -40s.; and a gentleman who tendered a pound note in payment of a foreign -letter, told to ‘leave his letter and pay some other time.’ Such things -could not take place in the hundred-and-second city in England; and as I -do not pretend to doctrinise at all, I leave the reader to draw his own -deductions with regard to the commercial condition and prosperity of the -second city in Ireland.</p> - -<p>Half a dozen of the public buildings I saw were spacious and shabby -beyond all cockney belief. Adjoining the Imperial Hotel is a great, -large, handsome, desolate reading-room, which was founded by a body of -Cork merchants and tradesmen, and is the very picture of decay. Not -Palmyra—not the Russell Institution in Great Coram Street—present more -melancholy appearances of faded greatness. Opposite this is another -institution, called the Cork Library, where there are plenty of books -and plenty of kindness to the stranger; but the shabbiness and faded -splendour of the place are quite painful. There are three handsome -Catholic churches commenced of late years; not one of them is complete: -two want their porticoes; the other is not more than thirty feet from -the ground; and according to the architectural plan was to rise as high -as a cathedral. There is an institution, with a fair library of -scientific works, a museum, and a drawing-school with a supply of casts. -The place is in yet more dismal condition than the library. The plasters -are spoiled incurably for want of a sixpenny feather-brush; the dust -lies on the walls, and nobody seems to heed it. Two shillings a year -would have repaired much of the evil which has happened to this -institution; and it is folly to talk of inward dissensions and political -differences as causing the ruin of such institutions. Kings or laws -don’t cause or cure dust and cobwebs; but indolence leaves them to -accumulate, and imprudence will not calculate its income, and vanity -exaggerates its own powers, and the fault is laid upon that tyrant of a -sister kingdom. The whole country is filled with such failures; -swaggering beginnings that could not be carried through; grand<a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a> -enterprises begun dashingly, and ending in shabby compromises or -downright ruin.</p> - -<p>I have said something in praise of the manners of the Cork ladies: in -regard of the gentlemen, a stranger too must remark the extraordinary -degree of literary taste and talent amongst them, and the wit and -vivacity of their conversation. The love for literature seems to an -Englishman doubly curious. What, generally speaking, do a company of -grave gentlemen and ladies in Baker Street know about it? Who ever reads -books in the City, or how often does one hear them talked about at a -Club? The Cork citizens are the most book-loving men I ever met. The -town has sent to England a number of literary men, of reputation too, -and is not a little proud of their fame. Everybody seemed to know what -Maginn was doing, and that Father Prout had a third volume ready, and -what was Mr. Croker’s last article in the <i>Quarterly</i>. The young clerks -and shopmen seemed as much <i>au fait</i> as their employers, and many is the -conversation I heard about the merits of this writer or that—Dickens, -Ainsworth, Lover, Lever.</p> - -<p>I think, in walking the streets, and looking at the ragged urchins -crowding there, every Englishman must remark that the superiority of -intelligence is here, and not with us. I never saw such a collection of -bright-eyed, wild, clever, eager faces. Mr. Maclise has carried away a -number of them in his memory; and the lovers of his admirable pictures -will find more than one Munster countenance under a helmet in company of -Macbeth, or in a slashed doublet alongside of Prince Hamlet, or in the -very midst of Spain in company with Signor Gil Blas. Gil Blas himself -came from Cork, and not from Oviedo.</p> - -<p>I listened to two boys almost in rags: they were lolling over the quay -balustrade, and talking about <i>one of the Ptolemys!</i> and talking very -well too. One of them had been reading in Rollin, and was detailing his -information with a great deal of eloquence and fire. Another day, -walking in the Mardyke, I followed three boys, not half so well dressed -as London errand-boys: one was telling the other about Captain Ross’s -voyages, and spoke with as much brightness and intelligence as the -best-read gentleman’s son in England could do. He was as much of a -gentleman, too, the ragged young student; his manner as good, though -perhaps more eager and emphatic; his language was extremely rich, too, -and eloquent. Does the reader remember his school-days, when half a -dozen lads in the bedrooms took it by turns to tell stories? how poor -the language generally was, and how exceedingly poor the imagination! -Both of those ragged Irish lads had the making<a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a> of gentlemen, scholars, -orators, in them. <i>À propos</i> of love of reading, let me mention here a -Dublin story. Dr. Lever, the celebrated author of <i>Harry Lorrequer</i>, -went into Dycer’s stables to buy a horse. The groom who brought the -animal out, directly he heard who the gentleman was, came out and -touched his cap, and pointed to a little book in his pocket in a pink -cover. ‘<i>I can’t do without it, sir</i>,’ says the man. It was <i>Harry -Lorrequer</i>. I wonder does any one of Mr. Rymell’s grooms take in -<i>Pickwick</i>, or would they have any curiosity to see Mr. Dickens, should -he pass that way?</p> - -<p>The Corkagians are eager for a Munster University; asking for, and -having a very good right to, the same privilege which has been granted -to the chief city of the north of Ireland. It would not fail of being a -great benefit to the city and to the country too, which would have no -need to go so far as Dublin for a school of letters and medicine; nor, -Whig and Catholic for the most part, to attend a Tory and Protestant -University. The establishing of an open college in Munster would bring -much popularity to any Ministry that should accord such a boon. People -would cry out ‘Popery and Infidelity,’ doubtless, as they did when the -London University was established; as the same party in Spain would cry -out, ‘Atheism and Heresy.’ But the time, thank God! is gone by in -England when it was necessary to legislate for <i>them</i>; and Sir Robert -Peel, in giving his adherence to the National Education scheme, has -sanctioned the principle of which this so much longed-for college would -only be a consequence.</p> - -<p>The medical charities and hospitals are said to be very well arranged, -and the medical men of far more than ordinary skill. Other public -institutions are no less excellent. I was taken over the Lunatic Asylum, -where everything was conducted with admirable comfort, cleanliness, and -kindness; and as for the county gaol, it is so neat, spacious, and -comfortable, that we can only pray to see every cottager in the country -as cleanly, well lodged, and well fed as the convicts are. They get a -pound of bread and a pint of milk twice a day: there must be millions of -people in this wretched country, to whom such food would be a luxury -that their utmost labours can never by possibility procure for them; and -in going over this admirable institution, where everybody is cleanly, -healthy, and well clad, I could not but think of the rags and filth of -the horrid starvation market before mentioned; so that the prison seemed -almost a sort of premium for vice. But the people like their freedom, -such as it is, and prefer to starve and be ragged as they list. They -will not go to the poorhouses,<a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a> except at the greatest extremity, and -leave them on the slightest chance of existence elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Walking away from this palace of a prison, you pass amidst all sorts of -delightful verdure, cheerful gardens, and broad green luscious pastures, -down to the beautiful river Lee. On one side the river shines away -towards the city with its towers and purple steeples; on the other it is -broken by little waterfalls, and bound in by blue hills, an old castle -towering in the distance, and innumerable parks and villas lying along -the pleasant wooded banks. How beautiful the scene is, how rich and how -happy! Yonder, in the old Mardyke Avenue, you hear the voices of a score -of children, and along the bright green meadows, where the cows are -feeding, the gentle shadows of the clouds go playing over the grass. Who -can look at such a charming scene but with a thankful swelling heart?</p> - -<p>In the midst of your pleasure, three beggars have hobbled up, and are -howling supplications to the Lord. One is old and blind, and so diseased -and hideous, that straightway all the pleasure of the sight round about -vanishes from you—that livid ghastly face interposing between you and -it. And so it is throughout the south and west of Ireland; the traveller -is haunted by the face of the popular starvation. It is not the -exception, it is the condition of the people. In this fairest and -richest of countries, men are suffering and starving by millions. There -are thousands of them at this minute stretched in the sunshine at their -cabin doors with no work, scarcely any food, no hope seemingly. Strong -countrymen are lying in bed ‘<i>for the hunger</i>’—because a man lying on -his back does not need so much food as a person afoot. Many of them have -torn up the unripe potatoes from their little gardens, and to exist now -must look to winter, when they shall have to suffer starvation and cold -too. The epicurean, and traveller for pleasure, had better travel -anywhere than here; where there are miseries that one does not dare to -think of; where one is always feeling how helpless pity is, and how -hopeless relief, and is perpetually made ashamed of being happy.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>I have just been strolling up a pretty little height called Grattan’s -Hill, that overlooks the town and the river, and where the artist that -comes Cork-wards may find many subjects for his pencil. There is a kind -of pleasure-ground at the top of this eminence—a broad walk that -draggles up to a ruined wall, with a ruined niche in it, and a battered -stone bench. On the side that shelves down to the water are some -beeches, and opposite them a row of houses from which you see one of the -prettiest<a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a> prospects possible—the shining river with the craft along -the quays, and the busy city in the distance, the active little steamers -puffing away towards Cove, the farther bank crowned with rich woods, and -pleasant-looking country-houses,—perhaps they are tumbling, rickety, -and ruinous, as those houses close by us, but you can’t see the ruin -from here.</p> - -<p>What a strange air of forlorn gaiety there is about the place!—the sky -itself seems as if it did not know whether to laugh or cry, so full is -it of clouds and sunshine. Little fat, ragged, smiling children are -clambering about the rocks, and sitting on mossy doorsteps, tending -other children yet smaller, fatter, and more dirty. ‘Stop till I get you -a posy’ (pronounced <i>pawawawsee</i>), cries one urchin to another. ‘Tell me -who is it ye love, Jooly,’ exclaims another, cuddling a red-faced infant -with a very dirty nose. More of the same race are perched about the -summer-house, and two wenches with large purple feet are flapping some -carpets in the air. It is a wonder the carpets will bear this kind of -treatment at all, and do not be off at once to mingle with the elements: -I never saw things that hung to life by such a frail thread.</p> - -<p>This dismal pleasant place is a suburb of the second city in Ireland, -and one of the most beautiful spots about the town. What a prim, -bustling, active, green-railinged, tea-gardened, gravel-walked place -would it have been in the five-hundredth town in England!—but you see -the people can be quite as happy in the rags and without the paint, and -I hear a great deal more heartiness and affection from these children -than from their fat little brethren across the Channel.</p> - -<p>If a man wanted to study ruins, here is a house close at hand, not forty -years old no doubt, but yet as completely gone to rack as Netley Abbey. -It is quite curious to study that house; and a pretty ruinous fabric of -improvidence, extravagance, happiness, and disaster may the imagination -build out of it! In the first place, the owners did not wait to finish -it before they went to inhabit it! This is written in just such another -place;—a handsome drawing-room with a good carpet, a lofty marble -mantelpiece, and no paper to the walls. The door is prettily painted -white and blue, and though not six weeks old, a great piece of the -woodwork is off already (Peggy uses it to prevent the door from banging -to); and there are some fine chinks in every one of the panels, by which -my neighbour may see all my doings.</p> - -<p>A couple of score of years, and this house will be just like yonder -place on Grattan’s Hill.</p> - -<p>Like a young prodigal, the house begins to use its constitution<a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a> too -early; and when it should yet (in the shape of carpenters and painters) -have all its masters and guardians to watch and educate it, my house on -Grattan’s Hill must be a man at once, and enjoy all the privileges of -strong health! I would lay a guinea they were making punch in that house -before they could keep the rain out of it; that they had a dinner-party -and ball before the floors were firm or the wainscots painted, and a -fine tester-bed in the best room, where my lady might catch cold in -state, in the midst of yawning chimneys, creaking window-sashes, and -smoking plaster.</p> - -<p>Now look at the door of the coach-house, with its first coat of paint -seen yet, and a variety of patches to keep the feeble barrier together. -The loft was arched once, but a great corner has tumbled at one end, -leaving a gash that unites the windows with the coach-house door. -Several of the arch-stones are removed, and the whole edifice is about -as rambling and disorderly as—as the arrangement of this book, say. -Very tall tufts of mouldy moss are on the drawing-room windows, with -long white heads of grass. As I am sketching this—<i>honk!</i>—a great lean -sow comes trampling through the slush within the courtyard, breaks down -the flimsy apparatus of rattling boards and stones which had passed for -the gate, and walks with her seven squeaking little ones to disport on -the grass on the hill.</p> - -<p>The drawing-room of the tenement mentioned just now, with its pictures, -and pulleyless windows and lockless doors, was tenanted by a friend who -lodged there with a sick wife and a couple of little children; one of -whom was an infant in arms. It is not, however, the lodger, who is an -Englishman, but the kind landlady and her family who may well be -described here—for their like are hardly to be found on the other side -of the Channel. Mrs. Fagan is a young widow who has seen better days, -and that portrait over the grand mantelpiece is the picture of her -husband that is gone, a handsome young man, and well-to-do at one time -as a merchant. But the widow (she is as pretty, as ladylike, as kind, -and as neat as ever widow could be) has little left to live upon but the -rent of her lodgings and her furniture; of which we have seen the best -in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>She has three fine children of her own: there is Minny, and Katey, and -Patsey, and they occupy indifferently the dining-room on the -ground-floor or the kitchen opposite; where in the midst of a great -smoke sits an old nurse, by a copper of potatoes which is always -bubbling and full. Patsey swallows quantities of them, that’s clear—his -cheeks are as red and shining as apples, and when he roars, you are sure -that his lungs are in the finest condition. Next door to the kitchen is -the pantry, and there is a bucket full<a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a> of the before-mentioned fruit, -and a grand service of china for dinner and dessert. The kind young -widow shows them with no little pride, and says with reason that there -are few lodging-houses in Cork that can match such china as that. They -are relics of the happy old times when Fagan kept his gig and horse, -doubtless, and had his friends to dine—the happy prosperous days which -she has exchanged for poverty and the sad black gown.</p> - -<p>Patsey, Minny, and Katey have made friends with the little English -people upstairs; the elder of whom, in the course of a month, has as -fine a Munster brogue as ever trolled over the lips of any born -Corkagian. The old nurse carries out the whole united party to walk, -with the exception of the English baby, that jumps about in the arms of -a countrywoman of her own. That is, unless one of the four Miss Fagans -take her; for four of them there are, four <i>other</i> Miss Fagans, from -eighteen downwards to fourteen:—handsome, fresh, lively, dancing, -bouncing girls. You may always see two or three of them smiling at the -parlour-window, and they laugh and turn away their heads when any young -fellow looks and admires them.</p> - -<p>Now, it stands to reason that a young widow of five-and-twenty can’t be -the mother of four young ladies of eighteen downwards; and, if anybody -wants to know how they come to be living with the poor widow their -cousin, the answer is, they are on a visit. Peggy the maid says their -papa is a gentleman of property, and can ‘spend his eight hundred a -year.’</p> - -<p>Why don’t they remain with the old gentleman, then, instead of -quartering on the poor young widow, who has her own little mouths to -feed? The reason is, the old gentleman has gone and <i>married his cook</i>; -and the daughters have quitted him in a body, refusing to sit down to -dinner with a person who ought by rights to be in the kitchen. The whole -family (the Fagans are of good family) take the quarrel up, and here are -the young people under shelter of the widow.</p> - -<p>Four merrier, tender-hearted girls are not to be found in all Ireland; -and the only subject of contention amongst them is, which shall have the -English baby; they are nursing it, and singing to it, and dandling it by -turns all day long. When they are not singing to the baby, they are -singing to an old piano; such an old, wiry, jingling, wheezy piano! It -has plenty of work, playing jigs and song accompaniments between meals, -and acting as a sideboard at dinner. I am not sure that it is at rest at -night either; but have a shrewd suspicion that it is turned into a -four-post bed. And for the following reason:—</p> - -<p>Every afternoon, at four o’clock, you see a tall old gentleman<a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a> walking -leisurely to the house. He is dressed in a long greatcoat with huge -pockets, and in the huge pockets are sure to be some big apples for all -the children—the English child amongst the rest, and she generally has -the biggest one. At seven o’clock, you are sure to hear a deep voice -shouting ‘<span class="smcap">Paggy!</span>’ in an awful tone—it is the old gentleman calling for -his ‘materials’; which Peggy brings without any further ado; and a glass -of punch is made, no doubt, for everybody. Then the party separates: the -children and the old nurse have long since trampled upstairs; Peggy has -the kitchen for her sleeping-apartment; and the four young ladies make -it out somehow in the back drawing-room. As for the old gentleman, he -reposes in the parlour; and it must be somewhere about the piano, for -there is no furniture in the room except that, a table, a few old -chairs, a workbox, and a couple of albums.</p> - -<p>The English girl’s father met her in the street one day, talking -confidentially with a tall old gentleman in a greatcoat. ‘Who’s your -friend?’ says the Englishman afterwards to the little girl. ‘Don’t you -know him, papa?’ said the child in the purest brogue. ‘Don’t you know -him?—<span class="smcap">That’s Uncle James!</span>’ And so it was: in this kind, poor, generous, -barebacked house, the English child found a set of new relations; little -rosy brothers and sisters to play with, kind women to take the place of -the almost dying mother, a good old Uncle James to bring her home apples -and care for her—one and all ready to share their little pittance with -her, and to give her a place in their simple friendly hearts. God -Almighty bless the widow and her mite, and all the kind souls under her -roof!</p> - -<p>How much goodness and generosity—how much purity, fine feeling—nay, -happiness—may dwell amongst the poor whom we have been just looking at! -Here, thank God, is an instance of this happy and cheerful poverty: and -it is good to look, when one can, at the heart that beats under the -threadbare coat, as well as the tattered old garment itself. Well, -please Heaven, some of those people whom we have been looking at are as -good, and not much less happy: but though they are accustomed to their -want, the stranger does not reconcile himself to it quickly; and I hope -no Irish reader will be offended at my speaking of this poverty, not -with scorn or ill-feeling, but with hearty sympathy and good-will.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>One word more regarding the Widow Fagan’s house. When Peggy brought in -coals for the drawing-room fire, she carried them—in what do you think? -‘In a coal-scuttle, to be sure,’ says the English reader, down on you as -sharp as a needle.<a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a></p> - -<p>No, you clever Englishman, it wasn’t a coal-scuttle.</p> - -<p>‘Well, then, it was in a fire-shovel,’ says that brightest of wits, -guessing again.</p> - -<p>No, it <i>wasn’t</i> a fire-shovel, you heaven-born genius; and you might -guess from this until Mrs. Snooks called you up to coffee, and you would -never find out. It was in something which I have already described in -Mrs. Fagan’s pantry.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, I have you now, it was the bucket where the potatoes were; the -thlatternly wetch!’ says Snooks.</p> - -<p>Wrong again! Peggy brought up the coals—in a <span class="smcap">CHINA PLATE</span>!</p> - -<p>Snooks turns quite white with surprise, and almost chokes himself with -his port. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘of all the <i>wum</i> countwith that I ever wead -of, hang me if Ireland ithn’t the <i>wummetht</i>. Coalth in a plate! -Mawyann, do you hear that? In Ireland they alwayth thend up their coalth -in a plate!’</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>FROM CORK TO BANTRY; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE CITY OF SKIBBEREEN</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HAT</small> light four-inside, four-horse coach, the ‘Skibbereen Perseverance,’ -brought me fifty-two miles to-day, for the sum of three-and-sixpence, -through a country which is, as usual, somewhat difficult to describe. We -issued out of Cork by the western road, in which, as the Guide-book -says, there is something very imposing. ‘The magnificence of the county -court-house, the extent, solidity, and characteristic sternness of the -county gaol,’ were visible to us for a few minutes; when, turning away -southward from the pleasant banks of the stream, the road took us -towards Bandon, through a country that is bare and ragged-looking, but -yet green and pretty; and it always seems to me, like the people, to -look cheerful in spite of its wretchedness, or, more correctly, to look -tearful and cheerful at the same time.</p> - -<p>The coach, like almost every other public vehicle I have seen in -Ireland, was full to the brim and over it. What can send these restless -people travelling and hurrying about from place to place as they do? I -have heard one or two gentlemen hint that they had ‘business’ at this -place or that; and found afterwards that one was going a couple of score -of miles to look at a mare, another<a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a> to examine a setter-dog, and so on. -I did not make it my business to ask on what errand the gentlemen on the -coach were bound; though two of them, seeing an Englishman, very -good-naturedly began chalking out a route for him to take, and showing a -sort of interest in his affairs, which is not with us generally -exhibited. The coach, too, seemed to have the elastic hospitality of -some Irish houses; it accommodated an almost impossible number. For the -greater part of the journey the little guard sat on the roof among the -carpet-bags, holding in one hand a huge tambour-frame, in the other a -bandbox marked ‘Foggarty, Hatter.’ (What is there more ridiculous in the -name of Foggarty than in that of Smith? and yet, had Smith been the -name, I never should have laughed at or remarked it.) Presently by his -side clambered a green-coated policeman with his carbine, and we had a -talk about the vitriol-throwers at Cork, and the sentence just passed -upon them. The populace has decidedly taken part with the -vitriol-throwers; parties of dragoons were obliged to surround the -avenues of the court; and the judge who sentenced them was abused as he -entered his carriage, and called an old villain, and many other -opprobrious names.</p> - -<p>This case the reader very likely remembers. A saw-mill was established -at Cork, by which some four hundred sawyers were thrown out of employ. -In order to deter the proprietors of this and all other mills from using -such instruments further, the sawyers determined to execute a terrible -vengeance, and cast lots among themselves which of their body should -fling vitriol into the faces of the mill-owners. The men who were chosen -by the lot were to execute this horrible office on pain of death, and -did so,—frightfully burning and blinding one of the gentlemen owning -the mill. Great rewards were offered for the apprehension of the -criminals, and at last one of their own body came forward as an -approver, and the four principal actors in this dreadful outrage were -sentenced to be transported for life. Crowds of the ragged admirers of -these men were standing round ‘the magnificent county court-house’ as we -passed the building. Ours is a strange life indeed. What a history of -poverty and barbarity, and crime, and even kindness, was that by which -we passed before the magnificent county court-house, at eight miles an -hour? What a chapter might a philosopher write on them! Look yonder at -those two hundred ragged fellow-subjects of yours; they are kind, good, -pious, brutal, starving. If the priest tells them, there is scarce any -penance they will not perform; there is scarcely any pitch of misery -which they have not been known to endure, nor any degree of generosity -of which they are not capable: but if a<a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a> man comes among these people, -and can afford to take land over their heads, or if he invents a machine -which can work more economically than their labour, they will shoot the -man down without mercy, murder him, or put him to horrible tortures, and -glory almost in what they do. There stand the men; they are only -separated from us by a few paces: they are as fond of their mothers and -children as we are; their gratitude for small kindnesses shown to them -is extraordinary; they are Christians as we are; but interfere with -their interests, and they will murder you without pity.</p> - -<p>It is not revenge so much which these poor fellows take, as a brutal -justice of their own. Now, will it seem a paradox to say, in regard to -them and their murderous system, that the way to put an end to the -latter is to <i>kill them no more</i>? Let the priest be able to go amongst -them and say, the law holds a man’s life so sacred that it will on <i>no -account</i> take it away. No man, nor no body of men, has a right to meddle -with human life; not the Commons of England any more than the Commons of -Tipperary. This may cost two or three lives, probably, until such time -as the system may come to be known and understood: but which will be the -greatest economy of blood in the end?</p> - -<p>By this time the vitriol-men were long passed away, and we began next to -talk about the Cork and London steamboats; which are made to pay, on -account of the number of paupers whom the boats bring over from London -at the charge of that city. The passengers found here, as in everything -else almost which I have seen as yet, another instance of the injury -which England inflicts on them. ‘As long as these men are strong and can -work,’ says one, ‘you keep them: when they are in bad health, you fling -them upon us.’ Nor could I convince him that the agricultural gentlemen -were perfectly free to stay at home if they liked: that we did for them -what was done for English paupers—sent them, namely, as far as possible -on the way to their parishes; nay, that some of them (as I have seen -with my own eyes) actually saved a bit of money during the harvest, and -took this cheap way of conveying it and themselves to their homes again. -But nothing would convince the gentlemen that there was not some wicked -scheming on the part of the English in the business; and, indeed, I find -upon almost every other subject a peevish and puerile suspiciousness -which is worthy of France itself.</p> - -<p>By this time we came to a pretty village called Innishannon, upon the -noble banks of the Bandon river; leading for three miles by a great -number of pleasant gentlemen’s seats to Bandon town. A good number of -large mills were on the banks of the stream;<a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a> and the chief part of -them, as in Carlow, useless. One mill we saw was too small for the -owner’s great speculations; and so he built another and larger one: the -big mill cost him £10,000, for which his brothers went security; and, a -lawsuit being given against the millowner, the two mills stopped, the -two brothers went off, and yon fine old house, in the style of Anne, -with terraces and tall chimneys—one of the oldest country-houses I have -seen in Ireland—is now inhabited by the natural son of the millowner, -who has more such interesting progeny. Then we came to a tall, -comfortable house, in a plantation; opposite to which was a stone -castle, in its shrubberies on the other side of the road. The tall house -in the plantation shot the opposite side of the road in a duel, and -nearly killed him; on which the opposite side of the road built this -castle, <i>in order to plague</i> the tall house. They are good friends now; -but the opposite side of the road ruined himself in building his house. -I asked, ‘Is the house finished?’—‘<i>A good deal of it is</i>,’ was the -answer.—And then we came to a brewery, about which was a similar story -of extravagance and ruin; but, whether before or after entering Bandon, -does not matter.</p> - -<p>We did not, it appears, pass through the best part of Bandon: I looked -along one side of the houses in the long street through which we went, -to see if there was a window without a broken pane of glass, and can -declare on my conscience that every single window had three broken -panes. There we changed horses, in a market-place, surrounded, as usual, -by beggars; then we passed through a suburb still more wretched and -ruinous than the first street, and which, in very large letters, is -called <span class="smcap">Doyle Street</span>: and the next stage was at a place called Dunmanway.</p> - -<p>Here it was market-day, too, and, as usual, no lack of attendants: -swarms of peasants in their blue cloaks, squatting by their stalls here -and there. There is a little, miserable old market-house, where a few -women were selling buttermilk; another, bullocks’ hearts, liver, and -such like scraps of meat; another had dried mackerel on a board; and -plenty of people huckstering, of course. Round the coach came crowds of -raggery, and blackguards fawning for money. I wonder who gives them any! -I have never seen any one give yet; and were they not even so numerous -that it would be impossible to gratify them all, there is something in -their cant and supplications to the Lord so disgusting to me, that I -could not give a halfpenny.</p> - -<p>In regard of pretty faces, male or female, this road is very -unfavourable. I have not seen one for fifty miles; though, as it was -market-day all along the road, we have had the opportunity<a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a> to examine -vast numbers of countenances. The women are, for the most part, stunted, -short, with flat Tartar faces; and the men no handsomer. Every woman has -bare legs, of course; and as the weather is fine, they are sitting -outside their cabins, with the pig, and the geese, and the children -sporting around.</p> - -<p>Before many doors we saw a little flock of these useful animals, and the -family pig almost everywhere. You might see him browsing and poking -along the hedges, his fore and hind leg attached with a wisp of hay to -check his propensity to roaming. Here and there were a small brood of -turkeys; now and then a couple of sheep or a single one grazing upon a -scanty field, of which the chief crop seemed to be thistles and stone; -and, by the side of the cottage, the potato-field always.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p349_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p349_sml.jpg" width="177" height="167" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>The character of the landscape for the most part is bare and sad; except -here and there in the neighbourhood of the towns, where people have -taken a fancy to plant, and where nature has helped them, as it almost -always will in this country. If we saw a field with a good hedge to it, -we were sure to see a good crop inside. Many a field was there that had -neither crop nor hedge. We passed by and over many pretty streams, -running bright through brilliant emerald meadows: and I saw a thousand -charming pictures, which want as yet an Irish Berghem. A<a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a> bright road -winding up a hill; on it a country cart, with its load, stretching a -huge shadow; the before-mentioned emerald pastures and silver rivers in -the foreground; a noble sweep of hills rising up from them, and -contrasting their magnificent purple with the green; in the extreme -distance the clear cold outline of some far-off mountains, and the white -clouds tumbled about in the blue sky overhead. It has no doubt struck -all persons who love to look at nature, how different the skies are in -different countries. I fancy Irish or French clouds are as -characteristic as Irish or French landscapes. It would be well to have a -Daguerreotype and get a series of each. Some way beyond Dunmanna the -road takes us through a noble savage country of rocks and heath. Nor -must the painter forget long black tracts of bog here and there, and the -water glistening brightly at the places where the turf has been cut -away. Add to this, and chiefly by the banks of rivers, a ruined old -castle or two; some were built by the Danes, it is said. The O’Connors, -the O’Mahonys, the O’Driscolls, were lords of many others, and their -ruined towers may be seen here and along the sea.</p> - -<p>Near Dunmanna that great coach, ‘The Skibbereen Industry,’ dashed by us -at seven miles an hour; a wondrous vehicle: there were gaps between -every one of the panels; you could see daylight through and through it. -Like our machine, it was full, with three complementary sailors on the -roof, as little harness as possible to the horses, and as long stages as -horses can well endure; ours were each eighteen-mile stages. About eight -miles from Skibbereen a one-horse car met us, and carried away an -offshoot of passengers to Bantry. Five passengers and their luggage, and -a very wild steep road; all this had one poor little pony to overcome! -About the towns there were some show of gentlemen’s cars, smart and well -appointed, and on the road great numbers of country carts; an army of -them met us coming from Skibbereen, and laden with grey sand for manure.</p> - -<p>Before you enter the city of Skibbereen, the tall new Poorhouse presents -itself to the eye of the traveller; of the common model, being a -bastard-Gothic edifice, with a profusion of cottage-ornée (is cottage -masculine or feminine in French?)—of cottage-orné roofs, and pinnacles, -and insolent-looking stacks of chimneys. It is built for 900 people, but -as yet not more than 400 have been induced to live in it; the beggars -preferring the freedom of their precarious trade to the dismal certainty -within its walls. Next we come to the chapel, a very large -respectable-looking building of dark-grey stone; and presently, behold, -by the crowd of blackguards in waiting, the ‘Skibbereen Persever<a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a>ance’ -has found its goal, and you are inducted to the ‘Hotel’ opposite.</p> - -<p>Some gentlemen were at the coach, besides those of lower degree. Here -was a fat fellow with large whiskers, a geranium, and a cigar; yonder a -tall handsome old man that I would swear was a dragoon on half-pay. He -had a little cap, a Taglioni coat, a pair of beautiful spaniels, and a -pair of knee-breeches which showed a very handsome old leg; and his -object seemed to be to invite everybody to dinner as they got off the -coach. No doubt he has seen the ‘Skibbereen Perseverance’ come in ever -since it was a ‘Perseverance.’ It is wonderful to think what will -interest men in prisons or country towns!</p> - -<p>There is a dirty coffee-room, with a strong smell of whisky; indeed -three young ‘materialists’ are employed at the moment: and I hereby beg -to offer an apology to three other gentlemen—the Captain, another, and -the gentleman of the geranium, who had caught hold of a sketching-stool -which is my property, and were stretching it, and sitting upon it, and -wondering, and talking of it, when the owner came in, and they bounced -off to their seats like so many schoolboys. Dirty as the place was, this -was no reason why it should not produce an exuberant dinner of trout and -Kerry mutton; after which Dan the waiter, holding up a dingy decanter, -asks how much whisky I’d have.</p> - -<p>That calculation need not be made here; and if a man sleeps well, has he -any need to quarrel with the appointments of his bedroom, and spy out -the deficiencies of the land? As it was Sunday, it was impossible for me -to say what sort of shops ‘the active and flourishing town’ of -Skibbereen contains. There were some of the architectural sort, viz. -with gilt letters and cracked mouldings, and others into which I thought -I saw the cows walking; but it was only into their little cribs and -paddocks at the back of the shops. There is a trim Wesleyan chapel, -without any broken windows; a neat church standing modestly on one side; -the lower street crawls along the river to a considerable extent, having -by-streets and boulevards of cabins here and there.</p> - -<p>The people came flocking into the place by hundreds, and you saw their -blue cloaks dotting the road and the bare open plains beyond. The men -came with shoes and stockings to-day, the women all bare-legged, and -many of them might be seen washing their feet in the stream before they -went up to the chapel. The street seemed to be lined on either side with -blue cloaks, squatting along the doorways as is their wont. Among these, -numberless cows were walking to and fro, and pails of milk passing, and -here and there a hound or two went stalking about. Dan, the waiter,<a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a> -says they are hunted by the handsome old Captain who was yesterday -inviting everybody to dinner.</p> - -<p>Anybody at eight o’clock of a Sunday morning in summer may behold the -above scene from a bridge just outside the town. He may add to it the -river, with one or two barges lying idle upon it; a flag flying at what -looks like a custom-house; bare country all around; and the chapel -before him, with a swarm of the dark figures round about it.</p> - -<p>I went into it, not without awe (for, as I confessed before, I always -feel a sort of tremor on going into a Catholic place of worship: the -candles, and altars, and mysteries, the priest, and his robes, and nasal -chanting, and wonderful genuflections, will frighten me as long as I -live). The chapel-yard was filled with men and women; a couple of shabby -old beadles were at the gate, with copper shovels to collect money; and -inside the chapel four or five hundred people were on their knees, and -scores more of the blue-mantles came in, dropping their curtsies as they -entered, and then taking their places on the flags.</p> - -<p>And now the pangs of hunger beginning to make themselves felt, it became -necessary for your humble servant (after making several useless -applications to a bell, which properly declined to work on Sundays) to -make a personal descent to the inn-kitchen, where was not a bad study -for a painter. It is a huge room, with a peat fire burning, and a -staircase walking up one side of it, on which stair was a damsel in a -partial though by no means picturesque dishabille. The cook had just -come in with a great frothing pail of milk, and sat with her arms -folded; the hostler’s boy sat dangling his legs from the table; the -hostler was dandling a noble little boy of a year old, at whom Mrs. Cook -likewise grinned delighted. Here, too, sat Mr. Dan, the waiter; and no -wonder breakfast was delayed, for all three of these worthy domestics -seemed delighted with the infant.</p> - -<p>He was handed over to the gentleman’s arms for the space of thirty -seconds; the gentleman being the father of a family, and of course an -amateur.</p> - -<p>‘Say Dan for the gentleman,’ says the delighted cook.</p> - -<p>‘Dada,’ says the baby; at which the assembly grinned with joy: and Dan -promised I should have my breakfast ‘in a hurry.’</p> - -<p>But of all the wonderful things to be seen in Skibbereen, Dan’s pantry -is the most wonderful: every article within is a makeshift, and has been -ingeniously perverted from its original destination. Here lie bread, -blacking, fresh butter, tallow-candles, dirty knives—all in the same -cigar-box with snuff, milk, cold bacon, brown<a name="page_353" id="page_353"></a> sugar, broken teacups, -and bits of soap. No pen can describe that establishment, as no English -imagination could have conceived it. But lo! the sky has cleared after a -furious fall of rain—(in compliance with Dan’s statement to that -effect, ‘that the weather would be fine’)—and a car is waiting to carry -us to Loughine.</p> - -<p>Although the description of Loughine can make but a poor figure in a -book, the ride thither is well worth the traveller’s short labour. You -pass by one of the cabin-streets out of the town, into a country which -for a mile is rich with grain, though bare of trees; then through a -boggy bleak district, from which you enter into a sort of sea of rocks, -with patches of herbage here and there. Before the traveller, almost all -the way, is a huge pile of purple mountain, on which, as one comes -nearer, one perceives numberless waves and breaks, as you see small -waves on a billow in the sea; then clambering up a hill, we look down -upon a bright green flat of land, with the lake beyond it, girt round by -grey melancholy hills. The water may be a mile in extent; a cabin tops -the mountain here and there; gentlemen have erected one or two anchorite -pleasure-houses on the banks, as cheerful as a summer-house would be on -Salisbury Plain. I felt not sorry to have seen this lonely lake, and -still happier to leave it. There it lies with crags all round it, in the -midst of desolate plains; it escapes somewhere to the sea; its waters -are salt; half a dozen boats lie here and there upon its banks, and we -saw a small crew of boys plashing about and swimming in it, and laughing -and yelling. It seemed a shame to disturb the silence so.</p> - -<p>The crowd of swaggering ‘gents’ (I don’t know the corresponding phrase -in the Anglo-Irish vocabulary to express a shabby dandy) awaiting the -Cork mail, which kindly goes twenty miles out of its way to accommodate -the town of Skibbereen, was quite extraordinary. The little street was -quite blocked up with shabby gentlemen, and shabby beggars, awaiting -this daily phenomenon. The man who had driven us to Loughine did not -fail to ask for his fee as driver; and then, having received it, came -forward in his capacity of boots, and received another remuneration. The -ride is desolate, bare, and yet beautiful. There are a set of hills that -keep one company the whole way; they were partially hidden in a grey -sky, which flung a general hue of melancholy too over the green country -through which we passed. There was only one wretched village along the -road, but no lack of population; ragged people who issued from their -cabins as the coach passed, or were sitting by the wayside. Everybody -seems sitting by the wayside here: one never sees this general repose in -England—a sort of ragged<a name="page_354" id="page_354"></a> lazy contentment. All the children seemed to -be on the watch for the coach; waited very knowingly and carefully their -opportunity, and then hung on by scores behind. What a pleasure, to run -over flinty roads with bare feet, to be whipped off, and to walk back to -the cabin again! These were very different cottages to those neat ones I -had seen in Kildare. The wretchedness of them is quite painful to look -at; many of the potato-gardens were half dug up, and it is only the -first week in August, near three months before the potato is ripe and at -full growth; and the winter still six months away. There were chapels -occasionally, and smart new-built churches—one of them has a -congregation of ten souls, the coachman told me. Would it not be better -that the clergyman should receive them in his room, and, that the -church-building money should be bestowed otherwise?</p> - -<p>At length, after winding up all sorts of dismal hills speckled with -wretched hovels, a ruinous mill every now and then, black bog-lands, and -small winding streams, breaking here and there into little falls, we -come upon some grounds well tilled and planted, and descending (at no -small risk from stumbling horses) a bleak long hill, we see the water -before us, and turning to the right by the handsome little park of Lord -Bearhaven, enter Bantry. The harbour is beautiful. Small mountains in -pretty green undulations rising on the opposite side; great grey ones -farther back; a pretty island in the midst of the water, which is -wonderfully bright and calm. A handsome yacht, and two or three vessels -with their Sunday colours out, were lying in the bay. It looked like a -seaport scene at a theatre, gay, cheerful, neat, and picturesque. At a -little distance the town, too, is very pretty. There are some smart -houses on the quays, a handsome court-house as usual, a fine large -hotel, and plenty of people flocking round the wonderful coach.</p> - -<p>The town is most picturesquely situated, climbing up a wooded hill, with -numbers of neat cottages here and there, an ugly church with an air of -pretension, and a large grave Roman Catholic chapel, the highest point -of the place. The main street was as usual thronged with the squatting -blue cloaks, carrying on their eager trade of buttermilk and green -apples, and such cheap wares. With the exception of this street and the -quay, with their whitewashed and slated houses, it is a town of cabins. -The wretchedness of some of them is quite curious; I tried to make a -sketch of a row which lean against an old wall, and are built upon a -rock that tumbles about in the oddest and most fantastic shapes, with a -brawling waterfall dashing down a channel in the midst. These are, it -appears, the beggars’ houses; any one may build a<a name="page_355" id="page_355"></a> lodge against that -wall, rent-free; and such places were never seen! As for drawing them, -it was in vain to try; one might as well make a sketch of a bundle of -rags. An ordinary pigsty in England is really more comfortable. Most of -them were not six feet long or five feet high, built of stones huddled -together, a hole being left for the people to creep in at, a ruined -thatch to keep out some little portion of the rain. The occupiers of -these places sat at their doors in tolerable contentment, or the -children came down and washed their feet in the water. I declare I -believe a Hottentot kraal has more comforts in it; even to write of the -place makes one unhappy, and the words move slow. But in the midst of -all this misery there is an air of actual cheerfulness; and go but a few -score of yards off, and these wretched hovels lying together look really -picturesque and pleasing.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><br /> -<small>RAINY DAYS AT GLENGARIFF</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A <small>SMART</small> two-horse car takes the traveller thrice a week from Bantry to -Killarney, by way of Glengariff and Kenmare. Unluckily, the rain was -pouring down furiously as we passed to the first-named places, and we -had only opportunity to see a part of the astonishing beauties of the -country. What sends picturesque tourists to the Rhine and Saxon -Switzerland? within five miles round the pretty inn of Glengariff there -is a country of the magnificence of which no pen can give an idea. I -would like to be a great prince, and bring a train of painters over to -make, if they could, and according to their several capabilities, a set -of pictures of the place. Mr. Creswick would find such rivulets and -waterfalls, surrounded by a luxuriance of foliage and verdure that only -his pencil can imitate. As for Mr. Cattermole, a red-shanked Irishman -should carry his sketching-books to all sorts of wild, noble heights, -and vast, rocky valleys, where he might please himself by piling crag -upon crag, and by introducing, if he had a mind, some of the wild -figures which peopled this country in old days. There is the Eagles’ -Nest, for instance, regarding which the Guide-book gives a pretty -legend. The Prince of Bantry being conquered by the English soldiers, -fled away, leaving his Princess and children to the care of a certain -faithful follower of his, who was to provide them with refuge and food. -But the<a name="page_356" id="page_356"></a> whole country was overrun by the conquerors; all the flocks -driven away by them, all the houses ransacked, and the crops burnt off -the ground, and the faithful servitor did not know where he should find -a meal or a resting-place for the unhappy Princess O’Donovan.</p> - -<p>He made, however, a sort of shed by the side of a mountain, composing it -of sods and stones so artfully that no one could tell but that it was a -part of the hill itself; and here, having speared or otherwise obtained -a salmon, he fed their Highnesses for the first day; trusting to Heaven -for a meal when the salmon should be ended.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p356_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p356_sml.jpg" width="190" height="160" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>The Princess O’Donovan and her princely family soon came to an end of -the fish; and cried out for something more.</p> - -<p>So the faithful servitor, taking with him a rope and his little son -Shamus, mounted up to the peak where the eagles rested; and, from the -spot to which he climbed, saw their nest, and the young eaglets in it, -in a cleft below the precipice.</p> - -<p>‘Now,’ said he, ‘Shamus my son, you must take these thongs with you, and -I will let you down by the rope’ (it was a straw-rope, which he had made -himself, and though it might be considered a dangerous thread to hang by -in other countries, you’ll see plenty of such contrivances in Ireland to -the present day).</p> - -<p>‘I will let you down by the rope, and you must tie the thongs<a name="page_357" id="page_357"></a> round the -necks of the eaglets, not so as to choke them, but to prevent them from -swallowing much.’ So Shamus went down, and did as his father bade him, -and came up again when the eaglets were doctored.</p> - -<p>Presently the eagles came home: one bringing a rabbit and the other a -grouse. These they dropped into the nest for the young ones; and soon -after went away in quest of other adventures.</p> - -<p>Then Shamus went down into the eagles’ nest again, gutted the grouse and -rabbit, and left the garbage to the eaglets (as was their right), and -brought away the rest. And so the Princess and Princes had game that -night for their supper. How long they lived in this way, the Guide-book -does not say: but let us trust that the Prince, if he did not come to -his own again, was at least restored to his family and decently -mediatised: and, for my part, I have very little doubt but that Shamus, -the gallant young eagle-robber, created a favourable impression upon one -of the young princesses, and (after many adventures in which he -distinguished himself) was accepted by her Highness for a husband, and -her princely parents for a gallant son-in-law.</p> - -<p>And here, while we are travelling to Glengariff, and ordering painters -about with such princely liberality (by the way, Mr. Stanfield should -have a boat in the bay, and paint both rock and sea at his ease), let me -mention a wonderful, awful incident of real life which occurred on the -road. About four miles from Bantry, at a beautiful wooded place, hard by -a mill and waterfall, up rides a gentleman to the car with his luggage, -going to Killarney races. The luggage consisted of a small carpet-bag -and a pistol-case. About two miles farther on, a fellow stops the car: -‘Joe,’ says he, ‘my master is going to ride to Killarney, so you please -to take his luggage.’ The luggage consisted of a small carpet-bag, -and—a pistol-case as before. Is this a gentleman’s usual travelling -baggage in Ireland?</p> - -<p>As there is more rain in this country than in any other, and as, -therefore, naturally, the inhabitants should be inured to the weather, -and made to despise an inconvenience which they cannot avoid, the -travelling conveyances are arranged so that you may get as much practice -in being wet as possible. The travellers’ baggage is stowed in a place -between the two rows of seats, and which is not inaptly called the well, -as in a rainy season you might possibly get a bucketful of water out of -that orifice. And, I confess, I saw, with a horrid satisfaction, the -pair of pistol-cases lying in this moist aperture, with water pouring -above them and lying below them; nay, prayed that all such weapons might -one day be consigned to the same fate. But as the waiter at Bantry,<a name="page_358" id="page_358"></a> in -his excessive zeal to serve me, had sent my portmanteau back to Cork by -the coach, instead of allowing me to carry it with me to Killarney, and -as the rain had long since begun to insinuate itself under the -seat-cushion, and through the waterproof apron of the car, I dropped off -at Glengariff, and dried the only suit of clothes I had by the kitchen -fire. The inn is very pretty; some thorn-trees stand before it, where -many bare-legged people were lolling, in spite of the weather. A -beautiful bay stretches out before the house, the full tide washing the -thorn-trees; mountains rise on either side of the little bay, and there -is an island, with a castle in it in the midst, near which a yacht was -moored. But the mountains were hardly visible for the mist, and the -yacht, island, and castle looked as if they had been washed against the -flat grey sky in India-ink.</p> - -<p>The day did not clear up sufficiently to allow me to make any long -excursion about the place, or indeed to see a very wide prospect round -about it: at a few hundred yards, most of the objects were enveloped in -mist; but even this, for a lover of the picturesque, had its beautiful -effect, for you saw the hills in the foreground pretty clear, and -covered with their wonderful green, while immediately behind them rose -an immense blue mass of mist and mountain that served to <i>relieve</i> (to -use the painter’s phrase) the nearer objects. Annexed to the hotel is a -flourishing garden, where the vegetation is so great that the landlord -told me it was all he could do to check the trees from growing; round -about the bay, in several places, they come clustering down to the water -edge, nor does the salt water interfere with them.</p> - -<p>Winding up a hill to the right, as you quit the inn, is the beautiful -road to the cottage and park of Lord Bantry. One or two parties on -pleasure bent went so far as the house, and were partially consoled for -the dreadful rain which presently poured down upon them, by wine, -whisky, and refreshments which the liberal owner of the house sent out -to them. I myself had only got a few hundred yards when the rain -overtook me, and sent me for refuge into a shed, where a blacksmith had -arranged a rude furnace and bellows, and where he was at work, with a -rough gilly to help him, and, of course, a lounger or two to look on.</p> - -<p>The scene was exceedingly wild and picturesque, and I took out a -sketch-book and began to draw. The blacksmith was at first very -suspicious of the operation which I had commenced, nor did the poor -fellow’s sternness at all yield until I made him a present of a shilling -to buy tobacco, when he, his friend, and his son became good-humoured, -and said their little say. This was the first shilling he had earned -these three years: he was a small<a name="page_359" id="page_359"></a> farmer, but was starved out, and had -set up a forge here, and was trying to get a few pence. What struck me -was the great number of people about the place. We had at least twenty -visits while the sketch was being made; cars, and single and double -horsemen, were continually passing; between the intervals of the shower -a couple of ragged old women would creep out from some hole and display -baskets of green apples for sale: wet or not, men and women were -lounging up and down the road. You would have thought it was a fair, and -yet there was not even a village at this place, only the inn and -post-house, by which the cars to Tralee pass thrice a week.</p> - -<p>The weather, instead of mending, on the second day was worse than ever. -All the view had disappeared now under a rushing rain, of which I never -saw anything like the violence. We were visited by five maritime, nay -buccaneering-looking gentlemen in mustachios, with fierce caps and -jackets, just landed from a yacht: and then the car brought us three -Englishmen wet to the skin and thirsting for whisky-and-water.</p> - -<p>And with these three Englishmen a great scene occurred, such as we read -of in Smollett’s and Fielding’s inns. One was a fat old gentleman from -Cambridge, who, I was informed, was a fellow of a College in that -University, but whom I shrewdly suspect<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> to be a butler or steward of -the same. The younger men, burly, manly, good-humoured fellows of -seventeen stone, were the nephews of the elder, who, says one, ‘could -draw a cheque for his thousand pounds.’</p> - -<p>Two-and-twenty years before, on landing at the Pigeon-House at Dublin, -the old gentleman had been cheated by a carman, and his firm opinion -seemed to be that all carmen, nay, all Irishmen, were cheats.</p> - -<p>And a sad proof of this depravity speedily showed itself: for having -hired a three-horse car at Killarney, which was to carry them to Bantry, -the Englishmen saw, with immense indignation, after they had drunk a -series of glasses of whisky, that the three-horse car had been removed, -a one-horse vehicle standing in its stead.</p> - -<p>Their wrath no pen can describe. ‘I tell you they are all so!’ shouted -the elder. ‘When I landed at the Pigeon-House——’ ‘Bring me a -post-chaise!’ roars the second. ‘Waiter, get some more whisky!’ exclaims -the third. ‘If they don’t send us on with three horses, I’ll stop here -for a week.’ Then issuing, with<a name="page_360" id="page_360"></a> his two young friends, into the -passage, to harangue the populace assembled there, the elder Englishman -began a speech about dishonesty, ‘d——d rogues and thieves, -Pigeon-House; he was a gentleman, and wouldn’t be done, d——n his eyes -and everybody’s eyes.’ Upon the affrighted landlord, who came to -interpose, they all fell with great ferocity: the elder man swearing, -especially, that he ‘would write to Lord Lansdowne regarding his -conduct, likewise to Lord Bandon, also to Lord Bantry: he was a -gentleman; he’d been cheated in the year 1815, on his first landing at -the Pigeon-House: and d——n the Irish, they were all alike.’ After -roaring and cursing for half an hour, a gentleman at the door, seeing -the meek bearing of the landlord—who stood quite lost and powerless in -the whirlwind of rage that had been excited about his luckless ears, -said, ‘If men cursed and swore in that way in his house, he would know -how to put them out.’</p> - -<p>‘Put <i>me</i> out!’ says one of the young men, placing himself before the -fat old blasphemer, his relative. ‘Put me out, my fine fellow!’ But it -was evident the Irishman did not like his customer. ‘Put <i>me</i> out!’ -roars the old gentleman, from behind his young protector; ’——n my -eyes, who are <i>you</i>, sir? who <i>are</i> you, sir? I insist on knowing who -you are?’</p> - -<p>‘And who are you?’ asks the Irishman.</p> - -<p>‘Sir, I’m a gentleman, and <i>pay my way</i>!—and as soon as I get into -Bantry, I swear I’ll write a letter to Lord Bandon Bantry, and complain -of the treatment I have received here.’</p> - -<p>Now, as the unhappy landlord had not said one single word, and as, on -the contrary, to the annoyance of the whole house, the stout old -gentleman from Cambridge had been shouting, raging, and cursing for two -hours, I could not help, like a great ass as I was, coming forward and -(thinking the landlord might be a tenant of Lord Bantry’s) saying, -‘Well, sir, if you write and say the landlord has behaved ill, I will -write to say that he has acted with extraordinary forbearance and -civility.’</p> - -<p>O fool! to interfere in disputes where one set of the disputants have -drunk half a dozen glasses of whisky in the middle of the day! No sooner -had I said this than the other young man came and fell upon me, and in -the course of a few minutes found leisure to tell me ‘that I was no -gentleman; that I was ashamed to give my name, or say where I lived; -that I was a liar, and didn’t live in London, and couldn’t mention the -name of a single respectable person there; that he was a merchant and -tradesman, and hid his quality from nobody;’ and finally, ‘that though -bigger than himself, there was nothing he would like<a name="page_361" id="page_361"></a> better than that I -should come out on the green and stand to him like a man.’</p> - -<p>This invitation, although repeated several times, I refused with as much -dignity as I could assume; partly because I was sober and cool, while -the other was furious and drunk; also because I felt a strong suspicion -that in about ten minutes the man would manage to give me a tremendous -beating, which I did not merit in the least; thirdly, because a victory -over him would not have been productive of the least pleasure to me; and -lastly, because there was something really honest and gallant in the -fellow coming out to defend his old relative. Both of the younger men -would have fought like tigers for this disreputable old gentleman, and -desired no better sport. The last I heard of the three was that they and -the driver made their appearance before a magistrate in Bantry; and a -pretty story will the old man have to tell to his club at the Hoop, or -the Red Lion, of those swindling Irish, and the ill-treatment he met -with in their country.</p> - -<p>As for the landlord, the incident will be a blessed theme of -conversation to him for a long time to come. I heard him discoursing of -it in the passage during the rest of the day; and next morning when I -opened my window and saw with much delight the bay clear and bright as -silver—except where the green hills were reflected in it, the blue sky -above, and the purple mountains round about with only a few clouds -veiling their peaks—the first thing I heard was the voice of Mr. Eccles -repeating the story to a new customer.</p> - -<p>‘I thought thim couldn’t be gintlemin,’ was the appropriate remark of -Mr. Tom the waiter, ‘from the way in which they took their whishky,—raw -with cold wather, widout <i>mixing or inything</i>.’ Could an Irish waiter -give a more excellent definition of the ungenteel?</p> - -<p>At nine o’clock in the morning of the next day, the unlucky car which -had carried the Englishmen to Bantry came back to Glengariff; and as the -morning was very fine, I was glad to take advantage of it, and travel -some five-and-thirty English miles to Killarney.<a name="page_362" id="page_362"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /><br /> -<small>FROM GLENGARIFF TO KILLARNEY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> Irish car seems accommodated for any number of persons: it appeared -to be full when we left Glengariff, for a traveller from Bearhaven, and -the five gentlemen from the yacht, took seats upon it with myself, and -we fancied it was impossible more than seven should travel by such a -conveyance; but the driver showed the capabilities of his vehicle -presently. The journey from Glengariff to Kenmare is one of astonishing -beauty; and I have seen Killarney since, and am sure that Glengariff -loses nothing by comparison with this most famous of lakes. Rock, wood, -and sea stretch around the traveller—a thousand delightful pictures: -the landscape is at first wild without being fierce, immense woods and -plantations enriching the valleys—beautiful streams to be seen -everywhere.</p> - -<p>Here again I was surprised at the great population along the road; for -one saw but few cabins, and there is no village between Glengariff and -Kenmare. But men and women were on banks and in fields; children, as -usual, came trooping up to the car; and the jovial men of the yacht had -great conversations with most of the persons whom we met on the road. A -merrier set of fellows it were hard to meet. ‘Should you like anything -to drink, sir?’ says one, commencing the acquaintance. ‘We have the best -whisky in the world, and plenty of porter in the basket.’ Therewith the -jolly seamen produced a long bottle of grog, which was passed round from -one to another; and then began singing, shouting, laughing, roaring, for -the whole journey. ‘British sailors have a knack, pull away ho, boys! -Hurroo, my fine fellow, does your mother know you’re out? Hurroo, Tim -Herlihy! you’re a <i>fluke</i>, Tim Herlihy.’ One man sang on the roof, one -<i>hurrooed</i> to the echo, another apostrophised the aforesaid Herlihy as -he passed grinning on a car; a third had a pocket-handkerchief flaunting -from a pole, with which he performed exercises in the face of any -horsemen whom we met; and great were their yells as the ponies shied off -at the salutation and the riders swerved in their saddles. In the midst -of this rattling chorus we went along: gradually the country grew wilder -and more desolate, and we passed through a grim mountain region, bleak -and bare, the road winding round some of the innumerable hills, and once -or twice, by means of a tunnel, rushing boldly<a name="page_363" id="page_363"></a> through them. One of -these tunnels, they say, is a couple of hundred yards long; and a pretty -howling, I need not say, was made through that pipe of rock by the jolly -yacht’s crew. ‘We saw you sketching in the blacksmith’s shed at -Glengariff,’ says one, ‘and we wished we had you on board. Such a jolly -life we led of it!’—They roved about the coast, they said, in their -vessel; they feasted off the best of fish, mutton, and whisky; they had -Gamble’s turtle-soup on board, and fun from morning till night, and -<i>vice versâ</i>. Gradually it came out that there was not, owing to the -tremendous rains, a dry corner in their ship; that they slung two in a -huge hammock in the cabin, and that one of their crew had been ill, and -shirked off. What a wonderful thing pleasure is! To be wet all day and -night; to be scorched and blistered by the sun and rain; to beat in and -out of little harbours, and to exceed diurnally upon -whisky-punch—‘faith, London, and an arm-chair at the club, are more to -the tastes of some men.</p> - -<p>After much mountain-work of ascending and descending (in which latter -operation, and by the side of precipices that make passing cockneys -rather squeamish, the carman drove like mad to the hooping and -screeching of the red rovers), we at length came to Kenmare, of which -all that I know is that it lies prettily in a bay or arm of the sea; -that it is approached by a little hanging-bridge, which seems to be a -wonder in these parts; that it is a miserable little place when you -enter it; and that, finally, a splendid luncheon of all sorts of meat -and excellent cold salmon may sometimes be had for a shilling at the -hotel of the place. It is a great vacant house, like the rest of them, -and would frighten people in England; but after a few days one grows -used to the Castle Rackrent style. I am not sure that there is not a -certain sort of comfort to be had in these rambling rooms, and among -these bustling, blundering waiters, which one does not always meet with -in an orderly English house of entertainment.</p> - -<p>After discussing the luncheon, we found the car with fresh horses, -beggars, idlers, policemen, etc., standing round, of course; and now the -miraculous vehicle, which had held hitherto seven with some difficulty, -was called upon to accommodate thirteen.</p> - -<p>A pretty noise would our three Englishmen of yesterday, nay, any other -Englishmen for the matter of that, have made, if coolly called upon to -admit an extra party of four into a mail-coach! The yacht’s crew did not -make a single objection; a couple clambered up on the roof, where they -managed to locate themselves with wonderful ingenuity, perched upon hard -wooden chests, or agreeably reposing upon the knotted ropes which held -them together: one of the new passengers scrambled between the<a name="page_364" id="page_364"></a><a name="page_365" id="page_365"></a> -driver’s legs, where he held on somehow, and the rest were pushed and -squeezed astonishingly in the car.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p364_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p364_sml.jpg" width="343" height="206" alt="A CAR TO KILLARNEY" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A CAR TO KILLARNEY</span> -</p> - -<p>Now the fact must be told, that five of the new passengers (I don’t -count a little boy besides) were women, and very pretty, gay, -frolicsome, lively, kind-hearted, innocent women too; and for the rest -of the journey there was no end of laughing, and shouting, and singing, -and hugging, so that the caravan presented the appearance which is -depicted in the opposite engraving.</p> - -<p>Now it may be a wonder to some persons, that with such a cargo the -carriage did not upset, or some of us did not fall off; to which the -answer is that we <i>did</i> fall off. A very pretty woman fell off, and -showed a pair of never-mind-what-coloured garters, and an interesting -English traveller fell off too: but, Heaven bless you! these cars are -made to fall off from; and considering the circumstances of the case, -and in the same company, I would rather fall off than not. A great -number of polite allusions and genteel inquiries were, as may be -imagined, made by the jolly boat’s crew. But though the lady affected to -be a little angry at first, she was far too good-natured to be angry -long, and at last fairly burst out laughing with the passengers. We did -not fall off again, but held on very tight, and just as we were reaching -Killarney, saw somebody else fall off from another car. But in this -instance the gentleman had no lady to tumble with.</p> - -<p>For almost half the way from Kenmare, this wild, beautiful road commands -views of the famous lake and vast blue mountains about Killarney. Turk, -Tomies, and Mangerton were clothed in purple like kings in mourning; -great, heavy clouds were gathered round their heads, parting away every -now and then, and leaving their noble features bare. The lake lay for -some time underneath us, dark and blue, with dark misty islands in the -midst. On the right-hand side of the road would be a precipice covered -with a thousand trees, or a green rocky flat, with a reedy mere in the -midst, and other mountains rising as far as we could see. I think of -that diabolical tune in <i>Der Freischütz</i>, while passing through this -sort of country. Every now and then, in the midst of some fresh country -or enclosed trees, or at a turn of the road, you lose the sight of the -great, big, awful mountain; but, like the aforesaid tune in <i>Der -Freischütz</i>, it is always there close at hand. You feel that it keeps -you company. And so it was that we rode by dark old Mangerton, then -presently past Mucruss, and then through two miles of avenues of -lime-trees, by numerous lodges and gentlemen’s seats, across an old -bridge, where you see the mountains again and the lake, until, by Lord -Kenmare’s house, a hideous row of houses informed us that we were at -Killarney.<a name="page_366" id="page_366"></a></p> - -<p>Here my companion suddenly let go my hand, and, by a certain uneasy -motion of the waist, gave me notice to withdraw the other too; and so we -rattled up to the Kenmare Arms; and so ended, not without a sigh on my -part, one of the merriest six-hour rides that five yachtsmen, one -cockney, five women and a child, the carman, and a countryman with an -alpeen, ever took in their lives.</p> - -<p>As for my fellow-companion, she would hardly speak the next day; but all -the five maritime men made me vow and promise that I would go and see -them at Cork, where I should have horses to ride, the fastest yacht out -of the harbour to sail in, and the best of whisky, claret, and welcome. -Amen, and may every single person who buys a copy of this book meet with -the same deserved fate!</p> - -<p>The town of Killarney was in a violent state of excitement with a series -of horse-races, hurdle-races, boat-races, and stag-hunts by land and -water, which were taking place, and attracted a vast crowd from all -parts of the kingdom. All the inns were full, and lodgings cost five -shillings a day, nay, more in some places; for though my landlady, Mrs. -Macgillicuddy, charges but that sum, a leisurely old gentleman whom I -never saw in my life before, made my acquaintance by stopping me in the -street yesterday, and said he paid a pound a day for his two bedrooms.</p> - -<p>The old gentleman is eager for company; and, indeed, when a man travels -alone, it is wonderful how little he cares to select his society; how -indifferent company pleases him; how a good fellow delights him; how -sorry he is when the time for parting comes, and he has to walk off -alone, and begin the friendship hunt over again.</p> - -<p>The first sight I witnessed at Killarney was a race-ordinary, where for -a sum of twelve shillings any man could take his share of turbot, -salmon, venison, and beef, with port, and sherry, and whisky-punch at -discretion. Here were the squires of Cork and Kerry, one or two -Englishmen, whose voices, amidst the rich humming brogue round about, -sounded quite affected (not that they were so, but there seems a sort of -impertinence in the shrill, high-pitched tone of the English voice -here). At the head of the table, near the chairman, sat some brilliant -young dragoons, neat, solemn, dull, with huge mustachios, and boots -polished to a nicety.</p> - -<p>And here of course the conversation was of the horse, horsy. How Mr. -This had refused fifteen hundred guineas for a horse which he bought for -a hundred; how Bacchus was the best horse in Ireland; which horses were -to run at Something races; and <a name="page_367" id="page_367"></a>how the Marquis of Waterford gave a -plate or a purse. We drank ‘the Queen,’ with hip, hip, hurra! The -‘winner of the Kenmare stakes,’ hurray! Presently the gentleman next me -rose and made a speech; he had brought a mare down, and won the stakes, -a hundred and seventy guineas, and I looked at him with a great deal of -respect. Other toasts ensued, and more talk about horses; nor am I in -the least disposed to sneer at gentlemen who like sporting and talk -about it; for I do believe that the conversation of a dozen fox-hunters -is just as clever as that of a similar number of merchants, barristers, -or literary men. But to this trade, as to all others, a man must be -bred; if he has not learnt it thoroughly or in early life, he will not -readily become a proficient afterwards, and when therefore the subject -is broached, had best maintain a profound silence.</p> - -<p>A young Edinburgh cockney, with an easy self-confidence that the reader -may have perhaps remarked in others of his calling and nation, and who -evidently knew as much of sporting matters as the individual who writes -this, proceeded nevertheless to give the company his opinions, and -greatly astonished them all; for these simple people are at first -willing to believe that a stranger is sure to be a knowing fellow, and -did not seem inclined to be undeceived even by this little pert grinning -Scotsman. It was good to hear him talk of Haddington, Musselburgh—and -Heaven knows what strange outlandish places, as if they were known to -all the world. And here would be a good opportunity to enter into a -dissertation upon national characteristics; to show that the bold -swaggering Irishman is really a modest fellow, while the canny Scot is a -most brazen one; to wonder why the inhabitant of one country is ashamed -of it, which is in itself so fertile and beautiful, and has produced -more than its fair proportion of men of genius, valour, and wit; whereas -it never enters into the head of a Scotchman to question his own -equality (and something more) at all: but that such discussions are -quite unprofitable; nay, that exactly the contrary propositions may be -argued to just as much length. Has the reader ever tried with a dozen of -Mr. Tocqueville’s short crisp philosophic apothegms and taken the -converse of them? The one or other set of propositions will answer -equally well, and it is the best way to avoid all such. Let the above -passage, then, simply be understood to say, that on a certain day the -writer met a vulgar little Scotchman—not that all Scotchmen are -vulgar;—that this little pert creature prattled about his country as if -he and it were ornaments to the world, which the latter is no doubt; and -that one could not but contrast his behaviour with that of great big -stalwart simple Irishmen, who asked your opinion of their country with -as much modesty as if you—because<a name="page_368" id="page_368"></a> an Englishman—must be somebody, and -they the dust of the earth.</p> - -<p>Indeed, this want of self-confidence at times becomes quite painful to -the stranger. If, in reply to their queries, you say you like the -country, people seem really quite delighted. Why should they? Why should -a stranger’s opinion who doesn’t know the country be more valued than a -native’s who does?—Suppose an Irishman in England were to speak in -praise or abuse of the country, would one be particularly pleased or -annoyed? One would be glad that the man liked his trip; but as for his -good or bad opinion of the country, the country stands on its own -bottom, superior to any opinion of any man or men.</p> - -<p>I must beg pardon of the little Scotchman for reverting to him (let it -be remembered that there were <i>two</i> Scotchmen at Killarney, and that I -speak of the other one); but I have seen no specimen of that sort of -manners in any Irishman since I have been in the country. I have met -more gentlemen here than in any place I ever saw, gentlemen of high and -low ranks, that is to say: men shrewd and delicate of perception, -observant of society, entering into the feelings of others, and anxious -to set them at ease or to gratify them; of course exaggerating their -professions of kindness, and in so far insincere; but the very -exaggeration seems to be a proof of a kindly nature, and I wish in -England we were a little more complimentary. In Dublin, a lawyer left -his chambers, and a literary man his books, to walk the town with -me—the town, which they must know a great deal too well; for, pretty as -it is, it is but a small place after all, not like that great bustling, -changing, struggling world, the Englishman’s capital. Would a London man -leave his business to trudge to the Tower or the Park with a stranger? -We would ask him to dine at the club, or to eat whitebait at -Lovegrove’s, and think our duty done, neither caring for him, nor -professing to care for him; and we pride ourselves on our honesty -accordingly. Never was honesty more selfish. And so a vulgar man in -England disdains to flatter his equals, and chiefly displays his -character of snob by assuming as much as he can for himself, swaggering -and showing off in his coarse, dull, stupid way.</p> - -<p>‘I am a gentleman, and pay my way,’ as the old fellow said at -Glengariff. I have not heard a sentence near so vulgar from any man in -Ireland. Yes, by the way, there was another Englishman at Cork: a man in -a middling, not to say humble, situation of life. When introduced to an -Irish gentleman, his formula seemed to be, ‘I think, sir, I have met you -somewhere before.’ ‘I am sure, sir, I have met you before,’ he said, for -the second time in my hearing,<a name="page_369" id="page_369"></a> to a gentleman of great note in Ireland. -‘Yes, I have met you at Lord X——‘s.’ ‘I don’t know my Lord X——,’ -replied the Irishman. ‘Sir,’ says the other, ‘<i>I shall have great -pleasure in introducing you to him</i>.’ Well, the good-natured simple -Irishmen thought this gentleman a very fine fellow. There was only one, -of some dozen who spoke about him, that found out Snob. I suppose the -Spaniards lorded it over the Mexicans in this way: their drummers -passing for generals among the simple red men, their glass beads for -jewels, and their insolent bearing for heroic superiority.</p> - -<p>Leaving, then, the race-ordinary (that little Scotchman with his airs -has carried us the deuce knows how far out of the way), I came home just -as the gentlemen of the race were beginning to ‘mix,’ that is, to -forsake the wine for the punch. At the lodgings I found my five -companions of the morning with a bottle of that wonderful whisky of -which they spoke; and which they had agreed to exchange against a bundle -of Liverpool cigars: so we discussed them, the whisky, and other topics -in common. Now there is no need to violate the sanctity of private life, -and report the conversation which took place, the songs which were sung, -the speeches which were made, and the other remarkable events of the -evening. Suffice it to say, that the English traveller gradually becomes -accustomed to whisky-punch (in moderation, of course), and finds the -beverage very agreeable at Killarney; against which I recollect a -protest was entered at Dublin.</p> - -<p>But after we had talked of hunting, racing, regatting, and all other -sports, I came to a discovery which astonished me, and for which these -honest kind fellows are mentioned publicly here. The portraits, or a -sort of resemblance of four of them, may be seen in the foregoing -drawing of the car. The man with the straw hat and handkerchief tied -over it is the captain of an Indiaman; three others, with each a pair of -mustachios, sported yacht-costumes, jackets, club-anchor buttons, and so -forth; and, finally, one on the other side of the car (who cannot be -seen on account of the portmanteaus, otherwise the likeness would be -perfect), was dressed with a coat and hat in the ordinary way. One with -the gold band and mustachios is a gentleman of property, the other three -are attorneys every man of them. Two in large practice in Cork and -Dublin; the other, and owner of the yacht, under articles to the -attorney of Cork. Now did any Englishman ever live with three attorneys -for a whole day, without hearing a single syllable of law spoken? Did we -ever see in our country attorneys with mustachios; or, above all, an -attorney’s clerk the owner of a yacht of thirty tons? He is a gentleman -of property too—the<a name="page_370" id="page_370"></a> heir, that is, to a good estate; and has had a -yacht of his own, he says, ever since he was fourteen years old. Is -there any English boy of fourteen who commands a ship with a crew of -five men under him? We all agreed to have a boat for the stag-hunt on -the lake next day; and I went to bed wondering at this strange country -more than ever. An attorney with mustachios! What would they say of him -in Chancery Lane?</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p370_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p370_sml.jpg" width="99" height="154" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><br /> -<small>KILLARNEY—STAG-HUNTING ON THE LAKE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">M<small>RS</small>. M<small>ACGILLICUDDY’S</small> house is at the corner of the two principal streets -of Killarney town, and the drawing-room windows command each a street. -Before one window is a dismal, rickety building, with a slated face, -that looks like an ex-town hall. There is a row of arches to the ground -floor, the angles at the base of which seem to have mouldered or to have -been kicked away. Over the centre arch is a picture with a flourishing -yellow inscription above, importing that it is the meeting-place of the -Total Abstinence Society. Total abstinence is represented by the figures -of a gentleman in a blue coat and drab tights, with gilt garters, who is -giving his hand to a lady; between them is an escutcheon, surmounted -with a cross and charged with religious emblems. Cupids float<a name="page_371" id="page_371"></a> above the -heads and between the legs of this happy pair, while an exceedingly -small tea-table with the requisite crockery reposes against the lady’s -knee; a still, with death’s-head and bloody bones, filling up the vacant -corner near the gentleman. A sort of market is held here, and the place -is swarming with blue cloaks and groups of men talking; here and there -is a stall with coarse linens, crockery, a cheese; and crowds of egg-and -milk-women are squatted on the pavement, with their ragged customers or -gossips; and the yellow-haired girl, on the opposite page, with a barrel -containing nothing at all, has been sitting, as if for her portrait, -this hour past.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p371_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p371_sml.jpg" width="177" height="261" alt="THE MARKET OF KILLARNEY" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE MARKET OF KILLARNEY</span> -</p><p>/</p> - -<p><a name="page_372" id="page_372"></a></p> - -<p>Carts, cars, jingles, barouches, horses, and vehicles of all -descriptions rattle presently through the streets; for the town is -crowded with company for the races and other sports, and all the world -is bent to see the stag-hunt on the lake. Where the ladies of the -Macgillicuddy family have slept, heaven knows, for their house is full -of lodgers. What voices you hear! ‘Bring me some hot wa<i>tah</i>,’ says a -genteel, high-piped English voice. ‘Hwhere’s me hot wather?’ roars a -deep-toned Hibernian. See over the way, three ladies in ringlets and -green tabinet taking their ‘tay’ preparatory to setting out. I wonder -whether they heard the sentimental songs of the law-marines last night? -They must have been edified if they did.</p> - -<p>My companions came, true to their appointment, and we walked down to the -boats, lying at a couple of miles from the town, near the Victoria Inn, -a handsome mansion, in pretty grounds, close to the lake, and owned by -the patriotic Mr. Finn. A nobleman offered Finn eight hundred pounds for -the use of his house during the races, and, to Finn’s eternal honour be -it said, he refused the money, and said he would keep his house for his -friends and patrons, the public. Let the Cork Steam Packet Company think -of this generosity on the part of Mr. Finn, and blush for shame; at the -Cork Agricultural Show they raised their fares, and were disappointed in -their speculation, as they deserved to be, by indignant Englishmen -refusing to go at all.</p> - -<p>The morning had been bright enough, but for fear of accidents we took -our macintoshes, and at about a mile from the town found it necessary to -assume those garments and wear them for the greater part of the day. -Passing by the Victoria, with its beautiful walks, park, and lodge, we -came to a little creek where the boats were moored; and there was the -wonderful lake before us, with its mountains, and islands, and trees. -Unluckily, however, the mountains happened to be invisible; the islands -looked like grey masses in the fog, and all that we could see for some -time was the grey silhouette of the boat ahead of us, in which a -passenger was engaged in a witty conversation with some boat still -farther in the mist.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 97px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p372_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p372_sml.jpg" width="97" height="82" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>Drumming and trumpeting was heard at a little distance, and presently we -found ourselves in the midst of a fleet of boats upon the rocky shores -of the beautiful little Innisfallen.<a name="page_373" id="page_373"></a></p> - -<p>Here we landed for a while, and the weather clearing up, allowed us to -see this charming spot. Rocks, shrubs, and little abrupt rises and falls -of ground, covered with the brightest emerald grass; a beautiful little -ruin of a Saxon chapel, lying gentle, delicate, and plaintive on the -shore; some noble trees round about it, and beyond, presently, the tower -of Ross Castle, island after island appearing in the clearing sunshine, -and the huge hills throwing their misty veils off, and wearing their -noble robes of purple. The boats’ crews were grouped about the place, -and one large barge especially had landed some sixty people, being the -Temperance band, with its drums, trumpets, and wives. They were -marshalled by a grave old gentleman with a white waistcoat and queue, a -silver medal decorating one side of his coat, and a brass heart reposing -on the other flap. The horns performed some Irish airs prettily; and, at -length, at the instigation of a fellow who went swaggering about with a -pair of whirling drumsticks, all formed together, and played -‘Garryowen’—the active drum of course most dreadfully out of time.</p> - -<p>Having strolled about the island for a quarter of an hour, it became -time to take to the boats again, and we were rowed over to the wood -opposite Sullivan’s cascade, where the hounds had been laid in in the -morning, and the stag was expected to take water. Fifty or sixty men are -employed on the mountain to drive the stag lakewards, should he be -inclined to break away; and the sport generally ends by the stag, a wild -one, making for the water with the pack swimming afterwards; and here he -is taken and disposed of, how I know not. It is rather a parade than a -stag-hunt: but, with all the boats around and the noble view, must be a -fine thing to see.</p> - -<p>Presently, steering his barge, the <i>Erin</i>, with twelve oars and a green -flag sweeping the water, came by the president of the sports, Mr. John -O’Connell, a gentleman who appears to be liked by rich and poor here, -and by the latter especially is adored. ‘Sure we’d dhrown ourselves for -him,’ one man told me; and proceeded to speak eagerly in his praise, and -to tell numberless acts of his generosity and justice. The justice is -rather rude in this wild country sometimes, and occasionally the judges -not only deliver the sentence but execute it; nor does any one think of -appealing to any more regular jurisdiction. The likeness of Mr. -O’Connell to his brother is very striking; one might have declared it -was the Liberator sitting at the stern of the boat.</p> - -<p>Some scores more boats were there, darting up and down in the pretty, -busy waters. Here came a Cambridge boat; and where, indeed, will not the -gentlemen of that renowned University be<a name="page_374" id="page_374"></a> found? Yonder were the dandy -dragoons, stiff, silent, slim, faultlessly appointed, solemnly puffing -cigars. Every now and then a hound would be heard in the wood, whereon -numbers of voices, right and left, would begin to yell in -chorus—Hurroo! Hoop! Yow—yow—yow! in accents the most shrill or the -most melancholious. Meanwhile the sun had had enough of the sport, the -mountains put on their veils again, the islands retreated into the mist, -the word went through the fleet to spread all umbrellas, and ladies took -shares of macintoshes and disappeared under the flaps of silk cloaks.</p> - -<p>The wood comes down to the very edge of the water, and many of the crews -thought fit to land and seek this green shelter. There you might see how -the <i>dandium summâ genus hæsit ulmo</i>, clambering up thither to hide from -the rain, and many ‘<i>membra</i>’ in dabbled russia-ducks, cowering <i>viridi -sub arbuto, ad aquæ lene caput</i>. To behold these moist dandies the -natives of the country came eagerly. Strange, savage faces might be seen -peering from out of the trees; long-haired, bare-legged girls came down -the hill, some with green apples and very sickly-looking plums; some -with whisky and goat’s-milk; a ragged boy had a pair of stag’s-horns to -sell: the place swarmed with people. We went up the hill to see the -noble cascade, and when you say that it comes rushing down over rocks -and through tangled woods, alas! one has said all the dictionary can -help you to, and not enough to distinguish this particular cataract from -any other. This seen and admired, we came back to the harbour where the -boats lay, and from which spot the reader might have seen the following -view of the lake—that is, you <i>would</i> see the lake, if the mist would -only clear away.</p> - -<p>But this for hours it did not seem inclined to do. We rowed up and down -industriously for a period of time which seemed to me atrociously long. -The bugles of the <i>Erin</i> had long since sounded ‘Home, sweet home!’ and -the greater part of the fleet had dispersed. As for the stag-hunt, all I -saw of it was four dogs that appeared on the shore at different -intervals, and a huntsman in a scarlet coat, who similarly came and -went: once or twice we were gratified by hearing the hounds; but at last -it was agreed that there was no chance for the day, and we rowed off to -Kenmare Cottage—where, on the lovely lawn, or in a cottage adjoining, -the gentry picnic, and where, with a handkerchief full of potatoes, we -made as pleasant a meal as ever I recollect. Here a good number of the -boats were assembled; here you might see cloths spread and dinner going -on; here were those wonderful officers, looking as if they had just -stepped from bandboxes, with, by heavens! not a shirt-collar disarranged -nor a boot dimmed by the wet. An old<a name="page_375" id="page_375"></a> piper was making a very feeble -music, with a handkerchief spread over his face; and farther on a little -smiling German boy was playing an accordion, and singing a ballad of -Hauff’s. I had a silver medal in my pocket, with Victoria on one side -and Britannia on the other, and gave it him, for the sake of old times -and his round friendly face. Oh, little German boy, many a night as you -trudge lonely through this wild land, must you yearn after <i>Brüderlein</i> -and <i>Schwesterlein</i> at home—yonder in stately Frankfurt city that lies -by silver Mayn. I thought of vineyards and sunshine, and the greasy -clock in the theatre, and the railroad all the way to Wiesbaden, and the -handsome Jew country-houses by the Bockenheimer-Thor.... ‘Come along,’ -says the boatman, ‘all the gintlemin are waiting for your honour.’ And I -found them finishing the potatoes, and we all had a draught of water -from the lake, and so pulled to the middle of Turk lake, through the -picturesque green rapid that floats under Brickeen bridge.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p375_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p375_sml.jpg" width="174" height="126" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>What is to be said about Turk Lake? When there, we agreed that it was -more beautiful than the large lake, of which it is not one-fourth the -size; then, when we came back, we said, ‘No, the large lake is the most -beautiful.’ And so, at every point we stopped at, we determined that -that particular spot was the prettiest in the whole lake. The fact is, -and I don’t care to own it, they are too handsome. As for a man coming -from his desk in London or Dublin and seeing ‘the whole lakes in a day,’ -he is an ass for his pains; a child doing sums in addition might as well -read the whole multiplication table, and fancy he had it by heart. We -should look at these wonderful things leisurely and thoughtfully;<a name="page_376" id="page_376"></a> and -even then, blessed is he who understands them. I wonder what impression -the sight made upon the three tipsy Englishmen at Glengariff? What idea -of natural beauty belongs to an old fellow who says he is ‘a gentleman, -and pays his way’? What to a jolly fox-hunter, who had rather see a good -‘screeching’ run with the hounds than the best landscape ever painted? -And yet they all come hither, and go through the business regularly, and -would not miss seeing every one of the lakes and going up every one of -the hills—by which circumlocution the writer wishes ingenuously to -announce that he will not see any more lakes, ascend any mountains or -towers, visit any gaps of Dunloe, or any prospects whatever, except such -as nature shall fling in his way in the course of a quiet reasonable -walk.</p> - -<p>In the middle lake we were carried to an island where a ceremony of -goat’s-milk and whisky is performed by some travellers, and where you -are carefully conducted to a spot that ‘Sir Walter Scott admired more -than all.’ Whether he did or not, we can only say on the authority of -the boatman; but the place itself was a quiet nook, where three waters -meet, and indeed of no great picturesqueness when compared with the -beauties around. But it is of a gentle, homely beauty—not like the -lake, which is as a princess dressed out in diamonds and velvet for a -drawing-room, and knowing herself to be faultless too. As for -Innisfallen, it was just as if she gave one smiling peep into the -nursery before she went away, so quiet, innocent, and tender is that -lovely spot; but, depend on it, if there is a lake fairy or princess, as -Crofton Croker and other historians assert, she is of her nature a vain -creature, proud of her person, and fond of the finest dresses to adorn -it. May I confess that I would rather, for a continuance, have a house -facing a paddock, with a cow in it, than be always looking at this -immense overpowering splendour? You would not, my dear brother-cockney -from Tooley Street,—no, those brilliant eyes of thine were never meant -to gaze at anything less bright than the sun. Your mighty spirit finds -nothing too vast for its comprehension, spurns what is humble as -unworthy, and only, like Foot’s bear, dances to ‘the genteelest of -tunes.’</p> - -<p>The long and short of the matter is, that on getting off the lake, after -seven hours’ rowing, I felt as much relieved as if I had been dining for -the same length of time with her Majesty the Queen, and went jumping -home as gaily as possible; but those marine lawyers insisted so -piteously upon seeing Ross Castle, close to which we were at length -landed, that I was obliged (in spite of repeated oaths to the contrary) -to ascend that tower, and take a bird’s-eye view of the scene. Thank -Heaven, I have neither tail<a name="page_377" id="page_377"></a> nor wings, and have not the slightest wish -to be a bird; that continual immensity of prospect which stretches -beneath those little wings of theirs must deaden their intellects, -depend on it. Tomkins and I are not made for the immense. We can enjoy a -little at a time, and enjoy that little very much; or if like birds, we -are like the ostrich—not that we have fine feathers to our backs, but -because we cannot fly. Press us too much, and we become flurried and run -off, and bury our heads in the quiet bosom of dear mother earth, and so -get rid of the din, and the dazzle, and the shouting.</p> - -<p>Because we dined upon potatoes, that was no reason we should sup on -buttermilk: well, well! salmon is good, and whisky is good too.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /><br /> -<small>KILLARNEY—THE RACES—MUCROSS</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> races were as gay as races could be, in spite of one or two untoward -accidents that arrived at the close of the day’s sport. Where all the -people came from that thronged out of the town was a wonder; where all -the vehicles, the cars, barouches, and shandrydans, the carts, the -horse-and donkey-men, could have found stable and shelter, who can tell? -Of all these equipages and donkeypages I had a fine view from Mrs. -Macgillicuddy’s window, and it was pleasant to see the happy faces -shining under the blue cloaks as the carts rattled by.</p> - -<p>A very handsome young lady—I presume Miss MacG.—who gives a hand to -the drawing-room, and comes smiling in with the teapot,—Miss MacG., I -say, appeared to-day in a silk bonnet and stiff silk dress, with a -brooch and a black mantle, as smart as any lady in the land, and looking -as if she was accustomed to her dress too, which the housemaid on banks -of Thames does not. Indeed, I have not met a more ladylike young person -in Ireland than Miss MacG.; and when I saw her in a handsome car on the -course, I was quite proud of a bow.</p> - -<p>Tramping thither, too, as hard as they could walk, and as happy and -smiling as possible, were Mary the coachman’s wife, of the day before, -and Johanna with the child, and presently the other young lady—the man -with the stick, you may be sure; he would toil a year for that day’s -pleasure: they are all mad for it; people walk for miles and miles round -to the race; they come without a penny<a name="page_378" id="page_378"></a> in their pockets often, trusting -to chance and charity, and that some worthy gentleman may fling them a -sixpence. A gentleman told me that he saw on the course persons from his -part of the country, who must have walked eighty miles for the sport.</p> - -<p>For a mile and a-half to the racecourse there could be no pleasanter -occupation than looking at the happy multitudes who were thronging -thither; and, I am bound to say, that on rich or poor shoulders I never -saw so many handsome faces in my life. In the carriages, among the -ladies of Kerry, every second woman was handsome; and there is something -peculiarly tender and pleasing in the looks of the young female -peasantry that is perhaps even better than beauty. Beggars had taken -their stations along the road in no great numbers, for I suspect they -were most of them on the ground, and those who remained were -consequently of the oldest and ugliest. It is a shame that such horrible -figures are allowed to appear in public as some of the loathsome ones -which belong to these unhappy people. On went the crowd, however, -laughing and gay as possible; all sorts of fun passing from car to foot -passengers as the pretty girls came clattering by, and the ‘boys’ had a -word for each. One lady with long flowing auburn hair, who was turning -away her head from some ‘boys’ very demurely, I actually saw, at a pause -of the cart, kissed by one of them. She gave the fellow a huge box on -the ear, and he roared out ‘Oh, murther!’ and she frowned for some time -as hard as she could, whilst the ladies in the blue cloaks at the back -of the car uttered a shrill rebuke in Irish. But in a minute the whole -party was grinning, and the young fellow who had administered the salute -may, for what I know, have taken another without the slap on the face, -by way of exchange.</p> - -<p>And here, lest the fair public may have a bad opinion of the personage -who talks of kissing with such awful levity, let it be said that with -all this laughing, romping, kissing, and the like, there are no more -innocent girls in the world than the Irish girls; and that the women of -our squeamish country are far more liable to err. One has but to walk -through an English and Irish town, and see how much superior is the -morality of the latter. That great terror-striker, the Confessional, is -before the Irish girl, and, sooner or later, her sins must be told -there.</p> - -<p>By this time we are got upon the course, which is really one of the most -beautiful spots that ever was seen; the lake and mountains lying along -two sides of it, and of course visible from all. They were busy putting -up the hurdles when we arrived—stiff bars and poles, four feet from the -ground, with furze-bushes over them. The grand stand was already full; -along the hedges sate thousands<a name="page_379" id="page_379"></a> of the people, sitting at their ease -doing nothing, and happy as kings. A daguerreotype would have been of -great service to have taken their portraits, and I never saw a vast -multitude of heads and attitudes so picturesque and lively. The sun -lighted up the whole course and the lakes with amazing brightness, -though behind the former lay a huge rack of the darkest clouds, against -which the cornfields and meadows shone in the brightest green and gold, -and a row of white tents was quite dazzling.</p> - -<p>There was a brightness and intelligence about this immense Irish crowd, -which I don’t remember to have seen in an English one. The women in -their blue cloaks, with red smiling faces peering from one end, and bare -feet from the other, had seated themselves in all sorts of pretty -attitudes of cheerful contemplation; and the men, who are accustomed to -lie about, were doing so now with all their might—sprawling on the -banks, with as much ease and variety as club-room loungers on their soft -cushions—or squatted leisurely among the green potatoes. The sight of -so much happy laziness did one good to look on. Nor did the honest -fellows seem to weary of this amusement. Hours passed on, and the -gentlefolks (judging from our party) began to grow somewhat weary; but -the finest peasantry in Europe never budged from their posts, and -continued to indulge in talk, indolence, and conversation.</p> - -<p>When we came to the row of white tents, as usual it did not look so -brilliant or imposing as it appeared from a little distance, though the -scene around them was animating enough. The tents were long humble -booths stretched on hoops, each with its humble streamer or ensign -without, and containing, of course, articles of refreshment within. But -Father Mathew has been busy among the publicans, and the consequence is -that the poor fellows are now condemned for the most part to sell ‘tay’ -in place of whisky; for the concoction of which beverage huge caldrons -were smoking, in front of each hut-door, in round graves dug for the -purpose and piled up with black smoking sod.</p> - -<p>Behind this camp were the carts of the poor people, which were not -allowed to penetrate into the quarter where the quality cars stood. And -a little way from the huts, again, you might see (for you could scarcely -hear) certain pipers executing their melodies and inviting people to -dance.</p> - -<p>Anything more lugubrious than the drone of the pipe, or the jig danced -to it, or the countenances of the dancers and musicians, I never saw. -Round each set of dancers the people formed a ring, in the which the -<i>figurantes</i> and <i>coryphées</i> went through their operations. The toes -went in and the toes went out; then there came certain mystic figures of -hands across, and so forth. I never saw less grace<a name="page_380" id="page_380"></a> or seemingly less -enjoyment, no, not even in a quadrille. The people, however, took a -great interest, and it was ‘Well done, Tim!’ ‘Step out, Miss Brady!’ and -so forth, during the dance.</p> - -<p>Thimble-rig too obtained somewhat, though in a humble way. A ragged -scoundrel—the image of Hogarth’s Bad Apprentice—went bustling and -shouting through the crowd with his dirty tray and thimble, and, as soon -as he had taken his post, stated that this was the ‘royal game of -thimble,’ and calling upon ‘gintlemin’ to come forward; and then a -ragged fellow would be seen to approach, with as innocent an air as he -could assume, and the bystanders might remark that the second ragged -fellow almost always won. Nay, he was so benevolent, in many instances, -as to point out to various people who had a mind to bet, under which -thimble the pea actually was; meanwhile, the first fellow was sure to be -looking away and talking to some one in the crowd. But somehow it -generally happened, and how of course I can’t tell, that any man who -listened to the advice of rascal No. 2 lost his money. I believe it is -so even in England.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p380_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p380_sml.jpg" width="121" height="191" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>Then you would see gentlemen with halfpenny roulette-tables; and, again, -here were a pair (indeed they are very good portraits) who came forward -disinterestedly with a table and a pack of cards, and began playing -against each other for ten shillings a game, betting crowns as freely as -possible.</p> - -<p>Gambling, however, must have been fatal to both of these gentlemen, else -might not one have supposed that, if they were in the habit of winning -much, they would have treated themselves to better clothes? This, -however, is the way with all gamblers, as the reader has, no doubt, -remarked; for, look at a game of loo or <i>vingt-et-un</i> played in a -friendly way, and where you, and three or four others, have certainly -lost three or four pounds: well, ask at<a name="page_381" id="page_381"></a> the end of the game who has -won, and you invariably find that nobody has. Hopkins has only covered -himself; Snooks has neither lost nor won; Smith has won four shillings; -and so on. Who gets the money? The devil gets it, I dare say; and so, no -doubt, he has laid hold of the money of yonder gentleman in the handsome -greatcoat.</p> - -<p>But, to the shame of the stewards be it spoken, they are extremely -averse to this kind of sport; and presently comes up one, a stout old -gentleman on a bay horse, wielding a huge hunting-whip, at the sight of -which all fly, amateurs, idlers, professional men, and all. He is a rude -customer to deal with, that gentleman with the whip: just now he was -clearing the course, and cleared it with such a vengeance that a whole -troop on a hedge retreated backwards into a ditch opposite, where was -rare kicking, and sprawling, and disarrangement of petticoats, and cries -of ‘Oh, murther!’ ‘Mother of God!’ ‘I’m kilt!’ and so on. But as soon as -the horsewhip was gone, the people clambered out of their ditch again, -and were as thick as ever on the bank.</p> - -<p>The last instance of the exercise of the whip shall be this. A groom -rode insolently after a gentleman, and calling him names, and inviting -him to fight. This the great flagellator hearing, rode up to the groom, -lifted him gracefully off his horse, into the air, and on to the ground, -and when there administered to him a severe and merited fustigation; -after which he told the course-keepers to drive the fellow off the -course, and enjoined the latter not to appear again at his peril.</p> - -<p>As for the races themselves, I won’t pretend to say that they were -better or worse than other such amusements; or to quarrel with gentlemen -who choose to risk their lives in manly exercise. In the first race -there was a fall; one of the gentlemen was carried off the ground, and -it was said <i>he was dead</i>. In the second race, a horse and man went over -and over each other, and the fine young man (we had seen him five -minutes before, full of life and triumph, clearing the hurdles on his -grey horse, at the head of the race):—in the second heat of the second -race, the poor fellow missed his leap, was carried away stunned and -dying,—and the bay horse won.</p> - -<p>I was standing, during the first heat of this race (this is the second -man the grey has killed—they ought to call him the Pale Horse), by half -a dozen young girls from the gentleman’s village, and hundreds more of -them were there, anxious for the honour of their village, the young -squire, and the grey horse. Oh, how they hurra’d as he rode ahead! I saw -these girls—they might be fourteen years old—after the catastrophe. -‘Well,’ says I, ‘this is<a name="page_382" id="page_382"></a> a sad end to the race.’ ‘<i>And is it the pink -jacket or the blue has won this time?</i>’ says one of the girls. It was -poor Mr. C——‘s only epitaph: and wasn’t it a sporting answer? That -girl ought to be a hurdle-racer’s wife; and I would like, for my part, -to bestow her upon the groom who won the race.</p> - -<p>I don’t care to confess that the accident to the poor young gentleman so -thoroughly disgusted my feelings as a man and a cockney, that I turned -off the racecourse short, and hired a horse for sixpence to carry me -back to Miss Macgillicuddy. In the evening, at the inn (let no man who -values comfort go to an Irish inn in race-time), a blind old piper, with -silvery hair, and of a most respectable, bard-like appearance, played a -great deal too much for us after dinner. He played very well, and with -very much feeling, ornamenting the airs with flourishes and variations -that were very pretty indeed, and his pipe was by far the most melodious -I have heard: but honest truth compels me to say that the bad pipes are -execrable, and the good inferior to a clarionet.</p> - -<p>Next day, instead of going back to the racecourse, a car drove me out to -Mucross, where, in Mr. Herbert’s beautiful grounds, lies the prettiest -little <i>bijou</i> of a ruined abbey ever seen—a little chapel with a -little chancel, a little cloister, a little dormitory, and in the midst -of the cloister a wonderful huge yew-tree which darkens the whole place. -The abbey is famous in book and legend; nor could two young lovers, or -artists in search of the picturesque, or picnic-parties with the cold -chicken and champagne in the distance, find a more charming place to -while away a summer’s day than in the park of Mr. Herbert. But depend on -it, for show-places and the due enjoyment of scenery, that distance of -cold chickens and champagne is the most pleasing perspective one can -have. I would have sacrificed a mountain or two for the above, and would -have pitched Mangerton into the lake for the sake of a friend with whom -to enjoy the rest of the landscape.</p> - -<p>The walk through Mr. Herbert’s domain carries you through all sorts of -beautiful avenues, by a fine house which he is building in the -Elizabethan style, and from which, as from the whole road, you command -the most wonderful rich views of the lake. The shore breaks into little -bays, which the water washes; here and there are picturesque grey rocks -to meet it, the bright grass as often, or the shrubs of every kind which -bathe their roots in the lake. It was August, and the men before Turk -Cottage were cutting a second crop of clover, as fine, seemingly as a -first crop elsewhere; a short walk from it brought us to a neat lodge, -whence issued a keeper with a key, quite willing, for the consideration -of sixpence, to conduct us to Turk waterfall.<a name="page_383" id="page_383"></a></p> - -<p>Evergreens and other trees, in their brightest livery; blue sky; roaring -water, here black, and yonder foaming of a dazzling white; rocks shining -in the dark places, or frowning black against the light, all the leaves -and branches keeping up a perpetual waving and dancing round about the -cascade: what is the use of putting down all this? A man might describe -the cataract of the Serpentine in exactly the same terms, and the reader -be no wiser. Suffice it to say, that the Turk cascade is even handsomer -than the before-mentioned waterfall of O’Sullivan, and that a man may -pass half an hour there, and look, and listen, and muse, and not even -feel the want of a companion, or so much as think of the iced champagne. -There is just enough of savageness in the Turk cascade to make the view -<i>piquante</i>. It is not, at this season at least, by any means fierce, -only wild; nor was the scene peopled by any of the rude, red-shanked -figures that clustered about the trees of O’Sullivan’s -waterfall—savages won’t pay sixpence for the prettiest waterfall ever -seen,—so that this only was for the best of company.</p> - -<p>The road hence to Killarney carries one through Mucross village, a -pretty cluster of houses, where the sketcher will find abundant -materials for exercising his art and puzzling his hand. There are not -only noble trees, but a green common and an old water-gate to a river, -lined on either side by beds of rushes, and discharging itself beneath -an old mill-wheel. But the old mill-wheel was perfectly idle, like most -men and mill-wheels in this country: by it is a ruinous house, and a -fine garden of stinging-nettles; opposite it, on the common, is another -ruinous house, with another garden containing the same plant; and far -away are sharp ridges of purple hills, which make as pretty a landscape -as the eye can see. I don’t know how it is, but throughout the country -the men and the landscapes seem to be the same, and one and the other -seem rugged, ruined, and cheerful.</p> - -<p>Having been employed all day (making some abominable attempts at -landscape-drawing, which shall not be exhibited here), it became -requisite, as the evening approached, to recruit an exhausted cockney -stomach, which, after a very moderate portion of exercise, begins to -sigh for beefsteaks in the most peremptory manner. Hard by is a fine -hotel with a fine sign stretching along the road for the space of a -dozen windows at least, and looking inviting enough. All the doors were -open, and I walked into a great number of rooms, but the only person I -saw was a woman with trinkets of arbutus, who offered me, by way of -refreshment, a walking-stick or a card-rack. I suppose everybody was at -the races; and an evilly-disposed person might have laid <i>main-basse</i><a name="page_384" id="page_384"></a> -upon the greatcoats which were there, and the silver spoons, if by any -miracle such things were kept—but Britannia-metal is the favourite -composition in Ireland, or else iron by itself, or else iron that has -been silvered over, but that takes good care to peep out at all the -corners of the forks: and blessed is the traveller who has not other -observations to make regarding his fork, besides the mere abrasion of -the silver.</p> - -<p>This was the last day’s race, and on the next morning (Sunday) all the -thousands who had crowded to the race seemed trooping to the chapels, -and the streets were blue with cloaks. Walking in to prayers, and -without his board, came my young friend of the thimble rig, and -presently after sauntered in the fellow with the long coat, who had -played at cards for sovereigns. I should like to hear the confession of -himself and friend the next time they communicate with his reverence.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p384_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p384_sml.jpg" width="174" height="142" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>The extent of this town is very curious, and I should imagine its -population to be much greater than five thousand, which was the number, -according to Miss Macgillicuddy. Along the three main streets are -numerous arches, down every one of which runs an alley, intersected by -other alleys, and swarming with people. A stream or gutter runs commonly -down these alleys, in which the pigs and children are seen paddling -about. The men and women loll at their doors or windows, to enjoy the -detestable prospect. I saw two pigs under a fresh-made deal staircase in -one of the main streets near the Bridewell: two very well-dressed girls, -with their hair in ringlets, were looking out of the parlour-window:<a name="page_385" id="page_385"></a> -almost all the glass in the upper rooms was of course smashed, the -windows patched here and there (if the people were careful), the -woodwork of the door loose, the whitewash peeling off,—and the house -evidently not two years old.</p> - -<p>By the Bridewell is a busy potato-market, picturesque to the sketcher, -if not very respectable to the merchant: here were the country carts and -the country cloaks, and the shrill beggarly bargains going on—a world -of shrieking, and gesticulating, and talk, about a pennyworth of -potatoes.</p> - -<p>All round the town miserable streets of cabins are stretched. You see -people lolling at each door, women staring and combing their hair, men -with their little pipes, children whose rags hang on by a miracle, -idling in a gutter. Are we to set all this down to absenteeism, and pity -poor injured Ireland? Is the landlord’s absence the reason why the house -is filthy, and Biddy lolls in the porch all day? Upon my word, I have -heard people talk as if, when Pat’s thatch was blown off, the landlord -ought to go fetch the straw and the ladder, and mend it himself. People -need not be dirty if they are ever so idle; if they are ever so poor, -pigs and men need not live together. Half an hour’s work, and digging a -trench, might remove that filthy dunghill from that filthy window. The -smoke might as well come out of the chimney as out of the door. Why -should not Tim do that, instead of walking a hundred-and-sixty miles to -a race? The priests might do much more to effect these reforms than even -the landlords themselves: and I hope, now that the excellent Father -Mathew has succeeded in arraying his clergy to work with him in the -abolition of drunkenness, they will attack the monster Dirt with the -same good-will, and surely with the same success.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /><br /> -<small>TRALEE—LISTOWEL—TARBERT</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">I <small>MADE</small> the journey to Tralee next day, upon one of the famous Bianconi -cars—very comfortable conveyances too, if the booking officers would -only receive as many persons as the car would hold, and not have too -many on the seats. For half an hour before the car left Killarney, I -observed people had taken their seats: and, let all travellers be -cautious to do likewise, lest, although they have booked their places, -they be requested to mount on the roof, and accommodate themselves on a -bandbox, or a pleasant deal<a name="page_386" id="page_386"></a> trunk with a knotted rope, to prevent it -from being slippery, while the corner of another box jolts against your -ribs for the journey. I had put my coat on a place, and was stepping to -it, when a lovely lady with great activity jumped up and pushed the -cloak on the roof, and not only occupied my seat, but insisted that her -husband should have the next one to her. So there was nothing for it but -to make a huge shouting with the book-keeper, and call instantly for the -taking down of my luggage, and vow my great gods that I would take a -postchaise and make the office pay; on which, I am ashamed to say, some -other person was made to give up a decently comfortable seat on the -roof, which I occupied, the former occupant hanging on—Heaven knows -where or how.</p> - -<p>A company of young squires were on the coach, and they talked of -horse-racing and hunting punctually for three hours, during which time I -do believe they did not utter one single word upon any other subject. -What a wonderful faculty it is! The writers of Natural Histories, in -describing the noble horse, should say he is made not only to run, to -carry burdens, etc., but to be talked about. What would hundreds of -thousands of dashing young fellows do with their tongues, if they had -not this blessed subject to discourse on?</p> - -<p>As far as the country went, there was here, to be sure, not much to be -said. You pass through a sad-looking, bare, undulating country, with few -trees, and poor stone-hedges, and poorer crops; nor have I yet taken in -Ireland so dull a ride. About half-way between Tralee and Killarney is a -wretched town, where horses are changed, and where I saw more hideous -beggary than anywhere else, I think. And I was glad to get over this -gloomy tract of country, and enter the capital of Kerry.</p> - -<p>It has a handsome description in the guide-books; but, if I mistake not, -the English traveller will find a stay of a couple of hours in the town -quite sufficient to gratify his curiosity with respect to the place. -There seems to be a great deal of poor business going on; the town -thronged with people as usual; the shops large and not too splendid. -There are two or three rows of respectable houses, and a mall, and the -townspeople have the further privilege of walking in the neighbouring -grounds of a handsome park, which the proprietor has liberally given to -their use. Tralee has a newspaper, and boasts of a couple of clubs; the -one I saw was a big white house, no windows broken, and looking -comfortable. But the most curious sight of the town was the chapel, with -the festival held there. It was the feast of the Assumption of the -Virgin (let those who are acquainted with the<a name="page_387" id="page_387"></a> calendar and the facts it -commemorates say what the feast was, and when it falls), but all the -country seemed to be present on the occasion, and the chapel and the -large court leading to it were thronged with worshippers, such as one -never sees in our country, where devotion is by no means so crowded as -here. Here, in the courtyard, there were thousands of them on their -knees, rosary in hand, for the most part, praying, and mumbling, and -casting a wistful look round as the strangers passed. In a corner was an -old man groaning in the agonies of death or colic, and a woman got off -her knees to ask us for charity for the unhappy old fellow. In the -chapel the crowd was enormous: the priest and his people were kneeling, -and bowing, and humming, and chanting, and censer-rattling: the ghostly -crew being attended by a fellow that I don’t remember to have seen in -Continental churches, a sort of Catholic clerk, a black shadow to the -parson, bowing his head when his reverence bowed, kneeling when he -knelt, only three steps lower.</p> - -<p>But we who wonder at copes and candlesticks, see nothing strange in -surplices and beadles. A Turk, doubtless, would sneer equally at each, -and have you to understand that the only reasonable ceremonial was that -which took place at his mosque.</p> - -<p>Whether right or wrong, in point of ceremony, it was evident the heart -of devotion was there: the immense dense crowd moaned and swayed, and -you heard a hum of all sorts of wild ejaculations, each man praying -seemingly for himself, while the service went on at the altar. The altar -candles flickered red in the dark, steaming place, and every now and -then from the choir you heard a sweet female voice chanting Mozart’s -music, which swept over the heads of the people a great deal more pure -and delicious than the best incense that ever smoked out of the pot.</p> - -<p>On the chapel-floor, just at the entry, lay several people moaning, and -tossing, and telling their beads. Behind the old woman was a font of -holy water, up to which little children were clambering; and in the -chapel-yard were several old women, with tin cans full of the same -sacred fluid, with which the people, as they entered, aspersed -themselves with all their might, flicking a great quantity into their -faces, and making a curtsey and a prayer at the same time. ‘A pretty -prayer, truly!’ says the parson’s wife. ‘What sad, sad benighted -superstition!’ says the Independent minister’s lady. Ah! ladies, great -as your intelligence is, yet think, when compared with the Supreme One, -what a little difference there is after all between your husbands’ very -best extempore oration, and the poor Popish creatures’! One is just as -far off Infinite Wisdom as the other: and so let us read the story of -the woman and her<a name="page_388" id="page_388"></a> pot of ointment, that most noble and charming of -histories; which equalises the great and the small, the wise and the -poor in spirit, and shows that their merit before Heaven lies <i>in doing -their best</i>.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p388_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p388_sml.jpg" width="175" height="267" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>When I came out of the chapel, the old fellow on the point of death was -still howling and groaning in so vehement a manner, that I heartily -trust he was an impostor, and that on receiving a sixpence he went home -tolerably comfortable, having secured a maintenance for that day. But it -will be long before I can forget the<a name="page_389" id="page_389"></a> strange, wild scene, so entirely -different was it from the decent and comfortable observances of our own -church.</p> - -<p>Three cars set off together from Tralee to Tarbert: three cars full to -overflowing. The vehicle before us contained nineteen persons, half a -dozen being placed in the receptacle called the well, and one clinging -on as if by a miracle at the bar behind. What can people want at -Tarbert? I wondered; or anywhere else, indeed, that they rush about from -one town to another in this inconceivable way? All the cars in all the -towns seem to be thronged: people are perpetually hurrying from one -dismal tumbledown town to another; and yet no business is done anywhere -that I can see. The chief part of the contents of our three cars was -discharged at Listowel, to which, for the greater part of the journey, -the road was neither more cheerful nor picturesque than that from -Killarney to Tralee. As, however, you reach Listowel, the country -becomes better cultivated, the gentlemen’s seats are more frequent, and -the town itself, as seen from a little distance, lies very prettily on a -river, which is crossed by a handsome bridge, which leads to a -neat-looking square, which contains a smartish church, which is flanked -by a big Roman Catholic chapel, etc. An old castle, grey and -ivy-covered, stands hard by. It was one of the strongholds of the Lords -of Kerry, whose burying-place (according to the information of the -coachman) is seen at about a league from the town.</p> - -<p>But pretty as Listowel is from a distance, it has, on a more intimate -acquaintance, by no means the prosperous appearance which a first glance -gives it. The place seemed like a scene at a country theatre, once -smartly painted by the artist; but the paint has cracked in many places, -the lines are worn away, and the whole piece only looks more shabby for -the flaunting strokes of the brush which remain. And here, of course, -came the usual crowd of idlers round the car: the epileptic idiot -holding piteously out his empty tin snuff-box; the brutal idiot, in an -old soldier’s coat, proffering his money-box, and grinning, and -clattering the single halfpenny it contained; the old man with no -eyelids, calling upon you in the name of the Lord; the woman with a -child at her hideous, wrinkled breast; the children without number. As -for trade, there seemed to be none; a great Jeremy-Diddler kind of hotel -stood hard by, swaggering and out-at-elbows, and six pretty girls were -smiling out of a beggarly straw-bonnet shop, dressed as smartly as any -gentleman’s daughters of good estate. It was good, among the crowd of -bustling, shrieking fellows, who were ‘jawing’ vastly and doing nothing, -to see how an English bagman, with scarce any words, laid hold of an -ostler, carried him off, <i>vi et armis</i>,<a name="page_390" id="page_390"></a> in the midst of a speech, in -which the latter was going to explain his immense activity and desire to -serve, pushed him into a stable, from which he issued in a twinkling, -leading the ostler and a horse, and had his bag on the car and his horse -off in about two minutes of time, while the natives were still shouting -round about other passengers’ portmanteaus.</p> - -<p>Some time afterwards, away we rattled on our own journey to Tarbert, -having a postillion on the leader, and receiving, I must say, some -graceful bows from the young bonnet-makeresses. But of all the roads -over which human bones were ever jolted, the first part of this from -Listowel to Tarbert deserves the palm. It shook us all into headaches; -it shook some nails out of the side of a box I had; it shook all the -cords loose in a twinkling, and sent the baggage bumping about the -passengers’ shoulders. The coachman at the call of another English -bagman, who was a fellow-traveller,—the postillion at the call of the -coachman, descended to re-cord the baggage. The English bagman had the -whole mass of trunks and bags stoutly corded and firmly fixed in a few -seconds; the coachman helped him as far as his means allowed; the -postillion stood by with his hands in his pockets, smoking his pipe, and -never offering to stir a finger. I said to him that I was delighted to -see in a youth of sixteen that extreme activity and willingness to -oblige, and that I would give him a handsome remuneration for his -services at the end of the journey: the young rascal grinned with all -his might, understanding the satiric nature of the address perfectly -well; but he did not take his hands out of his pockets for all that, -until it was time to get on his horse again, and then, having carried us -over the most difficult part of the journey, removed his horse and pipe, -and rode away with a parting grin.</p> - -<p>The cabins along the road were not much better than those to be seen -south of Tralee, but the people were far better clothed, and indulged in -several places in the luxury of pigsties. Near the prettily situated -village of Ballylongford, we came in sight of the Shannon mouth; and a -huge red round moon, that shone behind an old convent on the banks of -the bright river, with dull green meadows between it and us, and wide -purple flats beyond, would be a good subject for the pencil of any -artist whose wrist had not been put out of joint by the previous ten -miles’ journey.</p> - -<p>The town of Tarbert, in the guide-books and topographical dictionaries, -flourishes considerably. You read of its port, its corn and provision -stores, etc., and of certain good hotels; for which, as travellers, we -were looking with a laudable anxiety. The town, in fact, contains about -a dozen of houses, some hundreds of cabins,<a name="page_391" id="page_391"></a> and two hotels; to one of -which we were driven, and a kind landlady, conducting her half-dozen -guests into a snug parlour, was for our ordering refreshment -immediately,—which I certainly should have done, but for the ominous -whisper of a fellow in the crowd as we descended (of course a -disinterested patron of the other house), who hissed into my ears, ‘<i>Ask -to see the beds</i>,’ which proposal, accordingly, I made before coming to -any determination regarding supper.</p> - -<p>The worthy landlady eluded my question several times with great skill -and good-humour, but it became at length necessary to answer it; which -she did by putting on as confident an air as possible, and leading the -way upstairs to a bedroom, where there was a good large comfortable bed, -certainly.</p> - -<p>The only objection to the bed, however, was that it contained a sick -lady, whom the hostess proposed to eject without any ceremony, saying -that she was a great deal better, and going to get up that very evening. -However, none of us had the heart to tyrannise over lovely woman in so -painful a situation, and the hostess had the grief of seeing four out of -her five guests repair across the way to Brallaghan’s or Gallagher’s -Hotel,—the name has fled from my memory, but it is the big hotel in the -place; and unless the sick lady has quitted the other inn, which most -likely she has done by this time, the English traveller will profit by -this advice, and on arrival at Tarbert will have himself transported to -Gallagher’s at once.</p> - -<p>The next morning a car carried us to Tarbert Point, where there is a -pier not yet completed, and a Preventive station, and where the Shannon -steamers touch, that ply between Kilrush and Limerick. Here lay the -famous river before us, with low banks and rich pastures on either side.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /><br /> -<small>LIMERICK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A <small>CAPITAL</small> steamer, which on this day was thronged with people, carried -us for about four hours down the noble stream and landed us at Limerick -Quay. The character of the landscape on either side the stream is not -particularly picturesque, but large, liberal, and prosperous. Gentle -sweeps of rich meadows and cornfields cover the banks, and some, though -not too many, gentleme<a name="page_392" id="page_392"></a>n’s parks and plantations rise here and there. -But the landscape was somehow more pleasing than if it had been merely -picturesque; and, especially after coming out of that desolate county of -Kerry, it was pleasant for the eye to rest upon this peaceful, rich, and -generous scene. The first aspect of Limerick is very smart and pleasing; -fine neat quays with considerable liveliness and bustle, a very handsome -bridge (the Wellesley Bridge) before the spectator, who, after a walk -through two long and flourishing streets, stops at length at one of the -best inns in Ireland—the large, neat, and prosperous one kept by Mr. -Cruise. Except at Youghal, and the poor fellow whom the Englishman -belaboured at Glengarriff, Mr. Cruise is the only landlord of an inn I -have had the honour to see in Ireland. I believe these gentlemen -commonly (and very naturally) prefer riding with the hounds, or manly -sports, to attendance on their guests; and the landladies, if they -prefer to play the piano, or to have a game of cards in the parlour, -only show a taste at which no one can wonder: for who can expect a lady -to be troubling herself with vulgar chance-customers, or looking after -Molly in the bedroom or waiter Tim in the cellar?</p> - -<p>Now, beyond this piece of information regarding the excellence of Mr. -Cruise’s hotel, which every traveller knows, the writer of this doubts -very much whether he has anything to say about Limerick that is worth -the trouble of saying or reading. I can’t attempt to describe the -Shannon, only to say that on board the steamboat there was a piper and a -bugler, a hundred of genteel persons coming back from donkey-riding and -bathing at Kilkee, a couple of heaps of raw hides that smelt very -foully, a score of women nursing children, and a lobster-vendor, who -vowed to me on his honour that he gave eightpence apiece for his fish, -and that he had boiled them only the day before; but when I produced the -Guide-book, and solemnly told him to swear upon that to the truth of his -statement, the lobster-seller turned away, quite abashed, and would not -be brought to support his previous assertion at all. Well, this is no -description of the Shannon, as you have no need to be told, and other -travelling cockneys will, no doubt, meet neither piper nor -lobster-seller nor raw hides; nor, if they come to the inn where this is -written, is it probable that they will hear, as I do at this present -moment, two fellows with red whiskers, and immense pomp and noise and -blustering with the waiter, conclude by ordering a pint of ale between -them. All that one can hope to do is, to give a sort of notion of the -movement and manners of the people; pretending by no means to offer a -description of places, but simply an account of what one sees in them.</p> - -<p>So that if any traveller after staying two days in Limerick<a name="page_393" id="page_393"></a> should -think fit to present the reader with forty or fifty pages of -dissertation upon the antiquities and history of the place, upon the -state of commerce, religion, education, the public may be pretty well -sure that the traveller has been at work among the guide-books, and -filching extracts from the topographical and local works.</p> - -<p>They say there are three towns to make one Limerick: there is the Irish -town on the Clare side; the English town with its old castle (which has -sustained a deal of battering and blows from Danes, from fierce Irish -kings, from English warriors who took an interest in the place, Henry -Secundians, Elizabethians, Cromwellians, and <i>vice versâ</i>, Jacobites, -King Williamites,—and nearly escaped being in the hands of the Robert -Emmetites); and finally the district called Newtown-Pery. In walking -through this latter tract, you are, at first, half led to believe that -you are arrived in a second Liverpool, so tall are the warehouses and -broad the quays; so neat and trim a street of near a mile which -stretches before you. But even this mile-long street does not, in a few -minutes, appear to be so wealthy and prosperous as it shows at first -glance; for of the population that throng the streets, two-fifths are -barefooted women, and two-fifths more ragged men: and the most part of -the shops which have a grand show with them appear, when looked into, to -be no better than they should be, being empty makeshift-looking places -with their best goods outside.</p> - -<p>Here, in this handsome street too, is a handsome club-house, with plenty -of idlers, you may be sure, lolling at the portico; likewise you see -numerous young officers, with very tight waists and absurd brass -shell-epaulettes to their little absurd frock-coats, walking the -pavement—the dandies of the street. Then you behold whole troops of -pear-, apple-, and plum-women, selling very raw, green-looking fruit, -which, indeed, it is a wonder that any one should eat and live. The -houses are bright red—the street is full and gay, carriages and cars in -plenty go jingling by—dragoons in red are every now and then clattering -up the street; and as upon every car which passes with ladies in it you -are sure (I don’t know how it is) to see a pretty one, the great street -of Limerick is altogether a very brilliant and animated sight.</p> - -<p>If the ladies of the place are pretty, indeed, the vulgar are scarcely -less so. I never saw a greater number of kind, pleasing, clever-looking -faces among any set of people. There seem, however, to be two sorts of -physiognomies which are common; the pleasing and somewhat melancholy one -before mentioned, and a square, high-cheeked, flat-nosed physiognomy not -uncommonly accompanied by a hideous staring head of dry, red hair. -Except, however, in the<a name="page_394" id="page_394"></a> latter case, the hair flowing loose and long is -a pretty characteristic of the women of the country; many a fair one do -you see at the door of the cabin, or the poor shop in the town, combing -complacently that ‘greatest ornament of female beauty,’ as Mr. Rowland -justly calls it.</p> - -<p>The generality of the women here seem also much better clothed than in -Kerry; and I saw many a one going barefoot whose gown was nevertheless a -good one, and whose cloak was of fine cloth. Likewise it must be -remarked that the beggars in Limerick were by no means so numerous as -those in Cork, or in many small places through which I have passed. -There were but five, strange to say, round the mail-coach as we went -away; and, indeed, not a great number in the streets.</p> - -<p>The belles-lettres seem to be by no means so well cultivated here as in -Cork. I looked in vain for a Limerick guide-book: I saw but one good -shop of books, and a little trumpery circulating library, which seemed -to be provided with those immortal works of a year old, which, having -been sold for half a guinea the volume at first, are suddenly found to -be worth only a shilling. Among these, let me mention, with perfect -resignation to the decrees of fate, the works of one Titmarsh: they were -rather smartly bound by an enterprising publisher, and I looked at them -in Bishop Murphy’s library at Cork, in a bookshop in the remote little -town of Ennis, and elsewhere, with a melancholy tenderness. Poor -flowerets of a season! (and a very short season too), let me be allowed -to salute your scattered leaves with a passing sigh!... Besides the -bookshops, I observed in the long, best street of Limerick a half-dozen -of what are called French shops, with nick-nacks, German-silver chimney -ornaments, and paltry finery. In the windows of these you saw a card -with ‘Cigars’; in the bookshop, ‘Cigars’; at the grocer’s, the -whisky-shop, ‘Cigars’: everybody sells the noxious weed, or makes -believe to sell it, and I know no surer indication of a struggling, -uncertain trade than that same placard of ‘Cigars.’ I went to buy some -of the pretty Limerick gloves (they are chiefly made, as I have since -discovered, at Cork). I think the man who sold them had a patent from -the Queen, or his Excellency, or both, in his window: but, seeing a -friend pass just as I entered the shop, he brushed past, and held his -friend in conversation for some minutes in the street,—about the -Killarney races, no doubt, or the fun going on at Kilkee. I might have -swept away a bagful of walnut-shells containing the flimsy gloves; but -instead walked out, making him a low bow, and saying I would call next -week. He said, wouldn’t I wait? and resumed his conversation; and, no -doubt, by this way of doing business, is making<a name="page_395" id="page_395"></a> a handsome -independence. I asked one of the ten thousand fruit-women the price of -her green pears. ‘Twopence apiece,’ she said; and there were two little -ragged beggars standing by, who were munching the fruit. A -bookshop-woman made me pay threepence for a bottle of ink which usually -costs a penny; a potato-woman told me that her potatoes cost -fourteenpence a stone; and all these ladies treated the stranger with a -leering, wheedling servility, which made me long to box their ears, were -it not that the man who lays his hand upon a woman is an——, etc., whom -‘twere gross flattery to call a what-d’ye-call-‘em. By the way, the man -who played Duke Aranza at Cork delivered the celebrated claptrap above -alluded to as follows:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The man who lays his hand upon a woman,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Save in the way of kindness, is a villain,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Whom ‘twere <i>a gross piece</i> of flattery to call a coward;’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">and looked round calmly for the applause, which deservedly followed his -new reading of the passage.</p> - -<p>To return to the apple-women;—legions of ladies were employed through -the town upon that traffic; there were really thousands of them, -clustering upon the bridges, squatting down in doorways and vacant sheds -for temporary markets, marching and crying their sour goods in all the -crowded lanes of the city. After you get out of the main street the -handsome part of the town is at an end, and you suddenly find yourself -in such a labyrinth of busy swarming poverty and squalid commerce as -never was seen—no, not in St. Giles’s, where Jew and Irishman side by -side exhibit their genius for dirt. Here every house almost was a half -ruin, and swarming with people; in the cellars you looked down and saw a -barrel of herrings, which a merchant was dispensing; or a sack of meal, -which a poor dirty woman sold to people poorer and dirtier than herself: -above was a tinman, or a shoemaker, or other craftsman, his battered -ensign at the door, and his small wares peering through the cracked -panes of his shop. As for the ensign, as a matter of course, the name is -never written in letters of the same size. You read—</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p395_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p395_sml.jpg" width="188" height="29" -alt="PAT^K HANLAH^an TAILOR--JAME^S HURL^EY SHOE MAK^er" title="PAT^K HANLAH^an TAILOR--JAME^S HURL^EY SHOE MAK^er" /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">or some similar signboard. High and low, in this country, they begin -things on too large a scale. They begin churches too big and can’t -finish them; mills and houses too big, and are ruined<a name="page_396" id="page_396"></a> before they are -done; letters on signboards too big, and are up in a corner before the -inscription is finished—there is something quite strange, really, in -this general consistency.</p> - -<p>Well, over James Hurley, or Pat Hanlahan, you will most likely see -another board of another tradesman, with a window to the full as -curious. Above Tim Carthy evidently lives another family. There are -long-haired girls of fourteen at every one of the windows, and dirty -children everywhere. In the cellars, look at them in dingy white -nightcaps over a bowl of stirabout; in the shop, paddling up and down -the ruined steps, or issuing from beneath the black counter; up above, -see the girl of fourteen is tossing and dandling one of them; and a -pretty tender sight it is, in the midst of this filth and wretchedness, -to see the women and children together. It makes a sunshine in the dark -place, and somehow half reconciles one to it. Children are -everywhere—look out of the nasty streets into the still more nasty back -lanes; there they are, sprawling at every door and court, paddling in -every puddle; and in about a fair proportion to every six children an -old woman—a very old, blear-eyed, ragged woman—who makes believe to -sell something out of a basket, and is perpetually calling upon the name -of the Lord. For every three ragged old women you will see two ragged -old men, praying and moaning like the females. And there is no lack of -young men, either, though I never could make out what they were about: -they loll about the street, chiefly conversing in knots; and in every -street you will be pretty sure to see a recruiting sergeant, with gay -ribands in his cap, loitering about with an eye upon the other loiterers -there. The buzz, and hum, and chattering of this crowd is quite -inconceivable to us in England, where a crowd is generally silent: as a -person with a decent coat passes, they stop in their talk and say, ‘God -bless you for a fine gentleman!’ In these crowded streets, where all are -beggars, the beggary is but small: only the very old and hideous venture -to ask for a penny, otherwise the competition would be too great.</p> - -<p>As for the buildings that one lights upon every now and then in the -midst of such scenes as this, they are scarce worth the trouble to -examine: occasionally you come on a chapel, with sham Gothic windows and -a little belfry, one of the Catholic places of worship; then, placed in -some quiet street, a neat-looking dissenting meeting-house. Across the -river yonder, as you issue out from the street, where the preceding -sketch was taken, is a handsome hospital; near it the old cathedral, a -barbarous old turreted edifice, of the fourteenth century it is said; -how different to the sumptuous elegance which characterises the English -and Continental churches<a name="page_397" id="page_397"></a> of the same period! Passing by it, and walking -down other streets,—black, ruinous, swarming, dark, hideous,—you come -upon the barracks and the walks of the old castle, and from it on to an -old bridge, from which the view is a fine one. On one side are the grey -bastions of the castle; beyond them, in the midst of the broad stream, -stands a huge mill that looks like another castle; farther yet is the -handsome new Wellesley Bridge, with some little craft upon the river, -and the red warehouses of the new town looking prosperous enough. The -Irish town stretches away to the right; there are pretty villas beyond -it, and on the bridge are walking twenty-four young girls, in parties of -four and five, with their arms round each other’s waists, swaying to and -fro, and singing or chattering, as happy as if they had shoes to their -feet. Yonder you see a dozen pair of red legs glittering in the water, -their owners being employed in washing their own or other people’s rags.</p> - -<p>The Guide-book mentions that one of the aboriginal forests of the -country is to be seen at a few miles from Limerick; and thinking that an -aboriginal forest would be a huge discovery, and form an instructive and -delightful feature of the present work, I hired a car in order to visit -the same, and pleased myself with visions of gigantic oaks, Druids, -Norma, wildernesses and awful glooms, which would fill the soul with -horror. The romance of the place was heightened by a fact stated by the -carman, viz., that until late years robberies were very frequent about -the wood; the inhabitants of the district being a wild lawless race. -Moreover, there are numerous castles round about,—and for what can a -man wish more than robbers, castles, and an aboriginal wood?</p> - -<p>The way to these wonderful sights lies through the undulating grounds -which border the Shannon; and though the view is by no means a fine one, -I know few that are pleasanter than the sight of these rich, golden, -peaceful plains, with the full harvest waving on them and just ready for -the sickle. The hay harvest was likewise just being concluded, and the -air loaded with the rich odour of the hay. Above the trees, to your -left, you saw the mast of a ship, perhaps moving along, and every now -and then caught a glimpse of the Shannon, and the low grounds and -plantations of the opposite county of Limerick. Not an unpleasant -addition to the landscape, too, was a sight which I do not remember to -have witnessed often in this country—that of several small and decent -farmhouses, with their stacks and sheds and stables, giving an air of -neatness and plenty that the poor cabin with its potato-patch does not -present. Is it on account of the small farms that the land seems richer -and better cultivated here than in most other<a name="page_398" id="page_398"></a> parts of the country? -Some of the houses in the midst of the warm summer landscape had a -strange appearance, for it is often the fashion to whitewash the roofs -of the houses, leaving the slates of the walls of their natural colour; -hence, and in the evening especially, contrasting with the purple sky, -the house-tops often looked as if they were covered with snow.</p> - -<p>According to the Guide-book’s promise, the castles began soon to appear; -at one point we could see three of these ancient mansions in a line, -each seemingly with its little grove of old trees, in the midst of the -bare but fertile country. By this time, too, we had got into a road so -abominably bad and rocky, that I began to believe more and more with -regard to the splendour of the aboriginal forest, which must be most -aboriginal and ferocious indeed when approached by such a savage path. -After travelling through a couple of lines of wall with plantations on -either side, I at length became impatient as to the forest, and, much to -my disappointment, was told this was it. For the fact is, that though -the forest has always been there, the trees have not, the proprietors -cutting them regularly when grown to no great height, and the monarchs -of the woods which I saw round about would scarcely have afforded timber -for a bedpost. Nor did any robbers make their appearance in this -wilderness: with which disappointment, however, I was more willing to -put up than with the former one.</p> - -<p>But if the wood and the robbers did not come up to my romantic notions, -the old castle of Bunratty fully answered them, and indeed should be -made the scene of a romance, in three volumes at least.</p> - -<p>‘It is a huge, square tower, with four smaller ones at each angle; and -you mount to the entrance by a steep flight of steps, being commanded -all the way by the crossbows of two of the Lord De Clare’s retainers, -the points of whose weapons may be seen lying upon the ledge of the -little narrow <i>meurtrière</i> on each side of the gate. A venerable -seneschal, with the keys of office, presently opens the little back -postern, and you are admitted to the great hall—a noble chamber, -<i>pardi</i>! some seventy feet in length, and thirty high. ‘Tis hung round -with a thousand trophies of war and chase,—the golden helmet and spear -of the Irish king, the long yellow mantle he wore, and the huge brooch -that bound it. Hugo De Clare slew him before the castle in 1305, when he -and his kernes attacked it. Less successful in 1314, the gallant Hugo -saw his village of Bunratty burned round his tower by the son of the -slaughtered O’Neill; and, sallying out to avenge the insult, was brought -back—a corpse! Ah! what was the pang<a name="page_399" id="page_399"></a> that shot through the fair bosom -of the <i>Lady Adela</i>, when she knew that ‘twas the hand of <i>Redmond -O’Neill</i> sped the shaft which slew her sire!</p> - -<p>‘You listen to this sad story, reposing on an oaken settle (covered with -deer’s-skin taken in the aboriginal forest of Carclow hard by), and -placed at the enormous hall-fire. Here sits Thonom an Diaoul, “Dark -Thomas,” the blind harper of the race of De Clare, who loves to tell the -deeds of the lordly family. “Penetrating in disguise,” he continues, -“into the castle, Redmond of the golden locks sought an interview with -the lily of Bunratty; but she screamed when she saw him under the -disguise of the gleeman, and said, My father’s blood is in the hall! At -this, up started fierce Sir Ranulph. Ho, Bludyer! he cried to his -squire, call me the hangman and Father John; seize me, vassals, yon -villain in gleeman’s guise, and hang him on the gallows on the tower!</p> - -<p>‘“Will it please ye walk to the roof of the old castle and see the beam -on which the lords of the place execute the refractory?” “Nay, marry,” -say you, “by my spurs of knighthood, I have seen hanging enough in merry -England, and care not to see the gibbets of Irish kernes.” The harper -would have taken fire at this speech reflecting on his country; but -luckily here Gulph, your English squire, entered from the pantler (with -whom he had been holding a parley), and brought a manchet of bread, and -bade ye, in the Lord De Clare’s name, crush a cup of Ypocras, well -spiced, <i>pardi</i>, and by the fair hands of the Lady Adela.</p> - -<p>‘“The Lady Adela!” say you, starting up in amaze. “Is not this the year -of grace 1600, and lived she not three hundred years syne?”</p> - -<p>‘“Yes, Sir Knight, but Bunratty tower hath <i>another lily</i>: will it -please you see your chamber?”</p> - -<p>‘So saying, the seneschal leads you up a winding stair in one of the -turrets, past one little dark chamber and another, without a fireplace, -without rushes (how different from the stately houses of Nonsuch or -Audley End!), and, leading you through another vast chamber above the -baronial hall, similar in size, but decorated with tapestries and rude -carvings, you pass the little chapel (“Marry,” says the steward, “many -would it not hold, and many do not come!”), until at last you are -located in the little cell appropriated to you. Some rude attempts have -been made to render it fitting for the stranger; but, though more neatly -arranged than the hundred other little chambers which the castle -contains, in sooth ‘tis scarce fitted for the serving-man, much more for -Sir Reginald, the English knight.<a name="page_400" id="page_400"></a></p> - -<p>‘While you are looking at a bouquet of flowers, which lies on the -settle—magnolias, geraniums, the blue flowers of the cactus, and in the -midst of the bouquet, <i>one lily</i>; whilst you wonder whose fair hands -could have culled the flowers—hark! the horns are blowing at the -drawbridge and the warder lets the portcullis down. You rush to your -window, a stalwart knight rides over the gate, the hoofs of his black -courser clanging upon the planks. A host of wild retainers wait round -about him: see, four of them carry a stag, that hath been slain, no -doubt, in the aboriginal forest of Carclow. By my fay! (say you), ‘tis a -stag of ten.</p> - -<p>‘But who is that yonder on the grey palfrey, conversing so prettily, and -holding the sportive animal with so light a rein?—a light green -riding-habit and ruff, a little hat with a green plume—sure it must be -a lady, and a fair one. She looks up. O blessed Mother of Heaven, that -look! those eyes that smile, those sunny golden ringlets! It is—<i>it is</i> -the Lady Adela: the lily of Bunrat——’</p> - -<p>If the reader cannot finish the other two volumes for him or herself, he -or she never deserves to have a novel from a circulating library again; -for my part, I will take my affidavit the English knight will marry the -Lily at the end of the third volume, having previously slain the other -suitor at one of the multifarious sieges of Limerick. And I beg to say -that the historical part of this romance has been extracted carefully -from the Guide-book: the topographical and descriptive portion being -studied on the spot. A policeman shows you over it, halls, chapels, -galleries, gibbets, and all. The huge old tower was, until late years, -inhabited by the family of the proprietor, who built himself a house in -the midst of it: but he has since built another in the park opposite, -and half a dozen ‘peelers,’ with a commodity of wives and children, now -inhabit Bunratty. On the gate where we entered were numerous placards -offering rewards for the apprehension of various country offenders; and -a turnpike, a bridge, and a quay have sprung up from the place which Red -Redmond (or anybody else) burned.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>On our road to Galway the next day, we were carried once more by the old -tower, and for a considerable distance along the fertile banks of the -Fergus lake, and a river which pours itself into the Shannon. The first -town we came to is Castle Clare, which lies conveniently on the river, -with a castle, a good bridge, and many quays and warehouses, near which -a small ship or two were lying. The place was once the chief town of the -county, but is<a name="page_401" id="page_401"></a> wretched and ruinous now, being made up for the most -part of miserable thatched cots, round which you see the usual dusky -population. The drive hence to Ennis lies through a country which is by -no means so pleasant as that rich one we have passed through, being -succeeded ‘by that craggy, bleak, pastoral district which occupies so -large a portion of the limestone district of Clare.’ Ennis, likewise, -stands upon the Fergus—a busy little narrow-streeted, foreign-looking -town, approached by half a mile of thatched cots, in which I am not -ashamed to confess that I saw some as pretty faces as over any half-mile -of country I ever travelled in my life.</p> - -<p>A great light of the Catholic church, who was of late a candlestick in -our own communion, was on the coach with us, reading devoutly out of a -breviary, on many occasions, along the road. A crowd of black coats and -heads, with that indescribable look which belongs to the Catholic -clergy, were evidently on the look-out for the coach; and as it stopped -one of them came up to me with a low bow, and asked if I was the -Honourable and Reverend Mr. S——? How I wish I had answered him I was! -It would have been a grand scene. The respect paid to this gentleman’s -descent is quite absurd—the papers bandy his title about with pleased -emphasis—the Galway paper calls him the <i>very</i> Reverend. There is -something in the love for rank almost childish: witness the adoration of -George IV.; the pompous joy with which John Tuam records his -correspondence with a great man; the continual my-lording of the -Bishops, the Right-Honourabling of Mr. O’Connell—which title his -party-papers delight on all occasions to give him—nay, the delight of -that great man himself when first he attained the dignity; he figured in -his robes in the most good-humoured simple delight at having them, and -went to church forthwith in them, as if such a man wanted a title before -his name!</p> - -<p>At Ennis, as well as everywhere else in Ireland, there were of course -the regular number of swaggering-looking buckeens, and shabby-genteel -idlers, to watch the arrival of the mail-coach. A poor old idiot, with -his grey hair tied up in bows, and with a ribbon behind, thrust out a -very fair soft hand with taper fingers, and told me, nodding his head -very wistfully, that he had no father nor mother: upon which score he -got a penny. Nor did the other beggars round the carriage who got none -seem to grudge the poor fellow’s good fortune. I think when one poor -wretch has a piece of luck, the others seem glad here: and they promise -to pray for you just the same if you give as if you refuse.</p> - -<p>The town was swarming with people; the little dark streets,<a name="page_402" id="page_402"></a> which twist -about in all directions, being full of cheap merchandise and its -vendors. Whether there are many buyers, I can’t say. This is written -opposite the market-place in Galway, and I have watched a stall a -hundred times in the course of the last three hours and seen no money -taken: but at every place I come to, I can’t help wondering at the -numbers; it seems market-day everywhere—apples, pigs, and potatoes -being sold all over the kingdom. There seem to be some good shops in -those narrow streets: among others, a decent little library, where I -bought, for eighteenpence, six volumes of works strictly Irish, that -will serve for a half-hour’s gossip on the next rainy day.</p> - -<p>The road hence to Gort carried us at first by some dismal, -lonely-looking, reedy lakes, through a melancholy country; an open -village standing here and there, with a big chapel in the midst of it, -almost always unfinished in some point or other. Crossing at a bridge -near a place called Tubbor, the coachman told us we were in the famous -county of Galway, which all readers of novels admire in the warlike -works of Maxwell and Lever; and, dismal as the country had been in -Clare, I think on the northern side of the bridge it was dismaller -still—the stones not only appearing in the character of hedges, but -strewing over whole fields, in which sheep were browsing as well as they -could.</p> - -<p>We rode for miles through this stony, dismal district, seeing more lakes -now and anon, with fellows spearing eels in the midst. Then we passed -the plantations of Lord Gort’s Castle of Loughcooter, and presently came -to the town which bears his name, or <i>vice versâ</i>. It is a -regularly-built little place, with a square and street: but it looked as -if it wondered how the deuce it got into the midst of such a desolate -country, and seemed to <i>bore</i> itself there considerably. It had nothing -to do, and no society.</p> - -<p>A short time before arriving at Oranmore, one has glimpses of the sea, -which comes opportunely to relieve the dulness of the land. Between Gort -and that place we passed through little but the most woeful country, in -the midst of which was a village, where a horse-fair was held, and where -(upon the word of the coachman) all the bad horses of the country were -to be seen. The man was commissioned, no doubt, to buy for his -employers, for two or three merchants were on the look-out for him, and -trotted out their cattle by the side of the coach. A very good, -neat-looking, smart-trotting chestnut horse, of seven years old, was -offered by the owner for £8; a neat brown mare for £10, and a better (as -I presume) for £14; but all <i>looked</i> very respectable, and I have the -coachman’s word for it that they were good serviceable horses. Oranmore, -with an old castle in the midst of the village, woods,<a name="page_403" id="page_403"></a> and park -plantations round about, and the bay beyond it, has a pretty and -romantic look; and the drive of about four miles thence to Galway, the -most picturesque part, perhaps, of the fifty miles’ ride from Limerick. -The road is tolerably wooded. You see the town itself, with its huge old -church-tower, stretching along the bay, ‘backed by hills linking into -the long chain of mountains which stretch across Connemara and the Joyce -country.’ A suburb of cots that seems almost endless has, however, an -end at last among the houses of the town: and a little fleet of a couple -of hundred fishing-boats was manœuvring in the bright waters of the -bay.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /><br /> -<small>GALWAY—KILROY’S HOTEL—GALWAY NIGHT’S ENTERTAINMENTS—FIRST NIGHT: AN EVENING WITH CAPTAIN FREENY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">W<small>HEN</small> it is stated that, throughout the town of Galway, you cannot get a -cigar which costs more than twopence, Londoners may imagine the -strangeness and remoteness of the place. The rain poured down for two -days after our arrival at Kilroy’s Hotel. An umbrella under such -circumstances is a poor resource: self-contemplation is far more -amusing, especially smoking, and a game at cards, if any one will be so -good as to play.</p> - -<p>But there was no one in the hotel coffee-room who was inclined for the -sport. The company there, on the day of our arrival, consisted of two -coach passengers,—a Frenchman who came from Sligo, and ordered -mutton-chops and <i>fraid potatoes</i> for dinner by himself, a turbot which -cost two shillings, and in Billingsgate would have been worth a guinea; -and a couple of native or inhabitant bachelors who frequented the <i>table -d’hôte</i>.</p> - -<p>By the way, besides these there were at dinner two turkeys (so that Mr. -Kilroy’s two-shilling ordinary was by no means ill supplied); and, as a -stranger, I had the honour of carving these animals, which were -dispensed in rather a singular way. There are, as it is generally known, -to two turkeys four wings. Of the four passengers, one ate no turkey, -one had a pinion, another the remaining part of the wing, and the fourth -gentleman took the other three wings for his share. Does everybody in -Galway eat three wings when there are two turkeys for dinner? One has -heard wonders of the country,—the dashing, daring, duelling,<a name="page_404" id="page_404"></a> -desperate, rollicking, whisky-drinking people: but this wonder beats -all. When I asked the Galway turkiphagus (there is no other word, for -turkey was invented long after Greece) ‘if he would take a third wing?’ -with a peculiar satiric accent on the words <i>third wing</i>, which cannot -be expressed in writing, but which the occasion fully merited, I thought -perhaps that, following the custom of the country where everybody, -according to Maxwell and Lever, challenges everybody else,—I thought -the Galwagian would call me out; but no such thing. He only said, ‘If -you plase, sir,’ in the blandest way in the world; and gobbled up the -limb in a twinkling.</p> - -<p>As an encouragement, too, for persons meditating that important change -of condition, the gentleman was a teetotaller: he took but one glass of -water to that intolerable deal of bubblyjock. Galway must be very much -changed since the days when Maxwell and Lever knew it. Three -turkey-wings and a glass of water! But the man cannot be the -representative of a class, that is clear: it is physically and -arithmetically impossible. They can’t <i>all</i> eat three wings of two -turkeys at dinner: the turkeys could not stand it, let alone the men. -These wings must have been ‘non usitatæ (nec tenues) pennæ.’ But no more -of these flights; let us come to sober realities.</p> - -<p>The fact is, that when the rain is pouring down in the streets, the -traveller has little else to remark except these peculiarities of his -fellow-travellers and inn-sojourners; and, lest one should be led into -further personalities, it is best to quit that water-drinking -gormandiser at once, and, retiring to a private apartment, to devote -one’s self to quiet observation and the acquisition of knowledge, either -by looking out of the window and examining mankind, or by perusing -books, and so living with past heroes and ages.</p> - -<p>As for the knowledge to be had by looking out of window, it is this -evening not much. A great wide, blank, bleak, water-whipped square lies -before the bedroom window; at the opposite side of which is to be seen -the Opposition Hotel, looking even more bleak and cheerless than that -over which Mr. Kilroy presides. Large dismal warehouses and private -houses form three sides of the square; and in the midst is a bare -pleasure-ground surrounded by a growth of gaunt iron railings, the only -plants seemingly in the place. Three triangular edifices that look -somewhat like gibbets stand in the paved part of the square, but the -victims that are consigned to their fate under these triangles are only -potatoes, which are weighed there; and, in spite of the torrents of -rain, a crowd of barefooted, red-petticoated<a name="page_405" id="page_405"></a> women, and men in grey -coats and flower-pot hats, are pursuing their little bargains with the -utmost calmness. The rain seems to make no impression on the males; nor -do the women guard against it more than by flinging a petticoat over -their heads, and so stand bargaining and chattering in Irish, their -figures indefinitely reflected in the shining, varnished pavement. -Donkeys and pony carts innumerable stand around, similarly reflected; -and in the baskets upon these vehicles you see shoals of herrings lying. -After a short space this prospect becomes somewhat tedious, and one -looks to other sources of consolation.</p> - -<p>The eighteen-pennyworth of little books purchased at Ennis in the -morning came here most agreeably to my aid; and indeed they afford many -a pleasant hour’s reading. Like the <i>Bibliothèque Grise</i>, which one sees -in the French cottages in the provinces, and the German <i>Volksbuecher</i>, -both of which contain stores of old legends that are still treasured in -the country, these yellow-covered books are prepared for the people -chiefly; and have been sold for many long years before the march of -knowledge began to banish Fancy out of the world, and give us, in place -of the old fairy tales, Penny Magazines, and similar wholesome works. -Where are the little harlequin-backed story-books that used to be read -by children in England some thirty years ago? Where such authentic -narratives as <i>Captain Bruce’s Travels</i>, <i>The Dreadful Adventures of -Sawney Bean</i>, etc., which were commonly supplied to little boys at -school by the same old lady who sold oranges and alycompayne?—they are -all gone out of the world, and replaced by such books as <i>Conversations -on Chemistry</i>, <i>The Little Geologist</i>, <i>Peter Parley’s Tales about the -Binomial Theorem</i>, and the like. The world will be a dull world some -hundreds of years hence, when Fancy shall be dead, and ruthless Science -(that has no more bowels than a steam-engine) has killed her.</p> - -<p>It is a comfort, meanwhile, to come on occasions on some of the good old -stories and biographies. These books were evidently written before the -useful had attained its present detestable popularity. There is nothing -useful <i>here</i>, that’s certain; and a man will be puzzled to extract a -precise moral out of the <i>Adventures of Mr. James Freeny</i>; or out of the -legends in the <i>Hibernian Tales</i>; or out of the lamentable tragedy of -the <i>Battle of Aughrim</i>, writ in most doleful Anglo-Irish verse. But, -are we to reject all things that have not a moral tacked to them? ‘Is -there any moral shut within the bosom of the rose?’ And yet, as the same -noble poet sings (giving a smart slap to the<a name="page_406" id="page_406"></a> utility people the while), -‘useful applications lie in art and nature,’ and every man may find a -moral suited to his mind in them; or, if not a moral, an occasion for -moralising.</p> - -<p>Honest Freeny’s adventures (let us begin with history and historic -tragedy, and leave fancy for future consideration), if they have a -moral, have that dubious one which the poet admits may be elicited from -a rose; and which every man may select according to his mind. And surely -this is a far better and more comfortable system of moralising than that -in the fable-books, where you are obliged to accept the story with the -inevitable moral corollary that <i>will</i> stick close to it.</p> - -<p>Whereas, in Freeny’s life, one man may see the evil of drinking, another -the harm of horse-racing, another the danger attendant on early -marriage, a fourth the exceeding inconvenience as well as hazard of the -heroic highwayman’s life—which a certain Ainsworth, in company with a -certain Cruikshank, have represented as so poetic and brilliant, so -prodigal of delightful adventure, so adorned with champagne, gold lace, -and brocade.</p> - -<p>And the best part of worthy Freeny’s tale is the noble <i>naïveté</i> and -simplicity of the hero as he recounts his own adventures, and the utter -unconsciousness that he is narrating anything wonderful. It is the way -of all great men, who recite their great actions modestly, and as if -they were matters of course; as indeed to them they are. A common tyro, -having perpetrated a great deed, would be amazed and flurried at his own -action; whereas I make no doubt the Duke of Wellington, after a great -victory, took his tea and went to bed just as quietly as he would after -a dull debate in the House of Lords. And so with Freeny,—his great and -charming characteristic is grave simplicity; he does his work; he knows -his danger as well as another; but he goes through his fearful duty -quite quietly and easily; and not with the least air of bravado, or the -smallest notion that he is doing anything uncommon.</p> - -<p>It is related of Carter, the Lion-King, that when he was a boy, and -exceedingly fond of gingerbread-nuts, a relation gave him a parcel of -those delicious cakes, which the child put in his pocket just as he was -called on to go into a cage with a very large and roaring lion. He had -to put his head into the forest-monarch’s jaws, and leave it there for a -considerable time, to the delight of thousands: as is even now the case; -and the interest was so much the greater, as the child was exceedingly -innocent, rosy-cheeked, and pretty. To have seen that little flaxen head -bitten off by the lion would have been a far more pathetic spectacle -than that of the decapitation of some grey-bearded, old, unromantic<a name="page_407" id="page_407"></a> -keeper, who had served out raw meat and stirred up the animals with the -pole, any time these twenty years; and the interest rose in consequence.</p> - -<p>While the little darling’s head was thus enjawed, what was the -astonishment of everybody to see him put his hand into his little -pocket, take out a paper—from the paper a gingerbread-nut—pop that -gingerbread-nut into the lion’s mouth, then into his own, and so finish -at least twopennyworth of nuts!</p> - -<p>The excitement was delirious: the ladies, when he came out of Chancery, -were for doing what the lion had not done, and eaten him up—with -kisses. And the only remark the young hero made was, ‘Uncle, them nuts -wasn’t so crisp as them I had t’other day.’ He never thought of the -danger,—he only thought of the nuts.</p> - -<p>Thus it is with <span class="smcap">Freeny</span>. It is fine to mark his bravery, and to see how -he cracks his simple philosophic nuts in the jaws of innumerable lions.</p> - -<p>At the commencement of the last century, honest Freeny’s father was -house-steward in the family of Joseph Robbins, Esq., of Ballyduff; and, -marrying Alice Phelan, a maid-servant in the same family, had issue -<span class="smcap">James</span>, the celebrated Irish hero. At a proper age James was put to -school; but being a nimble, active lad, and his father’s mistress taking -a fancy to him, he was presently brought to Ballyduff, where she had a -private tutor to instruct him, during the time which he could spare from -his professional duty, which was that of pantry-boy in Mr. Robbins’s -establishment. At an early age he began to neglect his duty; and -although his father, at the excellent Mrs. Robbins’s suggestion, -corrected him very severely, the bent of his genius was not to be warped -by the rod, and he attended ‘all the little country dances, diversions, -and meetings, and became what is called a good dancer, his own natural -inclinations hurrying him (as he finely says) into the contrary -diversions.’</p> - -<p>He was scarce twenty years old when he married (a frightful proof of the -wicked recklessness of his former courses), and set up in trade in -Waterford; where, however, matters went so ill with him, that he was -speedily without money, and £50 in debt. He had, he says, not any way of -paying the debt, except by selling his furniture or his <i>riding-mare</i>, -to both of which measures he was averse; for where is the gentleman in -Ireland that can do without a horse to ride? Mr. Freeny and his -riding-mare became soon famous, insomuch that a thief in gaol warned the -magistrates of Kilkenny to beware of a <i>one-eyed man with a mare</i>.</p> - -<p>These unhappy circumstances sent him on the highway to seek<a name="page_408" id="page_408"></a> a -maintenance, and his first exploit was to rob a gentleman of fifty -pounds; then to attack another, against whom he ‘had <i>a secret disgust</i>, -because this gentleman had prevented his former master from giving him a -suit of clothes!’</p> - -<p>Urged by a noble resentment against this gentleman, Mr. Freeny, in -company with a friend by the name of Reddy, robbed the gentleman’s -house, taking therein £70 in money, which was honourably divided among -the captors.</p> - -<p>‘We then,’ continues Mr. Freeny, ‘quitted the house with the booty, and -came to Thomastown; but not knowing how to dispose of the plate, left it -with Reddy, who said he had a friend from whom he would get cash for it. -In some time afterwards I asked him for the dividend of the cash he got -for the plate, but all the satisfaction he gave me was, that it was -lost, which occasioned me <i>to have my own opinion of him</i>.’</p> - -<p>Mr. Freeny then robbed Sir William Fownes’ servant of £14, in such an -artful manner that everybody believed the servant had himself secreted -the money; and no doubt the rascal was turned adrift, and starved in -consequence—a truly comic incident, and one that could be used so as to -provoke a great deal of laughter, in an historical work of which our -champion should be the hero.</p> - -<p>The next enterprise of importance is that against the house of Colonel -Palliser, which Freeny thus picturesquely describes. Coming with one of -his spies close up to the house, Mr. Freeny watched the Colonel lighted -to bed by a servant; and thus, as he cleverly says, could judge ‘of the -room the Colonel lay in.’</p> - -<p>‘Some time afterwards,’ says Freeny, ‘I observed a light upstairs, by -which I judged the servants were going to bed, and soon after observed -that the candles were all quenched, by which I assured myself they were -all gone to bed. I then came back to where the men were, and appointed -Bulger, Motley, and Commons to go in along with me; but Commons answered -that he never had been in any house before where there were arms; upon -which I asked the coward what business he had there, and swore I would -as soon shoot him as look at him, and at the same time cocked a pistol -to his breast; but the rest of the men prevailed upon me to leave him at -the back of the house, where he might run away when he thought proper.</p> - -<p>‘I then asked Grace where did he choose to be posted; he answered “That -he would go where I pleased to order him,” for which I thanked him; we -then immediately came up to the house, lighted our candles, put Houlahan -at the back of the house, to prevent any person from coming out that -way, and placed<a name="page_409" id="page_409"></a> Hacket on my mare, well armed, at the front; and I then -broke one of the windows with a sledge, whereupon Bulger, Motley, Grace, -and I got in; upon which I ordered Motley and Grace to go upstairs, and -Bulger and I would stay below, where we thought the greatest danger -would be; but I immediately, upon second consideration, for fear Motley -or Grace should be daunted, desired Bulger to go up with them, and when -he had fixed matters above, to come down, as I judged the Colonel lay -below. I then went to the room where the Colonel was, and burst open the -door; upon which he said, “Odds-wounds! who’s there?” to which I -answered, “A friend, sir;” upon which he said, “You lie; by G—d, you -are no friend of mine!” I then said that I was, and his relation also, -and that if he viewed me close he would know me, and begged of him not -to be angry; upon which I immediately seized a bullet-gun and case of -pistols, which I observed hanging up in his room. I then quitted his -room, and walked round the lower part of the house, thinking to meet -some of the servants, <i>whom</i> I thought would strive to make their escape -from the men who were above, and meeting none of them, I immediately -returned to the Colonel’s room; where I no sooner entered than he -desired me to go out for a villain, and asked why I bred such -disturbance in his house at that time of night; at the same time I -snatched his breeches from under his head, wherein I got a small purse -of gold, and said that abuse was not fit treatment for me who was his -relation, and that it would hinder me of calling to see him again. I -then demanded the key of his desk which stood in his room; he answered -he had no key; upon which I said I had a very good key; at the same time -giving it a stroke with the sledge, which burst it open, wherein I got a -purse of ninety guineas, a four-pound piece, two moidores, some small -gold, and a large glove, with twenty-eight guineas in silver.</p> - -<p>‘By this time Bulger and Motley came downstairs to me, after rifling the -house above; we then observed a closet inside his room, which we soon -entered, and got therein a basket wherein there was plate to the value -of three hundred pounds.’</p> - -<p>And so they took leave of Colonel Palliser, and rode away with their -earnings.</p> - -<p>The story, as here narrated, has that simplicity which is beyond the -reach of all except the very highest art; and it is not high art -certainly which Mr. Freeny can be said to possess, but a noble nature -rather, which leads him thus grandly to describe scenes wherein he acted -a great part. With what a gallant determination does he inform the -coward Commons that he would shoot him ‘<i>as soon as look at him</i>’; and -how dreadful he must have looked<a name="page_410" id="page_410"></a> (with his one eye) as he uttered that -sentiment! But he left him, he says, with a grim humour, at the back of -the house, ‘where he might run away when he thought proper.’ The Duke of -Wellington must have read Mr. Freeny’s history in his youth (his Grace’s -birthplace is not far from the scene of the other gallant Irishman’s -exploit), for the Duke acted in precisely a similar way by a Belgian -Colonel at Waterloo.</p> - -<p>It must be painful to great and successful commanders to think how their -gallant comrades and lieutenants, partners of their toil, their -feelings, and their fame, are separated from them by time, by death, by -estrangement, nay sometimes by treason. Commons is off, disappearing -noiseless into the deep night, whilst his comrades perform the work of -danger; and Bulger,—<span class="smcap">Bulger</span>, who in the above scene acts so gallant a -part, and in whom Mr. Freeny places so much confidence—actually went -away to England, carrying off ‘some plate, some shirts, a gold watch, -and a diamond ring’ of the Captain’s; and, though he returned to his -native country, the valuables did not return with him, on which the -Captain swore he would blow his brains out. As for poor Grace, he was -hanged, much to his leader’s sorrow, who says of him that he was ‘the -faithfullest of his spies.’ Motley was sent to Naas gaol for the very -robbery: and though Captain Freeny does not mention his ultimate fate, -‘tis probable he was hanged too. Indeed, the warrior’s life is a hard -one, and over misfortunes like these the feeling heart cannot but sigh.</p> - -<p>But, putting out of the question the conduct and fate of the Captain’s -associates, let us look to his own behaviour as a leader. It is -impossible not to admire his serenity, his dexterity, that dashing -impetuosity in the moment of action, and that aquiline <i>coup d’œil</i> -which belongs to but few generals. He it is who leads the assault, -smashing in the window with a sledge; he bursts open the Colonel’s door, -who says (naturally enough), ‘Odds-wounds! who’s there?’ ‘A friend, -sir,’ says Freeny. ‘You lie! by G—d, you are no friend of mine!’ roars -the military blasphemer. ‘I then said that I was, <i>and his relation -also</i>, and that if he viewed me close he would know me, and begged of -him not to be angry: <i>upon which I immediately seized</i> a brace of -pistols which I observed hanging up in his room.’ That is something like -presence of mind: none of your brutal braggadocio work, but neat, -wary—nay, sportive bearing in the face of danger. And again, on the -second visit to the Colonel’s room, when the latter bids him ‘go out for -a villain, and not breed a disturbance,’ what reply makes Freeny? ‘<i>At -the same time I snatched his breeches</i> from under his head.’ A common -man would never have thought<a name="page_411" id="page_411"></a> of looking for them in such a place at -all. The difficulty about the key he resolves in quite an Alexandrian -manner; and, from the specimen we already have had of the Colonel’s -style of speaking, we may fancy how ferociously he lay in bed and swore, -after Captain Freeny and his friends had disappeared with the ninety -guineas, the moidores, the four-pound piece, and the glove with -twenty-eight guineas in silver.</p> - -<p>As for the plate, he hid it in a wood; and then, being out of danger, he -sate down and paid everybody his deserts. By the way, what a strange -difference of opinion is there about a man’s <i>deserts</i>! Here sits -Captain Freeny with a company of gentlemen, and awards them a handsome -sum of money for an action which other people would have remunerated -with a halter. Which are right? perhaps both: but at any rate it will be -admitted that the Captain takes the humane view of the question.</p> - -<p>The greatest enemy Captain Freeny had was Counsellor Robbins, a son of -his old patron, and one of the most determined thief-pursuers the -country ever knew. But though he was untiring in his efforts to capture -(and of course to hang) Mr. Freeny, and though the latter was strongly -urged by his friends to blow the Counsellor’s brains out; yet, to his -immortal honour it is said he refused that temptation, agreeable as it -was, declaring that he had eaten too much of that family’s bread ever to -take the life of one of them, and being besides quite aware that the -Counsellor was only acting against him in a public capacity. He -respected him, in fact, like an honourable though terrible adversary.</p> - -<p>How deep a stratagem-inventor the Counsellor was, may be gathered from -the following narration of one of his plans:—</p> - -<p>‘Counsellor Robbins finding his brother had not got intelligence that -was sufficient to carry any reasonable foundation for apprehending us, -walked out as if merely for exercise, till he met with a person whom he -thought he could confide in, and desired the person to meet him at a -private place appointed for that purpose, which they did; and he told -that person he had a very good opinion of him, from the character -received from his father of him, and from his own knowledge of him, and -hoped that the person would then show him that such opinion was not ill -founded. The person assuring the Counsellor he would do all in his power -to serve and oblige him, the Counsellor told him how greatly he was -concerned to hear the scandalous character that part of the country -(which had formerly been an honest one) had lately fallen into. That it -was said that a gang of robbers who disturbed the country lived -thereabouts; the person told him he was afraid what he said was too -true; and, on being asked whom he<a name="page_412" id="page_412"></a> suspected, he named the same four -persons Mr. Robbins had, but said he dare not, for fear of being -murdered, be too inquisitive, and therefore could not say anything -material; the Counsellor asked him if he knew where there was any -private ale to be sold; and he said Moll Burke, who lived near the end -of Mr. Robbins’s avenue, had a barrel or half a barrel. The Counsellor -then gave the person a moidore, and desired him to go to Thomastown and -buy two or three gallons of whisky, and bring it to Moll Burke’s, and -invite as many as he suspected to be either principals or accessories to -take a drink, and make them drink very heartily, and when he found they -were fuddled, and not sooner, to tell some of the hastiest, that some -other had said some bad things of them, so as to provoke them to abuse -and quarrel with each other; and then, probably, in their liquor and -passion, they might make some discoveries of each other, as may enable -the Counsellor to get some one of the gang to discover and accuse the -rest.</p> - -<p>‘The person accordingly got the whisky and invited a good many to drink; -but the Counsellor being then at his brother’s, a few only went to Moll -Burke’s, the rest being afraid to venture while the Counsellor was in -the neighbourhood; among those who met, there was one Moll Brophy, the -wife of Mr. Robbins’s smith, and one Edmund or Edward Stapleton, -otherwise Gaul, who lived thereabouts; and when they had drank -plentifully, the Counsellor’s spy told Moll Brophy, Gaul had said she -had gone astray with some persons or other; she then abused Gaul, and -told him he was one of Freeny’s accomplices, for that he, Gaul, had told -her he had seen Colonel Palliser’s watch with Freeny, and that Freeny -had told him, Gaul, that John Welsh and the two Graces had been with him -at the robbery.</p> - -<p>‘The company on their quarrel broke up, and the next morning the spy met -the Counsellor at the place appointed, at a distance from Mr. Robbins’s -house, to prevent suspicion, and there told the Counsellor what -intelligence he had got; the Counsellor not being then a justice of the -peace, got his brother to send for Moll Brophy to be examined; but when -she came, she refused to be sworn or to give any evidence, and thereupon -the Counsellor had her tied and put on a car in order to be carried to -jail on a mittimus from Mr. Robbins, for refusing to give evidence on -behalf of the Crown. When she found she would really be sent to jail, -she submitted to be sworn, and the Counsellor drew from her what she had -said the night before, and something further, and desired her not to -tell anybody what she had sworn.’</p> - -<p>But if the Counsellor was acute, were there not others as clever as he? -For when, in consequence of the information of Mrs.<a name="page_413" id="page_413"></a> Brophy, some -gentlemen who had been engaged in the burglarious enterprises in which -Mr. Freeny obtained so much honour, were seized and tried, Freeny came -forward with the best of arguments in their favour. Indeed, it is fine -to see these two great spirits matched one against the other,—the -Counsellor, with all the regular force of the country to back him—the -Highway General, with but the wild resources of his gallant genius, and -with cunning and bravery for his chief allies.</p> - -<p>‘I lay by for a considerable time after, and concluded within myself to -do no more mischief till after the assizes, when I would hear how it -went with the men who were then in confinement. Some time before the -assizes Counsellor Robbins came to Ballyduff, and told his brother that -he believed Anderson and Welsh were guilty, and also said he would -endeavour to have them both hanged, of which I was informed.</p> - -<p>‘Soon after, I went to the house of one George Roberts, who asked me if -I had any regard for those fellows who were then confined (meaning -Anderson and Welsh). I told him I had a regard for one of them: upon -which he said, he had a friend who was a man of power and -interest,—that he would save either of them, provided I would give him -five guineas. I told him I would give him ten, and the first gold watch -I could get; whereupon he said that it was of no use to speak to his -friend without the money or value, for that he was a mercenary man; on -which I told Roberts I had not so much money at that time, but that I -would give him my watch as a pledge to give his friend. I then gave him -my watch, and desired him to engage that I would pay the money which I -promised to pay, or give value for it in plate, in two or three nights -after; upon which he engaged that his friend would act the needful; when -we appointed a night to meet, and we accordingly met; and Roberts told -me that his friend agreed to save Anderson and Welsh from the gallows; -whereupon I gave him a plate tankard, value £10, a large ladle, value -£4, with some tablespoons; and the assizes of Kilkenny, in spring 1748, -coming on soon after, Counsellor Robbins had Welsh transmitted from Naas -to Kilkenny, in order to give evidence against Anderson and Welsh; and -they were tried for Mrs. Mounford’s robbery, on the evidence of John -Welsh and others. The physic working well, six of the jury were for -finding them guilty, and six more for acquitting them; and the other six -finding them peremptory, and that they were resolved to starve the -others into compliance, as they say they may do by law, were for their -own sakes obliged to comply with them, and they were acquitted; on which -Counsellor Robbins began to smoke the affair, and suspect the operation -of gold dust, which was<a name="page_414" id="page_414"></a> well applied for my comrades, and thereupon -left the court in a rage, and swore he would for ever quit the country, -since he found people were not satisfied with protecting and saving the -rogues they had under themselves, but must also show that they could and -would oblige others to have rogues under them whether they would or no.’</p> - -<p>Here Counsellor Robbins certainly loses that greatness which has -distinguished him in his former attack on Freeny; the Counsellor is -defeated and loses his temper. Like Napoleon, he is unequal to reverses, -but in adverse fortune his presence of mind deserts him.</p> - -<p>But what call had he to be in a passion at all? It may be very well for -a man to be in a rage because he is disappointed of his prey: so is the -hawk, when the dove escapes, in a rage; but let us reflect that, had -Counsellor Robbins had his will, two honest fellows would have been -hanged; and so let us be heartily thankful that he was disappointed, and -that these men were acquitted by a jury of their countrymen. What right -had the Counsellor, forsooth, to interfere with their verdict? Not -against Irish juries at least does the old satire apply, ‘And culprits -hang that jurymen may dine.’ At Naas, on the contrary, the jurymen -starved in order that the culprits might be saved—a noble and humane -act of self-denial.</p> - -<p>In another case, stern justice, and the law of self-preservation, -compelled Mr. Freeny to take a very different course with respect to one -of his ex-associates. In the former instance we have seen him pawning -his watch, giving up tankard, tablespoons—all, for his suffering -friends; here we have his method of dealing with traitors.</p> - -<p>One of his friends, by the name of Anderson, was taken prisoner, and -condemned to be hanged, which gave Mr. Freeny, he says, ‘a great shock’; -but presently this Anderson’s fears were worked upon by some traitors -within the gaol, and—</p> - -<p>‘He then consented to discover; but I had a friend in gaol at the same -time, one Patrick Healy, who daily insinuated to him that it was of no -use or advantage to him to discover anything, as he received sentence of -death; and that, after he had made a discovery, to leave him as he was, -without troubling themselves about a reprieve. But notwithstanding, he -told the gentleman that there was a man <i>blind of an eye, who had a bay -mare</i>, that lived at the other side of Thomastown Bridge, <i>whom</i> he -assured them would be very troublesome in that neighbourhood after his -death. When Healy discovered what he told the gentleman, he one night -took an opportunity, and made Dooling fuddled, and prevailed upon him -to<a name="page_415" id="page_415"></a> take his oath he never would give the least hint about me any more. -He also told him the penalty that attended infringing upon his oath; but -more especially as he was at that time near his end, which had the -desired effect; for he never mentioned my name, nor even anything -relative to me,’ and so went out of the world repenting of his meditated -treason.</p> - -<p>What further exploits Mr. Freeny performed may be learned by the curious -in his history: they are all, it need scarcely be said, of a similar -nature to that noble action which has already been described. His -escapes from his enemies were marvellous; his courage in facing them -equally great. He is attacked by whole ‘armies,’ through which he makes -his way; wounded, he lies in the woods for days together with three -bullets in his leg, and in this condition manages to escape several -‘armies’ that have been marched against him. He is supposed to be dead, -or travelling on the Continent, and suddenly makes his appearance in his -old haunts, advertising his arrival by robbing ten men on the highway in -a single day: and, so terrible is his courage, or so popular his -manners, that he describes scores of labourers looking on while his -exploits were performed, and not affording the least aid to the roadside -traveller whom he vanquished.</p> - -<p>But numbers always prevail in the end; what could Leonidas himself do -against an army? The gallant band of brothers led by Freeny were so -pursued by the indefatigable Robbins and his myrmidons, that there was -no hope left for them, and the Captain saw that he must succumb.</p> - -<p>He reasoned, however, with himself (with his usual keen logic), and -said:—</p> - -<p>‘My men must fall,—the world is too strong for us, and, to-day or -to-morrow,—it matters scarcely when they must yield. They will be -hanged for a certainty, and thus will disappear the noblest company of -knights the world has ever seen.</p> - -<p>‘But as they will certainly be hanged, and no power of mine can save -them, is it necessary that I should follow them too to the tree; and -will James Bulger’s fate be a whit more agreeable to him, because James -Freeny dangles at his side? To suppose so, would be to admit that he was -actuated by a savage feeling of revenge, which I know belongs not to his -generous nature.’</p> - -<p>In a word, Mr. Freeny resolved to turn king’s evidence; for though he -swore (in a communication with the implacable Robbins) that he would -rather die than betray Bulger, yet when the Counsellor stated that he -must then die, Freeny says, ‘I promised to submit, and <i>understood that -Bulger should be set</i>.<a name="page_416" id="page_416"></a>’</p> - -<p>Accordingly some days afterwards (although the Captain carefully avoids -mentioning that he had met his friends with any such intentions as those -indicated in the last paragraph) he and Mr. Bulger came together: and, -strangely enough, it was agreed that the one was to sleep while the -other kept watch; and, while thus employed, the enemy came upon them. -But let Freeny describe for himself the last passages of his history:—</p> - -<p>‘We then went to Welsh’s house, with a view not to make any delay there; -but, taking a glass extraordinary after supper, Bulger fell asleep. -Welsh, in the meantime, told me his house was the safest place I could -get in that neighbourhood, and while I remained there I would be very -safe, provided that no person knew of my coming there (I had not -acquainted him that Breen knew of my coming that way). I told Welsh -that, as Bulger was asleep, I would not go to bed till morning: upon -which Welsh and I stayed up all night, and in the morning Welsh said -that he and his wife had a call to Callen, it being market-day. About -nine o’clock I went and awoke Bulger, desiring him to get up and guard -me whilst I slept, as I guarded him all night; he said he would, and -then I went to bed charging him to watch close, for fear we should be -surprised. I put my blunderbuss and two cases of pistols under my head, -and soon fell fast asleep. In two hours after, the servant-girl of the -house, seeing an enemy coming into the yard, ran up to the room where we -were, and said that there were an hundred men coming into the yard; upon -which Bulger immediately awoke me, and, taking up my blunderbuss, he -fired a shot towards the door, which wounded Mr. Burgess, one of the -sheriffs of Kilkenny, of which wound he died. They concluded to set the -house on fire about us, which they accordingly did; upon which I took my -fusee in one hand, and a pistol in the other, and Bulger did the like, -and as we came out of the door, we fired on both sides, imagining it to -be the best method of dispersing the enemy, who were on both sides of -the door. We got through them, but they fired after us, and as Bulger -was leaping over a ditch he received a shot in the small of the leg, -which rendered him incapable of running; but, getting into a field, -where I had the ditch between me and the enemy, I still walked slowly -with Bulger, till I thought the enemy were within shot of the ditch, and -then wheeled back to the ditch and presented my fusee at them; they all -drew back and went for their horses to ride round, as the field was wide -and open, and without cover except the ditch. When I discovered their -intention I stood in the middle of the field, and one of the gentlemen’s -servants (there were fourteen in number) rode foremost towards me; upon -which<a name="page_417" id="page_417"></a> I told the son of a coward I believed he had no more than five -pounds a year from his master, and that I would put him in such a -condition that his master would not maintain him afterwards. To which he -answered that he had no view of doing us any harm, but that he was -commanded by his master to ride so near us; and then immediately rode -back to the enemy, who were coming towards him. They rode almost within -shot of us, and I observed they intended to surround us in the field, -and prevent me from having any recourse to the ditch again. Bulger was -at this time so bad with the wound, that he could not go one step -without leaning on my shoulder. At length, seeing the enemy coming -within shot of me, I laid down my fusee and stripped off my coat and -waistcoat, and running towards them, cried out, “You sons of cowards, -come on, and I will blow your brains out;” on which they returned back, -and then I walked easy to the place where I left my clothes, and put -them on, and Bulger and I walked leisurely some distance farther. The -enemy came a second time, and I occasioned them to draw back as before, -and then we walked to Lord Dysart’s deer-park wall. I got up the wall -and helped Bulger up. The enemy, who still pursued us, though not within -shot, seeing us on the wall, one of them fired a random shot at us to no -purpose. We got safe over the wall, and went from thence into my Lord -Dysart’s wood, where Bulger said he would remain, thinking it a safe -place; but I told him he would be safer anywhere else, for the army of -Kilkenny and Callen would be soon about the wood, and that he would be -taken if he stayed there. Besides, as I was very averse to betraying him -at all, I could not bear the thoughts of his being taken in my company -by any party but Lord Carrick’s. I then brought him about half a mile -beyond the wood, and left him there in a brake of briars, and looking -towards the wood I saw it surrounded by the army. There was a cabin near -that place where I fixed Bulger: he said he would go to it at night, and -he would send for some of his friends to take care of him. It was then -almost two o’clock, and we were four hours going to that place, which -was about two miles from Welsh’s house. Imagining that there were spies -fixed on all the fords and by-roads between that place and the mountain, -I went towards the bounds of the county Tipperary, where I arrived about -nightfall, and going to a cabin, I asked whether there was any drink -sold near that place? The man of the house said there was not; and as I -was very much fatigued, I sat down, and there refreshed myself with what -the cabin afforded. I then begged of the man to sell me a pair of his -brogues and stockings, as I was then barefooted, which he accordingly -did. I quitted<a name="page_418" id="page_418"></a> the house, went through Kinsheenah and Poulacoppal, and -having so many thorns in my feet, I was obliged to go barefooted, and -went to Sleedelagh, and through the mountains, till I came within four -miles of Waterford, and going into a cabin, the man of the house took -eighteen thorns out of the soles of my feet, and I remained in and about -that place for some time after.</p> - -<p>‘In the meantime a friend of mine was told that it was impossible for me -to escape death, for Bulger had turned against me, and that his friends -and Stack were resolved upon my life; but the person who told my friend -so, also said, that if my friend would set Bulger and Breen, I might get -a pardon through the Earl of Carrick’s means and Counsellor Robbins’s -interest. My friend said that he <i>was sure I would not consent to such a -thing, but the best way was to do it unknown to me</i>; and my friend -accordingly set Bulger, who was taken by the Earl of Carrick and his -party, and Mr. Fitzgerald, and six of Counsellor Robbins’s soldiers, and -committed to Kilkenny jail. He was three days in jail before I heard he -was taken, being at that time twenty miles distant from the -neighbourhood; nor did I hear from him or see him since I left him near -Lord Dysart’s wood, <i>till a friend</i> came and told me it was to preserve -my life and to fulfil my articles that Bulger was taken.’</p> - -<p class="cb">. . . . .</p> - -<p>‘Finding I was suspected, I withdrew to a neighbouring wood and -concealed myself there till night, and then went to Ballyduff to Mr. -Fitzgerald and surrendered myself to him, till I could write to my Lord -Carrick, which I did immediately, and gave him an account of what I -escaped, or that I would have gone to Ballilynch and surrendered myself -there to him, and begged his lordship to send a guard for me to conduct -me to his house, which he did, and I remained there for a few days.</p> - -<p>‘He then sent me to Kilkenny jail; and at the summer assizes following, -James Bulger, Patrick Hacket, otherwise Bristeen, Martin Millea, John -Stack, Felix Donnelly, Edmund Kenny, and James Larrassy were tried, -convicted, and executed; and at spring assizes following, George Roberts -was tried for receiving Colonel Palliser’s gold watch, knowing it to be -stolen, but was acquitted on account of exceptions taken to my pardon, -which prevented my giving evidence. At the following assizes, when I had -got a new pardon, Roberts was again tried for receiving the tankard, -ladle, and silver spoons from me, knowing them to be stolen, and was -convicted and executed. At the same assizes, John Reddy, my instructor, -and Martin Millea were also tried, convicted, and executed.’</p> - -<p>And so they were all hanged: James Bulger, Patrick Hacket<a name="page_419" id="page_419"></a> or Bristeen, -Martin Millea, John Stack and Felix Donnelly, and Edmund Kenny and James -Larrassy, with Roberts, who received the Colonel’s watch, the tankard, -ladle, and the silver spoons, were all convicted and all executed. Their -names drop naturally into blank verse. It is hard upon poor George -Roberts too: for the watch he received was no doubt in the very -inexpressibles which the Captain himself took from the Colonel’s head.</p> - -<p>As for the Captain himself, he says that, on going out of jail, -Counsellor Robbins and Lord Carrick proposed a subscription for him—in -which, strangely, the gentlemen of the county would not join, and so -that scheme came to nothing; and so he published his memoirs in order to -get himself a little money. Many a man has taken up the pen under -similar circumstances of necessity.</p> - -<p>But what became of Captain Freeny afterwards does not appear. Was he an -honest man ever after? Was he hanged for subsequent misdemeanours? It -matters little to him now; though, perhaps, one cannot help feeling a -little wish that the latter fate may have befallen him.</p> - -<p>Whatever his death was, however, the history of his life has been one of -the most popular books ever known in this country. It formed the -class-book in those rustic universities which are now rapidly -disappearing from among the hedges of Ireland. And lest any English -reader should, on account of its lowness, quarrel with the introduction -here of this strange picture of wild courage and daring, let him be -reconciled by the moral at the end, which, in the persons of Bulger and -the rest, hangs at the beam before Kilkenny jail.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /><br /> -<small>MORE RAIN IN GALWAY—A WALK THERE—AND THE SECOND GALWAY NIGHT’S ENTERTAINMENT</small></h2> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Seven hills has Rome, seven mouths has Nilus’ stream,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Around the Pole seven burning planets gleam.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Twice equal these is Galway, Connaught’s Rome:<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Twice seven illustrious tribes here find their home.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span> -<span class="ist">Twice seven fair towers the city’s ramparts guard,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Each house within is built of marble hard.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">With lofty turret flanked, twice seven the gates,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Through twice seven bridges water permeates.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">In the High Church are twice seven altars raised,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">At each a holy saint and patron’s praised.<a name="page_420" id="page_420"></a><br /></span> -<span class="ist">Twice seven the convents, dedicate to Heaven,—<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Seven for the female sex—for godly fathers seven.’<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">H<small>AVING</small> read in Hardiman’s History the quaint inscription in Irish Latin, -of which the above lines are a version, and looked admiringly at the old -plans of Galway which are to be found in the same work, I was in hopes -to have seen in the town some considerable remains of its former -splendour, in spite of a warning to the contrary which the learned -historiographer gives.</p> - -<p>The old city certainly has some relics of its former stateliness; and, -indeed, is the only town in Ireland I have seen, where an antiquary can -find much subject for study, or a lover of the picturesque an occasion -for using his pencil. It is a wild, fierce, and most original old town. -Joyce’s Castle in one of the principal streets, a huge square grey -tower, with many carvings and ornaments, is a gallant relic of its old -days of prosperity, and gives one an awful idea of the tenements which -the other families inhabited, and which are designed in the interesting -plate which Mr. Hardiman gives in his work. The Collegiate Church, too, -is still extant, without its fourteen altars, and looks to be something -between a church and a castle, and as if it should be served by Templars -with sword and helmet, in place of mitre and crosier. The old houses in -the Main Street are like fortresses; the windows look into a court -within; there is but a small low door, and a few grim windows peering -suspiciously into the street.</p> - -<p>Then there is Lombard Street, otherwise called Deadman’s Lane, with a -raw-head and cross-bones and a ‘memento mori’ over the door where the -dreadful tragedy of the Lynches was acted in 1493. If Galway is the Rome -of Connaught, James Lynch Fitzstephen, the Mayor, may be considered as -the Lucius Junius Brutus thereof. Lynch had a son who went to Spain as -master of one of his father’s ships, and being of an extravagant wild -turn, there contracted debts,<a name="page_421" id="page_421"></a> and drew bills, and alarmed his father’s -correspondent, who sent a clerk and nephew of his own back in young -Lynch’s ship to Galway, to settle accounts. On the fifteenth day, young -Lynch threw the Spaniard overboard. Coming back to his own country, he -reformed his life a little, and was on the point of marrying one of the -Blakes, Burkes, Bodkins, or others: when a seaman who had sailed with -him, being on the point of death, confessed the murder in which he had -been a participator.</p> - -<p>Hereon the father, who was chief magistrate of the town, tried his son, -and sentenced him to death; and when the clan Lynch rose in a body to -rescue the young man, and avert such a disgrace from their family, it is -said that Fitzstephen Lynch hanged the culprit with his own hand. A -tragedy called ‘The Warden of Galway’ has been written on the subject, -and was acted a few nights before my arrival.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p421_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p421_sml.jpg" width="174" height="137" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>The waters of Lough Corrib, which ‘permeate’ under the bridges of the -town, go rushing and roaring to the sea with a noise and eagerness only -known in Galway; and along the banks you see all sorts of strange -figures washing all sorts of wonderful rags, with red petticoats and -redder shanks standing in the stream. Pigs are in every street, the -whole town shrieks with them: and I saw the pair of lovers in the -frontispiece;<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> the girl with the little Galway<a name="page_422" id="page_422"></a> <i>pet</i> in her lap. -There are numbers of idlers on the bridges, thousands in the streets, -humming and swarming in and out of dark old ruinous houses; congregated -round numberless apple-stalls, nail-stalls, bottle-stalls, -pigsfoot-stalls; in queer old shops, that look to be two centuries old; -loitering about warehouses, ruined or not; looking at the washerwomen -washing in the river, or at the fish-donkeys, or at the potato-stalls, -or at a vessel coming into the quay, or at the boats putting out to sea.</p> - -<p>That boat at the quay, by the little old gate, is bound for Arranmore; -and one next to it has a freight of passengers for the cliffs of Mohir, -on the Clare coast; and as the sketch is taken, a hundred of people have -stopped in the street to look on, and are buzzing behind in Irish, -telling the little boys in that language—who will persist in placing -themselves exactly in the front of the designer—to get out of his way; -which they do for some time; but at length curiosity is so intense that -you are entirely hemmed in, and the view rendered quite invisible. A -sailor’s wife comes up—who speaks English—with a very wistful face, -and begins to hint, that them black pictures are very bad likenesses, -and very dear too for a poor woman, and how much would a painted one -cost, does his honour think? And she has her husband that’s going to sea -to the West Indies to-morrow, and she’d give anything to have a picture -of him. So I made bold to offer to take his likeness for nothing. But he -never came, except one day at dinner, and not at all on the next day, -though I stayed on purpose to accommodate him. It is true that it was -pouring with rain; and as English waterproof cloaks are not waterproof -in <i>Ireland</i>, the traveller who has but one coat must of necessity -respect it, and had better stay where he is, unless he prefers to go to -bed while he has his clothes dried at the next stage.</p> - -<p>The houses in the fashionable street where the club-house stands (a -strong building, with an agreeable Old Bailey look) have the appearance -of so many little Newgates. The Catholic chapels are numerous, -unfinished, and ugly. Great warehouses and mills rise up by the stream, -or in the midst of unfinished streets here and there; and handsome -convents with their gardens, justice-houses, barracks, and hospitals -adorn the large, poor, bustling, rough-and-ready-looking town. A man who -sells hunting-whips, gunpowder, guns, fishing-tackle, and brass and iron -ware, has a few books on his counter; and a lady in a by-street, who -carries on the profession of a milliner, eked out her stock in a similar -way. But there were no regular book-shops that I saw, and when it came -on to rain, I had no resource but the Hedge-School volumes again. They, -like Patrick Spelman’s sign (which was<a name="page_423" id="page_423"></a> faithfully copied in the town), -present some very rude flowers of poetry and ‘entertainment’ of an -exceedingly humble sort; but such shelter is not to be despised when no -better is to be had; nay, possibly its novelty may be piquant to some -readers, as an admirer of Shakespeare will occasionally condescend to -listen to Mr. Punch, or an epicure to content himself with a homely dish -of beans and bacon.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 56px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p423_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p423_sml.jpg" width="56" height="78" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>When Mr, Kilroy’s waiter has drawn the window-curtains, brought the hot -water for the whisky-negus, and a pipe and a ‘screw’ of tobacco, and two -huge old candlesticks that were plated once, the audience may be said to -be assembled, and after a little overture performed on the pipe, the -second night’s entertainment begins with the historical tragedy of the -‘Battle of Aughrim.’</p> - -<p>Though it has found its way to the West of Ireland, the ‘Battle of -Aughrim’ is evidently by a Protestant author, a great enemy of Popery -and wooden shoes: both of which principles, incarnate in the person of -St. Ruth, the French General commanding the troops sent by Louis XIV. to -the aid of James II., meet with a woeful downfall at the conclusion of -the piece. It must have been written in the reign of Queen Anne, judging -from some loyal compliments which are paid to that sovereign in the -play, which is also modelled upon Cato.</p> - -<p>The ‘Battle of Aughrim’ is written from beginning to end in decasyllabic -verse of the richest sort; and introduces us to the chiefs of William -and James’s army. On the English side we have Baron de Ginckle, three -Generals, and two Colonels; on the Irish, Monsieur St. Ruth, two -Generals, two Colonels, and an English gentleman of fortune, a -volunteer, and son of no less a person than Sir Edmonbury Godfrey.</p> - -<p>There are two ladies—Jemima, the Irish Colonel Talbot’s daughter, in -love with Godfrey; and Lucinda, lady of Colonel Herbert, in love with -her lord. And the deep nature of the tragedy may be imagined when it is -stated that Colonel Talbot is killed, Colonel Herbert is killed, Sir -Charles Godfrey is killed, and Jemima commits suicide, as resolved not -to survive her adorer. St. Ruth is also killed, and the remaining Irish -heroes are taken prisoners or run away. Among the supernumeraries there -is likewise a dreadful slaughter.</p> - -<p>The author, however, though a Protestant, is an Irishman (there are -peculiarities in his pronunciation which belong only to that nation), -and as far as courage goes, he allows the two parties<a name="page_424" id="page_424"></a> to be pretty -equal. The scene opens with a martial sound of kettle-drums and trumpets -in the Irish camp, near Athlone. That town is besieged by Ginckle, and -Monsieur St. Ruth (despising his enemy with a confidence often fatal to -Generals) meditates an attack on the besiegers’ lines, if, by any -chance, the besieged garrison be not in a condition to drive them off.</p> - -<p>After discoursing on the posture of affairs, and letting General -Sarsfield and Colonel O’Neil know his hearty contempt of the English and -their General, all parties, after protestations of patriotism, indulge -in hopes of the downfall of William. St. Ruth says he will drive the -wolves’ and lions’ cubs away. O’Neil declares he scorns the Revolution, -and, like great Cato, smiles at persecution. Sarsfield longs for the day -‘when our Monks and Jesuits shall return, and holy incense on our altars -burn.’ When</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">‘<i>Enter</i> a Post.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Post.</i> With important news I from Athlone am sent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be pleased to lead me to the General’s tent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Sars.</i> Behold the General there. Your message tell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>St. Ruth.</i> Declare your message. Are our friends all well?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Post.</i> Pardon me, sir, the fatal news I bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like vulture’s poison every heart shall sting.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athlone is lost without your timely aid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At six this morning an assault was made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, under shelter of the British cannon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their grenadiers in armour took the Shannon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led by brave Captain Sandys, who <i>with fame</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Plunged to his middle in the rapid stream</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He led them through, and with undaunted ire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He gained the bank in spite of all our fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being bravely followed by his grenadiers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though bullets flew like hail about their ears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And by this time they enter uncontrolled.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>St. Ruth.</i> Dare all the force of England be so bold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">T’ attempt to storm so brave a town, when I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all Hibernia’s sons of war am nigh?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Return: and if the Britons dare pursue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell them St. Ruth is near, and <i>that will do</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Post.</i> Your aid would do much better than your name.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>St. Ruth.</i> Bear back this answer, friend, from whence you came.<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 50%">[<i>Exit</i> Post.’st.’</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The picture of brave Sandys, ‘who with fame plunged to his middle in the -rapid stream,’ is not a bad image on the part of the Post; and St. -Ruth’s reply, ‘Tell them St. Ruth is near, and <i>that will do</i>,’ -characteristic of the vanity of his nation. But Sarsfield knows Britons -better, and pays a merited compliment to their valour:<a name="page_425" id="page_425"></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘<i>Sars.</i> Send speedy succours and their fate prevent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You know not yet what Britons dare attempt.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know the English fortitude is such,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To boast of nothing, though they hazard much.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No force on earth their fury can repel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor would they fly from all the devils in hell.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Another officer arrives—Athlone is really taken, St. Ruth gives orders -to retreat to Aughrim, and Sarsfield, in a rage, first challenges him, -and then vows he will quit the army. ‘A <i>gleam</i> of horror does my vitals -<i>damp</i>,’ says the Frenchman (in a figure of speech more remarkable for -vigour than logic); ‘I fear Lord Lucan has forsook the camp!’ But not -so: after a momentary indignation, Sarsfield returns to his duty, and -ere long is reconciled with his vain and vacillating chief.</p> - -<p>And now the love intrigue begins. Godfrey enters—and states Sir Charles -Godfrey is his lawful name: he is an Englishman, and was on his way to -join Ginckle’s camp, when Jemima’s beauty overcame him: he asks Colonel -Talbot to bestow on him the lady’s hand. The Colonel consents, and in -Act II., on the plain of Aughrim, at five o’clock in the morning, Jemima -enters and proclaims her love. The lovers have an interview, which -concludes by a mutual confession of attachment, and Jemima says, ‘Here, -take my hand. ‘Tis true the gift is small, but when I can, I’ll give you -heart and all.’ The lines show finely the agitation of the young person. -She meant to say, Take <i>my heart</i>, but she is longing to be married to -him, and the words slip out as it were unawares. Godfrey cries in -raptures—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Thanks to the gods! who such a present gave:<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Such radiant graces ne’er could man <i>receive</i> (<i>resave</i>);<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For who on earth has e’er such transports known?<br /></span> -<span class="i1">What is the Turkish monarch on his throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Hemmed round <i>with rusty swords</i> in pompous state?<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Amidst his court no joys can be so great.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Retire with me, my soul, no longer stay!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In public view, the General moves this way.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘Tis, indeed, the General; who, reconciled with Sarsfield, straightway, -according to his custom, begins to boast about what he will do:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Thrice welcome to my heart, thou best of friends!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The rock on which our holy faith depends!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">May this our meeting as a tempest make<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The vast foundations of Britannia shake,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Tear up their orange plant, and overwhelm<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The strongest bulwarks of the British realm!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Then shall the Dutch and Hanoverian fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And James shall ride in triumph to Whitehall;<a name="page_426" id="page_426"></a><br /></span> -<span class="i1">Then to protect our faith he will maintain<br /></span> -<span class="i1">An inquisition here like that in Spain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1"><i>Sars.</i> Most bravely urged, my Lord! your skill, I own,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Would be <i>unparalleled</i>—had you saved Athlone.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>—‘Had you saved Athlone!’ Sarsfield has him there. And the contest of -words might have provoked quarrels still more fatal, but alarms are -heard: the battle begins, and St. Ruth (still confident) goes to meet -the enemy, exclaiming, ‘Athlone was sweet, but Aughrim shall be sour.’ -The fury of the Irish is redoubled on hearing of Talbot’s heroic death. -The Colonel’s corpse is presently brought in, and to it enters Jemima, -who bewails her loss in the following pathetic terms:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘<i>Jemima.</i> Oh!—he is dead!—my soul is all on fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Witness ye gods!—he did with fame expire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Liberty a sacrifice was made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fell, like Pompey, by some <i>villain’s</i> blade.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There lies a breathless corse, whose soul ne’er knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A thought but what was always just and true;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Look down from heaven, God of peace and love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waft him with triumph to the throne above;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oh! ye winged guardians of the skies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tune your sweet harps, and sing his obsequies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Good friends, stand off——whilst I embrace the ground<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereon he lies————and bathe each mortal wound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With brinish tears, that like to torrents run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From these sad eyes. Oh heavens! I’m undone<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 25%;">[<i>Falls down on the body.</i></span><br /> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Charles Godfrey</span>. <i>He raises her.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Sir Char.</i> Why do these precious eyes like fountains flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>To drown the radiant heaven that lies below</i>?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dry up your tears, I trust his soul ere this<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has reached the mansions of eternal bliss.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soldiers! bear hence the body out of sight. <span style="margin-left: 2em;">[<i>They bear him off.</i></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2"><i>Jem.</i> Oh, stay—ye murderers, cease to kill me quite:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See how he glares!—--and see again he flies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clouds fly open, and he mounts the skies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! see his blood, it shines refulgent bright,}<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see him yet—I cannot lose him quite,}<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still pursue him on—and—<i>lose my sight</i>.’}<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The gradual disappearance of the Colonel’s soul is now finely indicated, -and so is her grief, when showing the body to Sir Charles, she says, -‘Behold the mangled cause of all my woes.’ The sorrow of youth, however, -is but transitory; and when her lover bids her dry her <i>gushish</i> tears, -she takes out her pocket-handkerchief with the elasticity of youth, and -consoles herself for the father in the husband.<a name="page_427" id="page_427"></a></p> - -<p>Act III. represents the English camp: Ginckle and his Generals -discourse; the armies are engaged. In Act IV. the English are worsted in -spite of their valour, which Sarsfield greatly describes. ‘View,’ says -he—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘View how the foe like an impetuous flood<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Breaks through the smoke, the water, and—the mud!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>It becomes exceedingly hot. Colonel Earles says—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘In vain Jove’s lightnings issues from the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">For death more sure from British <i>ensigns</i> fly.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Their messengers of death much blood have spilled,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">And full three hundred of the Irish killed.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>A description of war (Herbert):—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Now bloody colours wave in their pride,<br /></span> -<span class="ist"><i>And each proud hero does his beast bestride</i>.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>General Dorrington’s description of the fight is, if possible, still -more noble:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘<i>Dor.</i> Haste, noble friends, and save your lives by flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ‘tis but madness if you stand to fight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our cavalry the battle have forsook,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And death appears in each dejected look;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing but dread confusion can be seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For severed heads and trunks o’erspread the green;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fields, the vales, the hills, and vanquished plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For five miles round are covered with the slain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death in each quarter does the eye alarm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here lies a leg, and there a shattered arm.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There heads appear, which, cloven by mighty bangs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And severed quite, on either shoulder hangs:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the awful scene, my Lords! Oh, fly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The impending danger, for your fate is nigh!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Which party, however, is to win—the Irish or English? Their heroism is -equal, and young Godfrey especially, on the Irish side, is carrying all -before him—when he is interrupted in the slaughter by <i>the ghost of his -father</i>: of old Sir Edmonbury, whose monument we may see in Westminster -Abbey. Sir Charles, at first, doubts about the genuineness of this -venerable old apparition; and thus puts a case to the ghost:—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Were ghosts in heaven, in heaven they there would stay,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Or if in hell, <i>they could not get away</i>.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">A clincher, certainly, as one would imagine; but the ghost jumps over -the horns of the fancied dilemma, by saying that he is not at liberty to -state where he comes from.<a name="page_428" id="page_428"></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘<i>Ghost.</i> Where visions rest, or souls imprisoned dwell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Heaven’s command, we are forbid to tell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But in the obscure grave—where corpse decay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moulder in dust and putrify away,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No rest is there; for the immortal soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Takes its full flight and flutters round the pole;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sometimes I hover over the Euxine sea—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From pole to sphere, until the judgment day—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the Thracian Bosphorus do I float,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pass the Stygian lake in Charon’s boat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er Vulcan’s fiery court and sulph’rous cave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ride like Neptune on a briny wave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">List to the blowing noise of Etna’s flames,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And court the shades of Amazonian dames;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then take my flight up to the gloomy moon:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus do I wander till the day of doom.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proceed I dare not, or I would unfold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A horrid tale would make your blood run cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chill all your nerves and sinews in a thrice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like whispering rivulets congealed to ice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Sir Char.</i> Ere you depart me, ghost, I here demand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’d let me know your last divine command!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The ghost says that the young man must die in the battle; that it will -go ill for him if he die in the wrong cause; and, therefore, that he had -best go over to the Protestants—which poor Sir Charles (not without -many sighs for Jemima) consents to do. He goes off then, saying—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘I’ll join my countrymen, and yet proclaim<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Nassau’s great title to the <i>crimson plain</i>.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>In Act V., that desertion turns the fate of the day. Sarsfield enters -with his sword drawn, and acknowledges his fate. ‘Aughrim,’ exclaims -Lord Lucan,</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Aughrim is now no more, St. Ruth is dead,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">And all his guards are from the battle fled.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">As he rode down the hill he met his fall,<br /></span> -<span class="ist"><i>And died a victim to a cannon ball</i>.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">And he bids the Frenchman’s body to</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">‘——lie like Pompey in his gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose hero’s blood encircles the Egyptian shore.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>‘Four hundred Irish prisoners we have got,’ exclaims an English General, -‘and seven thousand lyeth on the spot.’ In fact, they are entirely -discomfited, and retreat off the stage altogether; while, in the moment -of victory, poor Sir Charles Godfrey enters, wounded to death, according -to the old gentleman’s prophecy. He is racked by bitter remorse; he -tells his love of his treachery, and declares<a name="page_429" id="page_429"></a> ‘no crocodile was ever -more unjust.’ His agony increases, the ‘optic nerves grow dim and lose -their sight, and all his veins are now exhausted quite;’ and he dies in -the arms of his Jemima, who stabs herself in the usual way.</p> - -<p>And so every one being disposed of, the drums and trumpets give a great -peal, the audience huzzas, and the curtain falls on Ginckle and his -friends exclaiming—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘May all the gods th’ auspicious evening bless,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Who crowns Great Britain’s <i>arrums</i> with success!’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">And questioning the prosody, what Englishman will not join in the -sentiment?</p> - -<p>In the interlude the band (the pipe) performs a favourite air. Jack the -waiter and candle-snuffer looks to see that all is ready: and after the -dire business of the tragedy, comes in to sprinkle the stage with water -(and perhaps a little whisky in it). Thus all things being arranged, the -audience takes its seat again, and the afterpiece begins.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Two of the little yellow volumes purchased at Ennis are entitled <i>The -Irish and the Hibernian Tales</i>. The former are modern, and the latter of -an ancient sort; and so great is the superiority of the old stories over -the new, in fancy, dramatic interest, and humour, that one can’t help -fancying Hibernia must have been a very superior country to Ireland.</p> - -<p>These Hibernian novels, too, are evidently intended for the Hedge-School -universities. They have the old tricks and some of the old plots that -one has read in many popular legends of almost all countries, European -and Eastern: successful cunning is the great virtue applauded; and the -heroes pass through a thousand wild extravagant dangers, such as could -only have been invented when art was young and faith was large. And as -the honest old author of the tales says, ‘they are suited to the meanest -as well as the highest capacity, tending both to improve the fancy and -enrich the mind,’ let us conclude the night’s entertainment by reading -one or two of them, and reposing after the doleful tragedy which has -been represented. The ‘Black Thief’ is worthy of the <i>Arabian Nights</i>, I -think,—as wild and odd as an Eastern tale.</p> - -<p>It begins, as usual, with a king and a queen who lived once on a time in -the south of Ireland, and had three sons: but the queen being on her -death-bed, and fancying her husband might marry again, and unwilling -that her children should be under the jurisdiction of any other woman, -besought his majesty to place<a name="page_430" id="page_430"></a> them in a tower at her death, and keep -them there safe until the young princes should come of age.</p> - -<p>The queen dies: the king of course marries again, and the new queen, who -bears a son too, hates the offspring of the former marriage, and looks -about for means to destroy them.</p> - -<p>‘At length the queen, <i>having got some business with the hen-wife</i>, went -herself to her, and after a long conference passed, was taking leave of -her, when the hen-wife prayed that if ever she should come back to her -again she might break her neck. The queen, greatly incensed at such a -daring insult from one of her meanest subjects, to make such a prayer on -her, demanded immediately the reason, or she would have her put to -death. “It was worth your while, madam,” says the hen-wife, “to pay me -well for it, for the reason I prayed so on you concerns you much.” “What -must I pay you?” asked the queen. “You must give me,” says she, “the -full of a pack of wool: and I have an ancient crock which you must fill -with butter; likewise a barrel which you must fill for me full of -wheat.” “How much wool will it take to the pack?” says the queen. “It -will take seven herds of sheep,” said she, “and their increase for seven -years.” “How much butter will it take to fill your crock?” “Seven -dairies,” said she, “and the increase for seven years.” “And how much -will it take to fill the barrel you have?” says the queen. “It will take -the increase of seven barrels of wheat for seven years.” “That is a -great quantity,” says the queen, “but the reason must be extraordinary, -and before I want it, I will give you all you demand.”’</p> - -<p>The hen-wife acquaints the queen with the existence of the three sons, -and giving her majesty an enchanted pack of cards, bids her to get the -young men to play with her with these cards, and on their losing, to -inflict upon them such a task as must infallibly end in their ruin. All -young princes are set upon such tasks, and it is a sort of opening of -the pantomime, before the tricks and activity begin. The queen went -home, and ‘got speaking’ to the king ‘in regard of his children, and -<i>she broke it off</i> to him in a very polite and engaging manner, so that -he could see no muster or design in it.’ The king agreed to bring his -sons to court, and at night, when the royal party ‘began to sport, and -play at all kinds of diversions,’ the queen cunningly challenged the -three princes to play cards. They lose, and she sends them in -consequence to bring her back the Knight of the Glen’s wild steed of -bells.</p> - -<p>On their road (as wandering young princes, Indian or Irish, always do) -they meet with the Black Thief of Sloan, who tells them what they must -do. But they are caught in the attempt,<a name="page_431" id="page_431"></a> and brought ‘into that dismal -part of the palace where the Knight kept a furnace always boiling, in -which he threw all offenders that ever came in his way, which in a few -minutes would entirely consume them. “Audacious villains!” says the -Knight of the Glen, “how dare you attempt so bold an action as to steal -my steed? See now the reward of your folly: for your greater punishment, -I will not boil you all together, but one after the other, so that he -that survives may witness the dire afflictions of his unfortunate -companions.” So saying, he ordered his servants to stir up the fire. “We -will boil the eldest-looking of these young men first,” says he, “and so -on to the last, which will be this <i>old champion</i> with the black cap. He -seems to be the captain, and looks as if he had come through many -toils.”—I was as near death once as this prince is yet,” says the -Black Thief, “and escaped: and so will he too.” “No, you never were,” -said the Knight, “for he is within two or three minutes of his latter -end.” “But,” says the Black Thief, “I was within one moment of my death, -and I am here yet.” “How was that?” says the Knight. “I would be glad to -hear it, for it seems to be impossible.” “If you think, Sir Knight,” -says the Black Thief, “that the danger I was in surpassed that of this -young man, will you pardon him his crime?” “I will,” says the Knight, -“so go on with your story.”</p> - -<p>‘“I was, sir,” says he, “a very wild boy in my youth, and came through -many distresses; once in particular, as I was on my rambling, I was -benighted, and could find no lodging. At length I came to an old kiln, -and being much fatigued, I went up and lay on the ribs. I had not been -long there, when I saw three witches coming in with three bags of gold. -Each put their bags of gold under their heads, as if to sleep. I heard -the one say to the other, that if the Black Thief came on them while -they slept, he would not leave them a penny. I found by their discourse -that everybody had got my name into their mouth, though I kept silent as -death during their discourse. At length they fell fast asleep, and then -I stole softly down, and seeing some turf <i>convenient</i>, I placed one -under each of their heads, and off I went with their gold, as fast as I -could.</p> - -<p>‘“I had not gone far,” continued the Thief of Sloan, “until I saw a -greyhound, a hare, and a hawk in pursuit of me, and began to think it -must be the witches that had taken that metamorphose, in order that I -might not escape them unseen either by land or water. Seeing they did -not appear in any formidable shape, I was more than once resolved to -attack them, thinking that with my broadsword I could easily destroy -them. But considering<a name="page_432" id="page_432"></a> again that it was perhaps still in their power to -become so, I gave over the attempt, and climbed with difficulty up a -tree, bringing my sword in my hand, and all the gold along with me. -However, when they came to the tree they found what I had done, and, -making further use of their hellish art, one of them was changed into a -smith’s anvil, and another into a piece of iron, of which the third one -soon made a hatchet. Having the hatchet made, she fell to cutting down -the tree, and in course of an hour it began to shake with me.”’</p> - -<p>This is very good and original. The ‘boiling’ is in the first -fee-faw-fum style, and the old allusion to ‘the old champion in the -black cap’ has the real Ogresque humour. Nor is that simple contrivance -of the honest witches without its charm; for if, instead of wasting -their time, the one in turning herself into an anvil, the other into a -piece of iron, and so hammering out a hatchet at considerable labour and -expense—if either of them had turned herself into a hatchet at once, -they might have chopped down the Black Thief before cock-crow, when they -were obliged to fly off, and leave him in possession of the bags of -gold.</p> - -<p>The eldest prince is ransomed by the Knight of the Glen, in consequence -of this story; and the second prince escapes on account of the merit of -a second story; but the great story of all is of course reserved for the -youngest prince.</p> - -<p>‘I was one day on my travels,’ says the Black Thief, ‘and I came into a -large forest, where I wandered a long time, and could not get out of it. -At length I came to a large castle, and fatigue obliged me to call in -the same, where I found a young woman, and a child sitting on her knee, -and she crying. I asked her what made her cry, and where the lord of the -castle was, for I wondered greatly that I saw no stir of servants, or -any person about the place. “It is well for you,” says the young woman, -“that the lord of this castle is not at home at present; for he is a -monstrous giant, with but one eye on his forehead, who lives on human -flesh. He brought me this child,” says she—I do not know where he got -it—and ordered me to make it into a pie, and I cannot help crying at -the command.” I told her that if she knew of any place convenient, that -I could leave the child safely, I would do it, rather than that it -should be buried in the bowels of such a monster. She told of a house a -distance off, where I would get a woman who would take care of it. “But -what will I do in regard of the pie?” “Cut a finger off it,” said I, -“and I will bring you in a young wild pig out of the forest, which you -may dress as if it was the child, and put the finger in a certain place, -that if the giant doubts anything about it, you may know where to turn -it<a name="page_433" id="page_433"></a> over at first, and when he sees it he will be fully satisfied that -it is made of the child.” She agreed to the plan I proposed; and, -cutting off the child’s finger, by her direction, I soon had it at the -house she told me of, and brought her the little pig in the place of it. -She then made ready the pie; and, after eating and drinking heartily -myself, I was just taking my leave of the young woman when we observed -the giant coming through the castle gates. “Lord bless me!” said she, -“what will you do now? Run away and lie down among the dead bodies that -he has in the room” (showing me the place); “and strip off your clothes -that he may not know you from the rest if he has occasion to go that -way.” I took her advice, and laid myself down among the rest, as if -dead, to see how he would behave. The first thing I heard was him -calling for his pie. When she set it down before him, he swore it smelt -like swine’s flesh; but, knowing where to find the finger, she -immediately turned it up, which fairly convinced him of the contrary. -The pie only served to sharpen his appetite, and I heard him sharpen his -knife, and saying he must have a collop or two, for he was not near -satisfied. But what was my terror when I heard the giant groping among -the bodies, and, fancying myself, cut the half of my hip off, and took -it with him to be roasted. You may be certain I was in great pain; but -the fear of being killed prevented me from making any complaint. -However, when he had eat all, he began to drink hot liquors in great -abundance, so that in a short time he could not hold up his head, but -threw himself on a large creel he had made for the purpose, and fell -fast asleep. <i>Whenever</i> I heard him snoring, bad as I was, I went up and -caused the woman to bind my wound with an handkerchief; and taking the -giant’s spit, I reddened it in the fire, and ran it through the eye, but -was not able to kill him. However, I left the spit sticking in his head, -and took to my heels; but I soon found he was in pursuit of me, although -blind; and, having an enchanted ring, he threw it at me, and it fell on -my big toe and remained fastened to it. The giant then called to the -ring, where it was, and to my great surprise it made him answer on my -foot; and he, guided by the same, made a leap at me, which I had the -good luck to observe, and fortunately escaped the danger. However, I -found running was of no use in saving me as long as I had the ring on my -foot; so I took my sword and cut off the toe it was fastened on, and -threw both into a large fish-pond that was convenient. The giant called -again to the ring, which, by the power of enchantment, always made -answer; but he, not knowing what I had done, imagined it was still on -some part of me, and made a violent leap to seize me, when he went into -the<a name="page_434" id="page_434"></a> pond, over head and ears, and was drowned. “Now, Sir Knight,” says -the Thief of Sloan, “you see what dangers I came through and always -escaped; but, indeed, I am lame for want of my toe ever since.”’</p> - -<p>And now remains but one question to be answered, viz. How is the Black -Thief himself to come off? This difficulty is solved in a very dramatic -way, and with a sudden turn in the narrative that is very wild and -curious.</p> - -<p>‘My lord and master,’ says an old woman that was listening all the time, -‘that story is but too true, as I well know, <i>for I am the very woman -that was in the giant’s castle, and you, my lord, the child that I was -to make into a pie</i>, and this is the very man that saved your life, -which you may know by the want of your finger that was taken off, as you -have heard, to deceive the giant.’</p> - -<p>That fantastical way of bearing testimony to the previous tale, by -producing an old woman who says the tale is not only true, but she was -the very old woman who lived in the giant’s castle, is almost a stroke -of genius. It is fine to think that the simple chronicler found it -necessary to have a proof for his story, and he was no doubt perfectly -contented with the proof found.</p> - -<p>‘The Knight of the Glen, greatly surprised at what he had heard the old -woman tell, and knowing he wanted his finger from his childhood, began -to understand that the story was true enough. “And is this my dear -deliverer?” says he. “O brave fellow, I not only pardon you all, but I -will keep you with myself while you live; where you shall feast like -princes, and have every attendance that I have myself.” They all -returned thanks on their knees, and the Black Thief told him the reason -they attempted to steal the steed of Bells, and the necessity they were -under in going home. “Well,” says the Knight of the Glen, “if that’s the -case, I bestow you my steed rather than this brave fellow should die; so -you may go when you please; only remember to call and see me betimes, -that we may know each other well.” They promised they would, and with -great joy they set off for the King their father’s palace, and the Black -Thief along with them. The wicked Queen was standing all this time on -the tower, and, hearing the bells ringing at a great distance off, knew -very well it was the Princes coming home, and the steed with them, and -through spite and vexation precipitated herself from the tower, and was -shattered to pieces. The three Princes lived happy and well during their -father’s reign, always keeping the Black Thief along with them; but how -they did after the old King’s death is not known.’</p> - -<p>Then we come upon a story that exists in many a European language, of -the man cheating Death; then to the history of the<a name="page_435" id="page_435"></a> Apprentice Thief, -who of course cheated his masters; which, too, is an old tale, and may -have been told very likely among those Phœnicians who were the -fathers of the Hibernians for whom these tales were devised. A very -curious tale is there, concerning Manus O’Malaghan and the fairies:—‘In -the parish of Ahoghill lived Manus O’Malaghan. <i>As he was searching for -a calf that had strayed</i>, he heard many people talking. Drawing near, he -distinctly heard them repeating, one after the other, “Get me a horse, -get me a horse”; and “Get me a horse too,” says Manus. Manus was -instantly mounted on a steed surrounded with a vast crowd, who galloped -off, taking poor Manus with them. In a short time they suddenly stopped -in a large wide street, asking Manus if he knew where he was? “Faith,” -says he, “I do not.” “You are <i>in Spain</i>,” said they.’</p> - -<p>Here we have again the wild mixture of the positive and the fanciful. -The chronicler is careful to tell us why Manus went out searching for a -calf, and this positiveness prodigiously increases the reader’s wonder -at the subsequent events. And the question and answer of the mysterious -horsemen is fine: ‘Don’t you know where you are? <i>In Spain.</i>’ A vague -solution, such as one has of occurrences in dreams sometimes.</p> - -<p>The history of Robin the Blacksmith is full of these strange flights of -poetry. He is followed about ‘by a little boy in a green jacket,’ who -performs the most wondrous feats of the blacksmith’s art, as follows:—</p> - -<p>‘Robin was asked to do something, who wisely shifted it, saying he would -be very sorry not to give the honour of the first trick to his -lordship’s smith; at which he was called forth to the bellows. When the -fire was well kindled, to the great surprise of all present he blew a -great shower of wheat out of the fire, which fell through all the shop. -They then demanded of Robin to try what he could do. “Pho!” said Robin, -as if he thought nothing of what was done. “Come,” said he to the boy, -“I think I showed you something like that.” The boy goes then to the -bellows and blew out a great flock of pigeons, who soon devoured all the -grain, and then disappeared.</p> - -<p>‘The Dublin smith, sorely vexed that such a boy as him should outdo him, -goes a second time to the bellows, and blew a fine trout out of the -hearth, who jumped into a little river that was running by the shop -door, and was seen no more at that time.</p> - -<p>‘Robin then said to the boy, “Come, you must bring us yon trout back -again, to let the gentlemen see we can do something.” Away the boy goes, -and blew a large otter out of the hearth, who immediately leaped into -the river, and in a short time returned<a name="page_436" id="page_436"></a> with it in his mouth, and then -disappeared. All present allowed that it was a folly to attempt a -competition any further.’</p> - -<p>The boy in the green jacket was one ‘of a kind of small beings called -Fairies’; and not a little does it add to the charm of these wild tales -to feel, as one reads them, that the writer must have believed in his -heart a great deal of what he told. You see the tremor, as it were, and -a wild look of the eyes, as the story-teller sits in his nook, and -recites, and peers wistfully round, lest the beings he talks of be -really at hand.</p> - -<p>Let us give a couple of the little tales entire. They are not so -fanciful as those before mentioned, but of the comic sort, and suited to -the first kind of capacity mentioned by the author in his preface.</p> - -<p class="c"><span class="eng">Donald and his Neighbors</span></p> - -<p class="nind">‘H<small>UDDEN</small> and Dudden, and Donald O’Neary, were near neighbours in the -barony of Ballinconlig, and ploughed with three bullocks; but the two -former, envying the present prosperity of the latter, determined to kill -his bullock, to prevent his farm being properly cultivated and laboured, -that, going back in the world, he might be induced to sell his lands, -which they meant to get possession of. Poor Donald, finding his bullock -killed, immediately skinned it, and throwing his skin over his shoulder, -with the fleshy side out, set off to the next town with it, to dispose -of it to the best advantage. Going along the road a magpie flew on the -top of the hide, and began picking it, chattering all the time. This -bird had been taught to speak and imitate the human voice, and Donald, -thinking he understood some words it was saying, put round his hand and -caught hold of it. Having got possession of it, he put it under his -greatcoat, and so went on to the town. Having sold the hide, he went -into an inn to take a dram; and, following the landlady into the cellar, -he gave the bird a squeeze, which caused it to chatter some broken -accents that surprised her very much. “What is that I hear?” said she to -Donald: “I think it is talk, and yet I do not understand.” “Indeed,” -said Donald, “it is a bird I have that tells me everything, and I always -carry it with me to know when there is any danger. Faith,” says he, “it -says you have far better liquor than you are giving me.” “That is -strange,” said she, going to another cask of better quality, and asking -him if he would sell the bird. “I will,” said Donald, “if I get enough -for it.” “I will fill your hat with silver if you leave it with me.” -Donald was glad to hear the news, and, taking the silver, set off, -rejoicing at his good luck. He had not been long<a name="page_437" id="page_437"></a> home when he met with -Hudden and Dudden. “Ha!” said he, “you thought you did me a bad turn, -but you could not have done me a better; for, look here, what I have got -for the hide,” showing them the hatful of silver. “You never saw such a -demand for hides in your life as there is at present.” Hudden and Dudden -that very night killed their bullocks, and set out the next morning to -sell their hides. On coming to the place they went through all the -merchants, but could only get a trifle for them. At last they had to -take what they could get, and came home in a great rage, and vowing -revenge on poor Donald. He had a pretty good guess how matters would -turn out; and his bed being under the kitchen window, he was afraid they -would rob him, or perhaps kill him when asleep; and on that account, -when he was going to bed, he left his old mother in his bed, and lay -down in her place, which was in the other side of the house; and, taking -the old woman for Donald, choked her in the bed; but he making some -noise, they had to retreat, and leave the money behind them, which -grieved them very much. However, by daybreak, Donald got his mother on -his back, and carried her to town. Stopping at a well, he fixed his -mother, with her staff, as if she was stooping for a drink, and then -went into a public-house convenient, and called for a dram. “I wish,” -said he to a woman that stood near him, “you would tell my mother to -come in; she is at yon well trying to get a drink, and she is hard in -hearing; if she does not observe you, give her a little shake, and tell -her that I want her.” The woman called her several times, but she seemed -to take no notice: at length she went to her and shook her by the arm; -but when she let her go again, she tumbled on her head into the well, -and, as the woman thought, was drowned. She, in great fear and surprise -at the accident, told Donald what had happened. “O, mercy,” said he, -“what is this?” He ran and pulled her out of the well, weeping and -lamenting all the time, and acting in such a manner that you would -imagine that he had lost his senses. The woman, on the other hand, was -far worse than Donald; for his grief was only feigned, but she imagined -herself to be the cause of the old woman’s death. The inhabitants of the -town, hearing what had happened, agreed to make Donald up a good sum of -money for his loss, as the accident happened in their place; and Donald -brought a greater sum home with him than he got for the magpie. They -buried Donald’s mother; and as soon as he saw Hudden and Dudden, he -showed them the last purse of money he had got. “You thought to kill me -last night,” said he, “but it was good for me it happened on my mother, -for I got all that purse for her, to make gunpowder.<a name="page_438" id="page_438"></a>”</p> - -<p>‘That very night Hudden and Dudden killed their mothers, and the next -morning set off with them to town. On coming to the town with their -burthen on their backs, they went up and down crying, “Who will buy old -wives for gunpowder?” so that every one laughed at them, and the boys at -last clodded them out of the place. They then saw the cheat, and, vowing -revenge on Donald, buried the old women, and set off in pursuit of him. -Coming to his house, they found him sitting at his breakfast, and -seizing him, put him in a sack, and went to drown him in a river at some -distance. As they were going along the highway, they raised a hare, -which they saw had but three feet, and, throwing off the sack, ran after -her, thinking by appearance she would be easily taken. In their absence -there came a drover that way, and hearing Donald singing in the sack, -wondered greatly what could be the matter. “What is the reason,” said -he, “that you are singing, and you confined?” “Oh, I am going to -heaven,” said Donald; “and in a short time I expect to be free from -trouble.” “Oh dear,” said the drover, “what will I give you if you let -me to your place?” “Indeed I do not know,” said he; “it would take a -good sum.” “I have not much money,” said the drover, “but I have twenty -head of fine cattle, which I will give you to exchange places with me.” -“Well, well,” says Donald, “I don’t care if I should; loose the sack and -I will come out.” In a moment the drover liberated him, and went into -the sack himself; and Donald drove home the fine heifers and left them -in his pasture.</p> - -<p>‘Hudden and Dudden having caught the hare, returned, and getting the -sack on one of their backs, carried Donald, as they thought, to the -river, and threw him in, where he immediately sunk. They then marched -home, intending to take immediate possession of Donald’s property; but -how great was their surprise, when they found him safe at home before -them, with such a fine herd of cattle, whereas they knew he had none -before. “Donald,” said they, “what is all this? We thought you were -drowned, and yet you are here before us?” “Ah!” said he, “if I had but -help along with me when you threw me in, it would have been the best job -ever I met with, for of all the sight of cattle and gold that ever was -seen, is there, and no one to own them; but I was not able to manage -more than what you see, and I could show you the spot where you might -get hundreds.” They both swore they would be his friend, and Donald -accordingly led them to a very deep part of the river, and lifting up a -stone, “Now,” said he, “watch this,” throwing it into the stream. “There -is the very place, and go in one of you first, and if you want help, you -have nothing to do but call.” Hudden jumping in, and sinking<a name="page_439" id="page_439"></a> to the -bottom, rose up again, and making a bubbling noise as those do that are -drowning, attempting to speak, but could not. “What is that he is saying -now?” says Dudden. “Faith,” says Donald, “he is calling for help—don’t -you hear him? Stand about,” said he, running back, “till I leap in; I -know how to do better than any of you.” Dudden, to have the advantage of -him, jumped in off the bank, and was drowned along with Hudden. And this -was the end of Hudden and Dudden.’</p> - -<p class="c"><span class="eng">The Spaeman</span></p> - -<p class="nind">‘A <small>POOR</small> man in the North of Ireland was under the necessity of selling -his cow, to help to support his family. Having sold his cow, he went -into an inn, and called for some liquor. Having drank pretty heartily, -he fell asleep, and when he awoke he found he had been robbed of his -money. Poor Roger was at a loss to know how to act; and, as is often the -case, when the landlord found that his money was gone, he turned him out -of doors. The night was extremely dark, and the poor man was compelled -to take up his lodgings in an old uninhabited house at the end of the -town.</p> - -<p>‘Roger had not remained long here until he was surprised by the noise of -three men, whom he observed making a hole, and, depositing something -therein, closed it carefully up again, and then went away. The next -morning, as Roger was walking towards the town, he heard that a cloth -shop had been robbed to a great amount, and that a reward of thirty -pounds was offered to any person who could discover the thieves. This -was joyful news to Roger, who recollected what he had been witness to -the night before. He accordingly went to the shop, and told the -gentleman that for the reward he would recover the goods, and secure the -robbers, provided he got six stout men to attend him. All which was -thankfully granted him.</p> - -<p>‘At night Roger and his men concealed themselves in the old house, and -in a short time after the robbers came to the spot for the purpose of -removing their booty; but they were instantly seized and carried into -the town, prisoners, with the goods. Roger received the reward and -returned home, well satisfied with his good luck. Not many days after, -it was noised over the country that this robbery was discovered by the -help of one of the best Spaemen to be found, insomuch that it reached -the ears of a worthy gentleman of the county of Derry, who made strict -inquiry to find him out. Having at length discovered his abode, he sent<a name="page_440" id="page_440"></a> -for Roger, and told him he was every day losing some valuable article, -and, as he was famed for discovering lost things, if he could find out -the same he should be handsomely rewarded. Poor Roger was put to a -stand, not knowing what answer to make, as he had not the smallest -knowledge of the like. But recovering himself a little, he resolved to -humour the joke; and, thinking he would make a good dinner and some -drink of it, told the gentleman he would try what he could do, but that -he must have a room to himself for three hours, during which time he -must have three bottles of strong ale and his dinner. All which the -gentleman told him he should have. No sooner was it made known that the -Spaeman was in the house than the servants were all in confusion, -wishing to know what would be said.</p> - -<p>‘As soon as Roger had taken his dinner, he was shown into an elegant -room, where the gentleman sent him a quart of ale by the butler. No -sooner had he set down the ale than Roger said, “There comes one of -them”; intimating the bargain he had made with the gentleman for the -three quarts, which the butler took in a wrong light, and imagined it -was himself. He went away in great confusion, and told his wife. “Poor -fool,” said she, “the fear makes you think it is you he means; but I -will attend in your place, and hear what he will say to me.” Accordingly -she carried the second quart; but no sooner had she opened the door than -Roger cried, “There comes two of them.” The woman, no less surprised -than her husband, told him the Spaeman knew her too. “And what will we -do?” said he; “we will be hanged.” “I will tell you what we must do,” -said she: “we must send the groom the next time, and if he is known, we -must offer him a good sum not to discover on us.” The butler went to -William and told him the whole story, and that he must go next to see -what he would say to him, telling him at the same time what to do, in -case he was known also. When the hour was expired, William was sent with -the third quart of ale, which, when Roger observed, he cried out, “There -is the third and last of them”; at which he changed colour, and told him -“that if he would not discover on them, they would show him where they -were all concealed, and give him five pounds besides.” Roger, not a -little surprised at the discovery he had made, told him “if he recovered -the goods, he would follow them no further.”</p> - -<p>‘By this time the gentleman called Roger to know how he had succeeded. -He told him “he could find the goods, but that the thief was gone.” “I -will be well satisfied,” said he, “with the goods, for some of them are -very valuable.” “Let the butler come along with me, and the whole shall -be recovered.” He accord<a name="page_441" id="page_441"></a>ingly conducted Roger to the back of the -stables, where the articles were concealed—such as silver cups, spoons, -bowls, knives, forks, and a variety of other articles of great value.</p> - -<p>‘When the supposed Spaeman brought back the stolen goods, the gentleman -was so highly pleased with Roger, that he insisted on his remaining with -him always, as he supposed he would be perfectly safe as long as he was -about his house. Roger gladly embraced the offer, and in a few days took -possession of a piece of land, which the gentleman had given to him in -consideration of his great abilities.</p> - -<p>‘Some time after this, the gentleman was relating to a large company the -discovery Roger had made, and that he could tell anything. One of the -gentlemen said he would dress a dish of meat, and bet for fifty pounds -that he could not tell what was in it, and he would allow him to taste -it. The bet being taken and the dish dressed, the gentleman sent for -Roger, and told the bet that was depending on him. Poor Roger did not -know what to do; at last he consented to the trial. The dish being -produced, he tasted it, but could not tell what it was. At last, seeing -he was fairly beat, he said, “Gentlemen, it is folly to talk: the fox -may run awhile, but he is caught at last”—allowing with himself that he -was found out. The gentleman that had made the bet then confessed that -it was a fox he had dressed in the dish; at which they all shouted out -in favour of the Spaeman—particularly his master, who had more -confidence in him than ever.</p> - -<p>‘Roger then went home, and so famous did he become, that no one dared -take anything but what belonged to them, fearing that the Spaeman would -discover on them.’</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>And so we shut up the Hedge-School Library, and close the Galway Nights’ -Entertainments. They are not quite so genteel as Almack’s, to be sure; -but many a lady who has her opera-box in London has listened to a piper -in Ireland.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 74px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p441_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p441_sml.jpg" width="74" height="86" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p><i>Apropos</i> of pipers: here is a young one that I caught and copied -to-day. He was paddling in the mud, shining in the sun careless of his -rays, and playing his little tin-music as happy as Mr. Cooke with his -oboe.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the above verses and tales are not unlike my little Galway -musician. They are grotesque and rugged; but they are pretty and -innocent-hearted too; and as<a name="page_442" id="page_442"></a> such, polite persons may deign to look at -them for once in a way. While we have Signor Costa in a white neckcloth, -ordering opera-bands to play for us the music of Donizetti, which is not -only sublime but genteel; of course such poor little operatives as he -who plays the wind-instrument yonder, cannot expect to be heard often; -but is not this Galway? and how far is Galway from the Haymarket?</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /><br /> -<small>FROM GALWAY TO BALLYNAHINCH</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> Clifden car, which carries the Dublin letters into the heart of -Connemara, conducts the passenger over one of the most wild and -beautiful districts that it is ever the fortune of a traveller to -examine; and I could not help thinking, as we passed through it, at how -much pains and expense honest English Cockneys are, to go and look after -natural beauties far inferior, in countries which, though more distant, -are not a whit more strange than this one. No doubt, ere long, when -people know how easy the task is, the rush of London tourism will come -this way; and I shall be very happy if these pages shall be able to -awaken in one bosom, beating in Tooley Street or the Temple, the desire -to travel towards Ireland next year.</p> - -<p>After leaving the quaint old town behind us, and ascending one or two -small eminences to the north-westward, the traveller, from the car, gets -a view of the wide sheet of Lough Corrib shining in the sun, as we saw -it, with its low dark banks stretching round it. If the view is gloomy, -at least it is characteristic; nor are we delayed by it very long; for -though the lake stretches northwards into the very midst of the Joyce -country (and is there in the close neighbourhood of another huge lake, -Lough Mask, which again is near to another sheet of water), yet from -this road henceforth, after keeping company with it for some five miles, -we only get occasional views of it, passing over hills and through -trees, by many rivers and smaller lakes, which are dependent upon that -of Corrib. Gentlemen’s seats, on the road from Galway to Moycullen, are -scattered in great profusion—perhaps there is grass growing on the -gravel walk, and the iron gates of the tumble-down old lodges are rather -rickety; but for all that, the places look comfortable, hospitable, and -spacious; and as for the shabbiness and want of finish here and there, -the<a name="page_443" id="page_443"></a> English eye grows quite accustomed to it in a month; and I find the -bad condition of the Galway houses by no means so painful as that of the -places near Dublin. At some of the lodges, as we pass, the mail-carman, -with a warning shout, flings a bag of letters. I saw a little party -looking at one which lay there in the road, crying, Come, take me! but -nobody cares to steal a bag of letters in this country, I suppose, and -the carman drove on without any alarm. Two days afterwards, a gentleman -with whom I was in company left on a rock his book of fishing-flies; and -I can assure you there was a very different feeling expressed about the -safety of <i>that</i>.</p> - -<p>In the first part of the journey, the neighbourhood of the road seemed -to be as populous as in other parts of the country,—troops of -red-petticoated peasantry peering from their stone-cabins,—yelling -children following the car, and crying, ‘Lash, lash!’ It was Sunday, and -you would see many a white chapel among the green bare plains to the -right of the road, the courtyard blackened with a swarm of cloaks. The -service seems to continue (on the part of the people) all day. Troops of -people, issuing from the chapel, met us at Moycullen, and ten miles -farther on, at Oughterard, their devotions did not yet seem to be -concluded.</p> - -<p>A more beautiful village can scarcely be seen than this. It stands upon -Lough Corrib, the banks of which are here, for once at least, -picturesque and romantic; and a pretty river, the Feogh, comes rushing -over rocks and by woods, until it passes the town and meets the lake. -Some pretty buildings in the village stand on each bank of this stream, -a Roman Catholic chapel with a curate’s neat lodge, a little church, on -one side of it; a fine court-house of grey stone on the other. And here -it is that we get into the famous district of Connemara, so celebrated -in Irish stories, so mysterious to the London tourist. ‘It presents -itself,’ says the Guide-book, ‘under every possible combination of -heathy moor, bog, lake, and mountain. Extensive mossy plains, and wild -pastoral valleys, lie embosomed among the mountains, and support -numerous herds of cattle and horses, for which the district has been -long celebrated. These wild solitudes, which occupy by far the greater -part of the centre of the country, are held by a hardy and ancient race -of grazing farmers, who live in a very primitive state, and, generally -speaking, till little beyond what supplies their immediate wants. For -the first ten miles the country is comparatively open; and the mountains -on the left, which are not of great elevation, can be distinctly traced -as they rise along the edge of the heathy plain.<a name="page_444" id="page_444"></a></p> - -<p>‘Our road continues along the Feogh River, which expands itself into -several considerable lakes, and at five miles from Oughterard we reach -Lough Bofin, which the road also skirts. Passing in succession -Lough-a-preaghan, the lakes of Anderran and Shindella, at ten miles from -Oughterard we reach Slyme and Lynn’s Inn, or Halfway House, which is -near the shore of Loughonard. Now, as we advance towards the group of -Binabola, or the Twelve Pins, the most gigantic scenery is displayed.’</p> - -<p>But the best guide-book that ever was written cannot set the view before -the mind’s eye of the reader, and I won’t attempt to pile up big words -in place of these wild mountains, over which the clouds as they passed, -or the sunshine as it went and came, cast every variety of tint, light, -and shadow; nor can it be expected that long, level sentences, however -smooth and shining, can be made to pass as representations of those calm -lakes by which we took our way. All one can do is to lay down the pen -and ruminate, and cry ‘Beautiful!’ once more; and to the reader say, -‘Come and see!’</p> - -<p>Wild and wide as the prospect around us is, it has somehow a kindly, -friendly look, differing in this from the fierce loneliness of some -similar scenes in Wales that I have viewed. Ragged women and children -come out of rude stone-huts to see the car as it passes. But it is -impossible for the pencil to give due raggedness to the rags, or to -convey a certain picturesque mellowness of colour that the garments -assume. The sexes, with regard to raiment, do not seem to be particular. -There were many boys on the road in the national red petticoat, having -no other covering for their lean, brown legs. As for shoes, the women -eschew them almost entirely; and I saw a peasant trudging from mass, in -a handsome scarlet cloak, a fine blue cloth gown, turned up to show a -new lining of the same colour, and a petticoat quite white and neat, in -a dress of which the cost must have been at least £10; and her husband -walked in front carrying her shoes and stockings.</p> - -<p>The road had conducted us for miles through the vast property of the -gentleman to whose house I was bound, Mr. Martin, the Member for the -county; and the last and prettiest part of the journey was round the -Lake of Ballynahinch, with tall mountains rising immediately above us on -the right, pleasant woody hills on the opposite side of the lake, with -the roofs of the houses rising above the trees; and in an island in the -midst of the water a ruined old castle, that cast a long, white -reflection into the blue waters where it lay. A land-pirate used to live -in that castle, one of the peasants told me, in the time of ‘Oliver -Cromwell.’ And a<a name="page_445" id="page_445"></a> fine fastness it was for a robber, truly; for there -was no road through these wild countries in his time—nay, only thirty -years since, this lake was at three days’ distance of Galway. Then comes -the question, What, in a country where there were no roads and no -travellers, and where the inhabitants have been wretchedly poor from -time immemorial,—what was there for the land-pirate to rob? But let us -not be too curious about times so early as those of Oliver Cromwell. I -have heard the name many times from the Irish peasant, who still has an -awe of the grim, resolute Protector.</p> - -<p>The builder of Ballynahinch House has placed it to command a view of a -pretty, melancholy river that runs by it, through many green flats and -picturesque rocky grounds; but from the lake it is scarcely visible. And -so, in like manner, I fear it must remain invisible to the reader too, -with all its kind inmates, and frank, cordial hospitality, unless he may -take a fancy to visit Galway himself, when, as I can vouch, a very small -pretext will make him enjoy both.</p> - -<p>It will, however, be only a small breach of confidence to say, that the -major-domo of the establishment (who has adopted accurately the voice -and manner of his master, with a severe dignity of his own, which is -quite original) ordered me on going to bed ‘not to move in the morning -till he called me,’ at the same time expressing a hearty hope that I -should ‘want nothing more that evening.’ Who would dare, after such -peremptory orders, not to fall asleep immediately, and in this way -disturb the repose of Mr. J—n M—ll—y!</p> - -<p>There may be many comparisons drawn between English and Irish -gentlemen’s houses; but perhaps the most striking point of difference -between the two is the immense following of the Irish house, such as -would make an English housekeeper crazy almost. Three comfortable, -well-clothed, good-humoured fellows walked down with me from the car, -persisting in carrying—one a bag, another a sketching-stool, and so on; -walking about the premises in the morning, sundry others were visible in -the courtyard, and near the kitchen door. In the grounds a gentleman, by -name Mr. Marcus C—rr, began discoursing to me regarding the place, the -planting, the fish, the grouse, and the Master, being himself, -doubtless, one of the irregulars of the house. As for maids, there were -half a score of them skurrying about the house; and I am not ashamed to -confess that some of them were exceedingly good-looking. And if I might -venture to say a word more, it would be respecting Connemara breakfasts; -but this would be an entire and flagrant breach of confidence, and, to -be sure, the dinners were just as good.<a name="page_446" id="page_446"></a></p> - -<p>One of the days of my three days’ visit was to be devoted to the lakes; -and as a party had been arranged for the second day after my arrival, I -was glad to take advantage of the society of a gentleman staying in the -house, and ride with him to the neighbouring town of Clifden.</p> - -<p>The ride thither from Ballynahinch is surprisingly beautiful; and as you -ascend the high ground from the two or three rude stone-huts which face -the entrance-gates of the house, there are views of the lake and the -surrounding country which the best parts of Killarney do not surpass, I -think, although the Connemara lakes do not possess the advantage of wood -which belongs to the famous Kerry landscape.</p> - -<p>But the cultivation of the country is only in its infancy as yet, and it -is easy to see how vast its resources are, and what capital and -cultivation may do for it. In the green patches among the rocks, and the -mountain-sides, wherever crops were grown, they flourished; plenty of -natural wood is springing up in various places; and there is no end to -what the planter may do, and to what time and care may effect. The -carriage-road to Clifden is but ten years old; as it has brought the -means of communication into the country, the commerce will doubtless -follow it; and in fact, in going through the whole kingdom, one can’t -but be struck with the idea that not one-hundredth part of its -capabilities are yet brought into action, or even known perhaps, and -that by the easy and certain progress of time, Ireland will be poor -Ireland no longer. For instance, we rode by a vast green plain, skirting -a lake and river, which is now useless almost for pasture, and which a -little draining will convert into thousands of acres of rich productive -land. Streams and falls of water dash by one everywhere—they have only -to utilise this water-power for mills and factories; and hard by are -some of the finest bays in the world, where ships can deliver and -receive foreign and home produce. At Roundstone especially, where a -little town has been erected, the bay is said to be unexampled for size, -depth, and shelter; and the Government is now, through the rocks and -hills on their wild shore, cutting a coast-road to Bunown, the most -westerly part of Connemara, whence there is another good road to -Clifden. Among the charges which the Repealers bring against the Union, -they should include at least this: they would never have had these roads -but for the Union, roads which are as much at the charge of the London -tax-payer as of the most ill-used Milesian in Connaught.</p> - -<p>A string of small lakes follow the road to Clifden, with mountains on -the right of the traveller for the chief part of the way. A few figures -at work in the bog-lands—a red petticoat passing<a name="page_447" id="page_447"></a> here and there—a -goat or two browsing among the stones—or a troop of ragged whitey-brown -children, who came out to gaze at the car, form the chief society on the -road. The first house at the entrance to Clifden is a gigantic -poorhouse—tall, large, ugly, comfortable, it commands the town, and -looks almost as big as every one of the houses therein. The town itself -is but of a few years’ date, and seems to thrive in its small way. -Clifden Castle is a fine château in the neighbourhood, and belongs to -another owner of immense lands in Galway—Mr. D’Arcy.</p> - -<p>Here a drive was proposed along the coast to Bunown, and I was glad to -see some more of the country, and its character. Nothing can be wilder. -We passed little lake after lake, lying a few furlongs inwards from the -shore. There were rocks everywhere, some patches of cultivated land here -and there, nor was there any want of inhabitants along this savage -coast. There were numerous cottages, if cottages they may be called, and -women and, above all, children in plenty. Here is one of the former—her -attitude as she stood gazing at the car. To depict the multiplicity of -her rags would require a month’s study.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 128px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p447_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p447_sml.jpg" width="128" height="160" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>At length we came in sight of a half-built edifice, which is approached -by a rocky, dismal grey road, guarded by two or three broken gates, -against which rocks and stones were piled, which were to be removed to -give an entrance to our car. The gates were closed so laboriously, I -presume to prevent the egress of a single black consumptive pig, far -gone in the family way—a teeming skeleton—that was cropping the thin -dry grass that grew upon a round hill which rises behind this most -dismal castle of Bunown.</p> - -<p>If the traveller only seeks for strange sights, this place will repay -his curiosity. Such a dismal house is not to be seen in all England, or, -perhaps, such a dismal situation. The sea lies before and behind; and on -each side, likewise, are rocks and copper-coloured<a name="page_448" id="page_448"></a> meadows, by which a -few trees have made on attempt to grow. The owner of the house had, -however, begun to add to it, and there, unfinished, is a whole apparatus -of turrets, and staring raw stone and mortar, and fresh ruinous -carpenters’ work. And then the courtyard!—tumble-down outhouses, -staring empty pointed windows, and new-smeared plaster cracking from the -walls—a black heap of turf, a mouldy pump, a wretched old coal-scuttle -emptily sunning itself in the midst of this cheerful scene! There was an -old Gorgon, who kept the place, and who was in perfect unison with -it—Venus herself would become bearded, blear-eyed, and haggard if left -to be the housekeeper of this dreary place.</p> - -<p>In the house was a comfortable parlour, inhabited by the priest who has -the painful charge of the district. Here were his books and his -breviaries, his reading-desk with the cross engraved upon it, and his -portrait of Daniel O’Connell the Liberator, to grace the walls of his -lonely cell. There was a dead crane hanging at the door on a gaff; his -red fish-like eyes were staring open, and his eager grinning bill—a -rifle-ball had passed through his body. And this was doubtless the only -game about the place; for we saw the sportsman who had killed the bird, -hunting vainly up the round hill for other food for powder. This -gentleman had had good sport, he said, shooting seals upon a -neighbouring island, four of which animals he had slain.</p> - -<p>Mounting up the round hill, we had a view of the Sline Lights—the most -westerly point in Ireland.</p> - -<p>Here too was a ruined sort of summer-house, dedicated <span class="smcap">DEO HIBERNIÆ -LIBERATORI</span>. When these lights were put up, I am told the proprietor of -Bunown was recommended to apply for compensation to Parliament, inasmuch -as there would be no more <i>wrecks</i> on the coast: from which branch of -commerce the inhabitants of the district used formerly to derive a -considerable profit. Between these Sline Lights and America nothing lies -but the Atlantic. It was beautifully blue and bright on this day, and -the sky almost cloudless; but I think the brightness only made the scene -more dismal, it being of that order of beauties which cannot bear the -full light, but require a cloud or a curtain to set them off to -advantage. A pretty story was told me by the gentleman who had killed -the seals. The place where he had been staying for sport was almost as -lonely as this Bunown, and inhabited by a priest too—a young, lively, -well-educated man. ‘When I came here first,’ the priest said, ‘<i>I cried -for two days</i>’; but afterwards he grew to like the place exceedingly, -his whole heart being directed towards it, his chapel, and his cure. Who -would not honour such missionaries—the virtues they silently practise, -and<a name="page_449" id="page_449"></a> the doctrines they preach? After hearing that story, I think Bunown -looked not quite so dismal, as it is inhabited, they say, by such -another character. What a pity it is that John Tuam, in the next county -of Mayo, could not find such another hermitage to learn modesty in, and -forget his Graceship, his Lordship, and the sham titles by which he sets -such store.</p> - -<p>A moon as round and bright as any moon that ever shone, and riding in a -sky perfectly cloudless, gave us a good promise of a fine day for the -morrow, which was to be devoted to the lakes in the neighbourhood of -Ballynahinch; one of which, Lough Ina, is said to be of exceeding -beauty. But no man can speculate upon Irish weather. I have seen a day -beginning with torrents of rain, that looked as if a deluge was at hand, -clear up in a few minutes, without any reason, and against the -prognostications of the glass and all other weather-prophets; so in like -manner, after the astonishingly fine night, there came a villainous dark -day; which, however, did not set in fairly for rain until we were an -hour on our journey, with a couple of stout boatmen rowing us over -Ballynahinch Lake. Being, however, thus fairly started, the water began -to come down, not in torrents certainly, but in that steady, creeping, -insinuating mist, of which we scarce know the luxury in England; and -which, I am bound to say, will wet a man’s jacket as satisfactorily as a -cataract would do.</p> - -<p>It was just such another day as that of the famous stag-hunt at -Killarney, in a word; and as, in the first instance, we went to see the -deer killed, and saw nothing thereof, so, in the second case, we went to -see the landscape with precisely the same good fortune. The mountains -covered their modest beauties in impenetrable veils of clouds; and the -only consolation to the boat’s crew was, that it was a remarkably good -day for trout-fishing—which amusement some people are said to prefer to -the examination of landscapes, however beautiful.</p> - -<p>O you, who laboriously throw flies in English rivers, and catch, at the -expiration of a hard day’s walking, casting, and wading, two or three -feeble little brown trouts of two or three ounces in weight, how would -you rejoice to have but an hour’s sport in Derryclear or Ballynahinch; -where you have but to cast, and lo! a big trout springs at your fly, -and, after making a vain struggling, splashing, and plunging for a -while, is infallibly landed in the net and thence into the boat! The -single rod in the boat, caught enough fish in an hour to feast the crew, -consisting of five persons, and the family of a Herd of Mr. Martin’s, -who has a pretty cottage on Derryclear Lake, inhabited by a cow and its -calf, a score of fowls, and I don’t know how many sons and daughters.<a name="page_450" id="page_450"></a></p> - -<p>Having caught enough trout to satisfy any moderate appetite, like true -sportsmen the gentlemen on board our boat became eager to hook a salmon. -Had they hooked a few salmons, no doubt they would have trolled for -whales, or for a mermaid; one of which finny beauties the waterman swore -he had seen on the shore of Derryclear, he with Jim Mullen being above -on a rock, the mermaid on the shore directly beneath them, visible to -the middle, and as usual ‘racking her hair.’ It was fair hair, the -boatman said; and he appeared as convinced of the existence of the -mermaid, as he was of the trout just landed in the boat.</p> - -<p>In regard of mermaids, there is a gentleman living near Killala Bay, -whose name was mentioned to me, and who declares solemnly, that one day, -shooting on the sands there, he saw a mermaid, and determined to try her -with a shot. So he drew the small-shot charge from his gun and loaded -with ball, that he always had by him for seal-shooting, fired, and hit -the mermaid through the breast. The screams and moans of the creature, -whose person he describes most accurately, were the most horrible -heart-rending noises that he ever, he said, heard: and not only were -they heard by him, but by the fishermen along the coast, who were -furiously angry against Mr. A——n, because, they said, the injury done -to the mermaid would cause her to drive all the fish away from the bay -for years to come.</p> - -<p>But we did not, to my disappointment, catch a glimpse of one of these -interesting beings, nor of the great sea-horse which is said to inhabit -these waters, nor of any fairies (of whom the stroke-oar, Mr. Marcus, -told us not to speak, for they didn’t like bein’ spoken of); nor even of -a salmon, though the fishermen produced the most tempting flies. The -only animal of any size that was visible, we saw while lying by a swift -black river, that comes jumping with innumerable little waves into -Derryclear, and where the salmon are especially suffered to “stand”; -this animal was an eagle—a real wild eagle, with grey wings and a white -head and belly; it swept round us, within gunshot reach, once or twice, -through the leaden sky, and then settled on a grey rock, and began to -scream its shrill, ghastly, aquiline note.</p> - -<p>The attempts on the salmon having failed, the rain continuing to fall -steadily, the Herd’s cottage before named was resorted to: when Marcus, -the boatman, commenced forthwith to gut the fish, and, taking down some -charred turf-ashes from the blazing fire, on which about a hundredweight -of potatoes were boiling, he—Marcus—proceeded to grill on the floor -some of the trout, which we afterwards ate with immeasurable -satisfaction. They were such trouts as, when once tasted, remain for -ever in the recollection of<a name="page_451" id="page_451"></a> a commonly grateful mind—rich, flaky, -creamy, full of flavour. A Parisian <i>gourmand</i> would have paid ten -francs for the smallest <i>cooleen</i> among them; and, when transported to -his capital, how different in flavour would they have been!—how -inferior to what they were as we devoured them, fresh from the fresh -waters of the lake, and jerked as it were from the water to the -gridiron! The world had not had time to spoil those innocent beings -before they were gobbled up with pepper and salt, and missed, no doubt, -by their friends. I should like to know more of their ‘<i>set</i>.’ But -enough of this: my feelings overpower me: suffice it to say, they were -red or salmon trouts—none of your white-fleshed brown-skinned river -fellows.</p> - -<p>When the gentlemen had finished their repast, the boatmen and the family -set to work upon the ton of potatoes, a number of the remaining fish, -and a store of other good things; then we all sat round the turf-fire in -the dark cottage, the rain coming down steadily outside, and veiling -everything except the shrubs and verdure immediately about the cottage. -The Herd, the Herd’s wife, and a nondescript female friend, two healthy -young herdsmen in corduroy rags, the herdsman’s daughter paddling about -with bare feet, a stout black-eyed wench with her gown over her head, -and a red petticoat not quite so good as new, the two boatmen, a badger -just killed and turned inside out, the gentlemen, some hens cackling and -flapping about among the rafters, a calf in a corner cropping green meat -and occasionally visited by the cow her mama, formed the society of the -place. It was rather a strange picture; but as for about two hours we -sat there, and maintained an almost unbroken silence, and as there was -no other amusement but to look at the rain, I began, after the -enthusiasm of the first half-hour, to think that after all London was a -bearable place, and that for want of a turf-fire and a bench in -Connemara, one <i>might</i> put up with a sofa and a newspaper in Pall Mall.</p> - -<p>This, however, is according to tastes; and I must say that Mr. Marcus -betrayed a most bitter contempt for all cockney tastes, awkwardness, and -ignorance: and very right too. The night, on our return home, all of a -sudden cleared; but though the fishermen, much to my disgust—at the -expression of which, however, the rascals only laughed—persisted in -making more casts for trout, and trying back in the dark upon the spots -which we had visited in the morning, it appeared the fish had been -frightened off by the rain; and the sportsmen met with such indifferent -success that at about ten o’clock we found ourselves at Ballynahinch. -Dinner was served at eleven: and, I believe, there was some whisky-punch -afterwards, recommended medicinally and to prevent<a name="page_452" id="page_452"></a> the ill effects of -the wetting; but that is neither here nor there.</p> - -<p>The next day the Petty Sessions were to be held at Roundstone, a little -town which has lately sprung up near the noble bay of that name. I was -glad to see some specimens of Connemara litigation, as also to behold at -least one thousand beautiful views that lie on the five miles of road -between the town and Ballynahinch. Rivers and rocks, mountains and sea, -green plains and bright skies, how (for the hundred-and-fiftieth time) -can pen-and-ink set you down? But if Berghem could have seen those blue -mountains, and Karel du Jardin could have copied some of these green -airy plains, with their brilliant little coloured groups of peasants, -beggars, horsemen, many an Englishman would know Connemara upon canvas, -as he does Italy or Flanders now.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /><br /> -<small>ROUNDSTONE PETTY SESSIONS</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">‘T<small>HE</small> temple of august Themis,’ as a Frenchman would call the -Sessions-room at Roundstone, is an apartment of some twelve feet square, -with a deal table and a couple of chairs for the accommodation of the -magistrates, and a Testament with a paper cross pasted on it to be -kissed by the witnesses and complainants who frequent the court. The -law-papers, warrants, etc., are kept on the Session-clerk’s bed in an -adjoining apartment, which commands a fine view of the courtyard—where -there is a stack of turf, a pig, and a shed beneath which the -magistrates’ horses were sheltered during the sitting. The -Sessions-clerk is a gentleman ‘having,’ as the phrase is here, both the -English and Irish languages, and interpreting for the benefit of the -worshipful bench.</p> - -<p>And if the cockney reader suppose that in this remote country spot, so -wild, so beautiful, so distant from the hum and vice of cities, -quarrelling is not, and Litigation never shows her snaky head, he is -very much mistaken. From what I saw, I would recommend any ingenious -young attorney whose merits are not appreciated in the Metropolis, to -make an attempt upon the village of Roundstone; where as yet, I believe, -there is no solicitor, and where an immense and increasing practice -might speedily be secured. Mr. O’Connell, who is always crying out -‘Justice for Ireland,’ finds strong supporters among the Roundstonians, -whose<a name="page_453" id="page_453"></a> love of justice for themselves is inordinate. I took down the -plots of the five first little litigious dramas which were played before -Mr. Martin and the stipendiary magistrate.</p> - -<p>Case 1.—A boy summoned a young man for beating him so severely that he -kept his bed for a week, thereby breaking an engagement with his master, -and losing a quarter’s wages.</p> - -<p>The defendant stated, in reply, that the plaintiff was engaged—in a -field through which defendant passed with another person—setting two -little boys to fight; on which defendant took plaintiff by the collar -and turned him out of the field. A witness who was present swore that -defendant never struck plaintiff at all, nor kicked him, nor ill-used -him, further than by pushing him out of the field.</p> - -<p>As to the loss of his quarter’s wages, the plaintiff ingeniously proved -that he had afterwards returned to his master, that he had worked out -his time, and that he had in fact received already the greater part of -his hire. Upon which the case was dismissed, the defendant quitting -court without a stain upon his honour.</p> - -<p>Case 2 was a most piteous and lamentable case of killing a cow; the -plaintiff stepped forward with many tears and much gesticulation to -state the fact, and also to declare that she was in danger of her life -from the defendant’s family.</p> - -<p>It appeared on the evidence that a portion of the defendant’s -respectable family are at present undergoing the rewards which the law -assigns to those who make mistakes in fields with regard to the -ownership of sheep which sometimes graze there. The defendant’s father, -O’Damon, for having appropriated one of the fleecy bleaters of -O’Melibœus, was at present past beyond sea to a country where wool, -and consequently mutton, is so plentiful, that he will have the less -temptation. Defendant’s brothers tread the Ixionic wheel for the same -offence. Plaintiff’s son had been the informer in the case, hence the -feud between the families, the threats on the part of the defendants, -the murder of the innocent cow.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 97px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p453_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p453_sml.jpg" width="97" height="139" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>But upon investigation of the business, it was discovered, and on the -plaintiff’s own testimony, that the cow had not been killed, nor even -been injured, but that the defendant had flung two stones at it, which -<i>might</i> have inflicted great injury<a name="page_454" id="page_454"></a> had they hit the animal with -greater force in the eye or in any delicate place.</p> - -<p>Defendants admitted flinging the stones, but alleged as a reason that -the cow was trespassing on their grounds, which plaintiff did not seem -inclined to deny. Case dismissed.—Defendant retires with unblemished -honour; on which his mother steps forward, and lifting up her hands with -tears and shrieks, calls upon God to witness that the defendant’s own -brother-in-law had sold to her husband the very sheep on account of -which he had been transported.</p> - -<p>Not wishing probably to doubt the justice of the verdict of an Irish -jury, the magistrate abruptly put an end to the lamentation and oaths of -the injured woman by causing her to be sent out of court, and called the -third cause on.</p> - -<p>This was a case of thrilling interest and a complicated nature, -involving two actions, which ought each perhaps to have been gone into -separately, but were taken together. In the first place Timothy Horgan -brought an action against Patrick Dolan for breach of contract in not -remaining with him for the whole of six months during which Dolan had -agreed to serve Horgan. Then Dolan brought an action against Horgan for -not paying him his wages for six months’ labour done—the wages being -two guineas.</p> - -<p>Horgan at once, and with much candour, withdrew his charge against -Dolan, that the latter had not remained with him for six months; nor can -I understand to this day, why in the first place he swore to the charge, -and why afterwards he withdrew it. But immediately advancing another -charge against his late servant, he pleaded that he had given him a suit -of clothes, which should be considered as a set-off against part of the -money claimed.</p> - -<p>Now such a suit of clothes as poor Dolan had was never seen, I will not -say merely on an English scarecrow, but on an Irish beggar. Strips of -rags fell over the honest fellow’s great brawny chest, and the covering -on his big brown legs hung on by a wonder. He held out his arms with a -grim smile, and told his Worship to look at the clothes—the argument -was irresistible, Horgan was ordered to pay forthwith: he ought to have -been made to pay another guinea for clothing a fellow-creature in rags -so abominable. And now came a case of trespass, in which there was -nothing interesting but the attitude of the poor woman who trespassed, -and who meekly acknowledged the fact. She stated, however, that she only -got over the wall as a short cut home: but the wall was eight feet high, -with a ditch too; and I fear there were cabbages or potatoes in the -enclosure. They fined her a sixpence, and she could not pay it, and went -to<a name="page_455" id="page_455"></a> gaol for three days, where she and her baby, at any rate, will get a -meal.</p> - -<p>Last on the list which I took down, came a man who will make the fortune -of the London attorney, that I hope is on his way hither. A rather old, -curly-headed man, with a sly smile perpetually lying on his face (the -reader may give whatever interpretation he please to the ‘lying’)—he -comes before the Court almost every fortnight, they say, with a -complaint of one kind or other. His present charge was against a man for -breaking into his courtyard, and wishing to take possession of the same. -It appeared, however, that he, the defendant, and another lived in a row -of houses—the plaintiff’s house was, however, first built, and as his -agreement specified that the plot of ground behind his house should be -his likewise, he chose to imagine that the plot of ground behind all the -three houses was his, and built his turf-stack against his neighbour’s -window. The magistrate of course pronounced against this ingenious -discoverer of wrongs, and he left the court still smiling and twisting -round his little wicked eyes, and declaring solemnly that he would put -in an <i>appale</i>. If one could have purchased a kicking at a moderate -price off that fellow’s back, it would have been a pleasant little piece -of self-indulgence, and I confess I longed to ask him the price of the -article.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 87px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p455_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p455_sml.jpg" width="87" height="139" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>And so, after a few more such great cases, the court rose; and I had -leisure to make moral reflections, if so minded—and sighing to think -that cruelty and falsehood, selfishness and rapacity, dwell not in -crowds alone, but flourish all the world over: sweet flowers of human -nature, they bloom in all climates and seasons, and are just as much at -home in a hothouse in Thavies’ Inn, as on a lone mountain or a rocky -sea-coast in Ireland, where never a tree will grow!</p> - -<p>We walked along this coast, after the judicial proceedings were over, to -see the country, and the new road that the Board of Works is -forming—such a wilderness of rocks I never saw! The district for miles -is covered with huge stones, shining white in patches of green, with the -Binabola on one side of the spectator, and the Atlantic running in and -out of a thousand little bays on the other. The country is very hilly, -or wavy<a name="page_456" id="page_456"></a> rather, being a sort of ocean petrified; and the engineers have -hard work with these numerous abrupt little ascents and descents, which -they equalise as best they may, by blasting, cutting, filling cavities, -and levelling eminences. Some hundreds of men were employed at this -work, busy with their hand-barrows, their picking and boring. Their pay -is eightpence a day.</p> - -<p>There is little to see in the town of Roundstone, except a Presbyterian -Chapel in process of erection, that seems big enough to accommodate the -Presbyterians of the county; and a sort of lay convent, being a -community of brothers of the third order of St. Francis. They are all -artisans and workmen, taking no vows, but living together in common, and -undergoing a certain religious regimen. Their work is said to be very -good, and all are employed upon some labour or other. On the front of -this unpretending little dwelling is an inscription with a great deal of -pretence, stating that the establishment was founded with the -approbation of ‘His Grace, the most Reverend the Lord Archbishop of -Tuam.’</p> - -<p>The most Reverend Doctor MacHale is a clergyman of great learning, -talents, and honesty; but His Grace the Lord Archbishop of Tuam strikes -me as being no better than a mountebank; and some day I hope even his -own party will laugh this humbug down. It is bad enough to be awed by -big titles at all; but to respect sham ones! O stars and garters! We -shall have his Grace the Lord Chief-Rabbi next, or his Lordship the -Arch-Imaum!</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /><br /> -<small>CLIFDEN TO WESTPORT</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">O<small>N</small> leaving Ballynahinch (with sincere regret, as any lonely tourist may -imagine, who is called upon to quit the hospitable friendliness of such -a place and society), my way lay back to Clifden again, and thence -through the Joyce country, by the Killery mountains, to Westport in -Mayo. The road, amounting in all to four-and-forty Irish miles, is -performed in cars, in different periods of time, according to your horse -and your luck. Sometimes, both being bad, the traveller is two days on -the road; sometimes a dozen hours will suffice for the journey—which -was the case with me, though I confess to having found the twelve hours -long enough. After leaving Clifden, the friendly look of<a name="page_457" id="page_457"></a> the country -seemed to vanish; and, though picturesque enough, was a thought too wild -and dismal for eyes accustomed to admire a hop-garden in Kent, or a view -of rich folly meadows in Surrey, with a clump of trees and a comfortable -village spire. ‘Inglis,’ the Guide-book says, ‘compares the scenes to -the Norwegian Fiords.’ Well, the Norwegian Fiords must, in this case, be -very dismal sights; and I own that the wildness of Hampstead Heath (with -the imposing walls of Jack Straw’s Castle rising stern in the midst of -the green wilderness) are more to my taste than the general views of -yesterday.</p> - -<p>We skirted by lake after lake, lying lonely in the midst of lonely -boglands, or bathing the sides of mountains robed in sombre rifle green. -Two or three men, and as many huts, you see in the course of each mile -perhaps, as toiling up the bleak hills, or jingling more rapidly down -them, you pass through this sad region. In the midst of the wilderness, -a chapel stands here and there, solitary, on the hillside; or a ruinous, -useless school-house, its pale walls contrasting with the general -surrounding hue of sombre purple and green. But though the country looks -more dismal than Connemara, it is clearly more fertile: we passed miles -of ground that evidently wanted but little cultivation to make them -profitable; and along the mountain-sides, in many places, and over a -great extent of Mr. Blake’s country especially, the hills were covered -with a thick, natural plantation, that may yield a little brushwood now, -but might in fifty years’ time bring thousands of pounds of revenue to -the descendants of the Blakes. This spectacle of a country going to -waste is enough to make the cheerfullest landscape look dismal; it gives -this wild district a woeful look indeed. The names of the lakes by which -we came I noted down in a pocket-book as we passed along; but the names -were Irish, the car was rattling, and the only names readable in the -catalogue is Letterfrack.</p> - -<p>The little hamlet of Leenane is at twenty miles’ distance from Clifden; -and to arrive at it, you skirt the mountain along one side of a vast -pass, through which the ocean runs from Killery Bay, separating the -mountains of Mayo from the mountains of Galway. Nothing can be more -grand and gloomy than this pass; and as for the character of the -scenery, it must, as the Guide-book says, ‘be seen to be understood.’ -Meanwhile, let the reader imagine huge, dark mountains in their -accustomed livery of purple and green, a dull grey sky above them, an -estuary silver-bright below: in the water lies a fisherman’s boat or -two; a pair of sea-gulls, undulating with the little waves of the water; -a pair of curlews wheeling overhead and piping on the wing; and on the -hillside<a name="page_458" id="page_458"></a> a jingling car, with a cockney in it, oppressed by and yet -admiring all these things. Many a sketcher and tourist, as I found, has -visited this picturesque spot; for the hostess of the inn had stories of -English and American painters, and of illustrious book-writers, too, -travelling in the services of our Lords of Paternoster Row.</p> - -<p>The landlord’s son of Clifden, a very intelligent young fellow, was here -exchanged for a new carman in the person of a raw Irisher of twenty -years of age, ‘having’ little English, and dressed in that very pair of -pantaloons which Humphrey Clinker was compelled to cast off some years -since, on account of the offence which they gave to Mrs. Tabitha -Bramble. This fellow, emerging from among the boats, went off to a field -to seek for the black horse, which the landlady assured me was quite -fresh and had not been out all day, and would carry me to Westport in -three hours. Meanwhile I was lodged in a neat little parlour, surveying -the Mayo side of the water, with some cultivated fields and a show of a -village at the spot where the estuary ends, and above them lodges and -fine dark plantations, climbing over the dark hills that lead to Lord -Sligo’s seat of Delphi. Presently, with a curtsey, came a young woman -who sold worsted socks at a shilling a pair, and whose portrait is here -given.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 91px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p458_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p458_sml.jpg" width="91" height="164" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>It required no small pains to entice this rustic beauty to stand, while -a sketch should be made of her. Nor did any compliments or cajolements, -on my part or the landlady’s, bring about the matter; it was not until -money was offered that the lovely creature consented. I offered (such is -the ardour of the real artist) either to give her a sixpence, or to -purchase two pairs of her socks, if she would stand still for five -minutes. On which she said she would prefer selling the socks. Then she -stood still for a moment in the corner of the room; then she turned her -face towards the corner and the other part of her person towards the -artist, and exclaimed in that attitude, ‘I must have a shilling more.’ -Then I told her to go to the deuce. Then she made a proposition, -involving the stockings and sixpence, which was similarly rejected; and -finally, the above splendid design was completed at the price first -stated.<a name="page_459" id="page_459"></a></p> - -<p>However, as we went off, this timid little love barred the door for a -moment, and said that ‘I ought to give her another shilling; that a -gentleman would give her another shilling,’ and so on—she might have -trod the London streets for ten years, and not have been more impudent -and more greedy.</p> - -<p>By this time the famous fresh horse was produced, and the driver, by -means of a wraprascal, had covered a great part of the rags of his lower -garment. He carried a whip and a stick, the former lying across his knee -ornamentally, the latter being for service, and as his feet were -directly under the horse’s tail, he had full command of the brute’s -back, and belaboured it for six hours without ceasing.</p> - -<p>What little English the fellow knew, he uttered with a howl, roaring -into my ear answers, which, for the most part, were wrong, to various -questions put to him. The lad’s voice was so hideous, that I asked him -if he could sing; on which forthwith he began yelling the most horrible -Irish ditty, of which he told me the title, that I have forgotten. He -sang three stanzas, certainly keeping a kind of tune, and the latter -lines of each verse were in rhyme; but when I asked him the meaning of -the song, he only roared out its Irish title.</p> - -<p>On questioning the driver further, it turned out that the horse, -warranted fresh, had already performed a journey of eighteen miles that -morning, and the consequence was, that I had full leisure to survey the -country through which we passed. There were more lakes, more mountains, -more bog, and an excellent road through this lonely district, though few -only of the human race enlivened it. At ten miles from Leenane, we -stopped at a roadside hut, where the driver pulled out a bag of oats, -and borrowing an iron pot from the good people, half filled it with -corn, which the poor, tired, galled, bewhipped black horse began eagerly -to devour. The young charioteer himself hinted very broadly his desire -for a glass of whisky, which was the only kind of refreshment that this -remote house of entertainment supplied.</p> - -<p>In the various cabins I have entered, I have found talking a vain -matter; the people are suspicious of the stranger within their wretched -gates, and are shy, sly, and silent. I have, commonly, only been able to -get half-answers in reply to my questions, given in a manner that seemed -plainly to intimate that the visit was unwelcome. In this rude hostel, -however, the landlord was a little less reserved, offered a seat at the -turf-fire, where a painter might have had a good subject for his skill. -There was no chimney, but a hole in the roof, up which a small portion -of the smoke ascended (the rest preferring an egress by the door, or -else to remain in the<a name="page_460" id="page_460"></a> apartment altogether); and this light from above -lighted up as rude a set of figures as ever were seen. There were two -brown women, with black eyes and locks, the one knitting stockings on -the floor, the other ‘racking’ (with that natural comb which five horny -fingers supply) the elf-locks of a dirty urchin between her knees. An -idle fellow was smoking his pipe by the fire; and by his side sate a -stranger, who had been made welcome to the shelter of the place—a -sickly well-looking man, whom I mistook for a deserter at first, for he -had evidently been a soldier.</p> - -<p>But there was nothing so romantic as desertion in his history. He had -been in the dragoons, but his mother had purchased his discharge: he was -married, and had lived comfortably in Cork for some time, in the -glass-blowing business. Trade failing at Cork, he had gone to Belfast to -seek for work. There was no work at Belfast; and he was so far on his -road home again: sick, without a penny in the world, a hundred and fifty -miles to travel, and a starving wife and children to receive him at his -journey’s end. He had been thrown off a caravan that day, and had almost -broken his back in the fall. Here was a cheering story! I wonder where -he is now: how far has the poor starving lonely man advanced over that -weary desolate road, that in good health, and with a horse to carry me, -I thought it a penalty to cross? What would one do under such -circumstances, with solitude and hunger for present company, despair and -starvation at the end of the vista? There are a score of lonely lakes -along the road which he has to pass: would it be well to stop at one of -them, and fling into it the wretched load of cares which that poor -broken back has to carry? Would the world he would light on <i>then</i> be -worse for him than that he is pining in now: Heaven help us: and on this -very day, throughout the three kingdoms, there are a million such -stories to be told! Who dare doubt of heaven after that? of a place -where there is at last a welcome to the heart-stricken prodigal and a -happy home to the wretched.</p> - -<p>The crumbs of oats which fell from the mouth of the feasting Dives of a -horse were battled for outside the door by a dozen Lazaruses in the -shape of fowls, and a lanky young pig, who had been grunting in an old -chest in the cabin, or in a miserable recess of huddled rags and straw -which formed the couch of the family, presently came out and drove the -poultry away, picking up, with great accuracy, the solitary grains lying -about, and more than once trying to shove his snout into the corn-pot, -and share with the wretched old galled horse. Whether it was that he was -refreshed by his meal, or that the car-boy was invigorated by his glass -of whisky, or inflamed by the sight of eighteenpence—which muni<a name="page_461" id="page_461"></a>ficent -sum was tendered to the soldier, I don’t know, but the remaining eight -miles of the journey were got over in much quicker time, although the -road was exceedingly bad and hilly for the greatest part of the way to -Westport. However, by running up the hills at the pony’s side, the -animal, fired with emulation, trotted up them too, descending them with -the proverbial surefootedness of his race, the car and he bouncing over -the rocks and stones at the rate of at least four Irish miles an hour.</p> - -<p>At about five miles from Westport the cultivation became much more -frequent. There were plantations upon the hills, yellow corn and -potatoes in plenty in the fields, and houses thickly scattered. We had -the satisfaction, too, of knowing that future tourists will have an -excellent road to travel over in this district; for by the side of the -old road, which runs up and down a hundred little rocky steeps, -according to the ancient plan, you see a new one running for several -miles,—the latter way being conducted, not over the hills, but around -them, and, considering the circumstances of the country, extremely broad -and even. The car-boy presently yelled out ‘<span class="smcap">Reek, Reek</span>!’ with a shriek -perfectly appalling. This howl was to signify that we were in sight of -that famous conical mountain so named, and from which St. Patrick, after -inveigling thither all the venomous reptiles in Ireland, precipitated -the whole noisome race into Clew Bay. The road also for several miles -was covered with people, who were flocking in hundreds from Westport -market, in cars and carts, on horseback single and double, and on foot.</p> - -<p>And presently, from an eminence, I caught sight not only of a fine view, -but of the most beautiful view I ever saw in the world, I think; and to -enjoy the splendour of which I would travel a hundred miles in that car -with that very horse and driver. The sun was just about to set, and the -country round about and to the east was almost in twilight. The -mountains were tumbled about in a thousand fantastic ways, and swarming -with people. Trees, cornfields, cottages, made the scene indescribably -cheerful; noble woods stretched towards the sea, and, abutting on them, -between two highlands, lay the smoking town. Hard by was a large Gothic -building—it is but a poor-house; but it looked like a grand castle in -the grey evening—but the bay, and the Reek which sweeps down to the -sea, and a hundred islands in it, were dressed up in gold and purple and -crimson, with the whole cloudy west in a flame. Wonderful, wonderful!... -The valleys in the road to Leenane have lost all glimpses of the sun ere -this; and I suppose there is not a soul to be seen in the black -landscape, or by the shores of the ghastly lakes, where the poor -glass-blower from the whisky-shop is faintly travelling now.<a name="page_462" id="page_462"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX<br /><br /> -<small>WESTPORT</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">N<small>ATURE</small> has done much for this pretty town of Westport; and after Nature, -the traveller ought to be thankful to Lord Sligo, who has done a great -deal too. In the first place, he has established one of the prettiest, -comfortablest inns in Ireland, in the best part of his little town, -stocking the cellars with good wines, filling the house with neat -furniture, and lending, it is said, the whole to a landlord gratis, on -condition that he should keep the house warm, and furnish the larder, -and entertain the traveller. Secondly, Lord Sligo has given up, for the -use of the townspeople, a beautiful little pleasure-ground about his -house. ‘You may depand upon it,’ said a Scotchman at the inn, ‘that -they’ve right of pathway through the groonds, and that the Marquess -couldn’t shut them oot.’ Which is a pretty fair specimen of charity in -this world: this kind world, that is always ready to encourage and -applaud good actions, and find good motives for the same. I wonder how -much would induce that Scotchman to allow poor people to walk in <i>his</i> -park, if he had one!</p> - -<p>In the midst of this pleasure-ground, and surrounded by a thousand fine -trees, dressed up in all sorts of verdure, stands a pretty little -church; paths through the wood lead pleasantly down to the bay; and, as -we walked down to it on the day after our arrival, one of the green -fields was suddenly black with rooks, making a huge cawing and clanging -as they settled down to feed. The house, a handsome massive structure, -must command noble views of the bay, over which all the colours of -Titian were spread, as the sun set behind its purple islands.</p> - -<p>Printer’s ink will not give these wonderful hues; and the reader will -make his picture at his leisure. That conical mountain to the left is -Croagh-Patrick; it is clothed in the most magnificent violet colour, and -a couple of round clouds were exploding, as it were, from the summit, -that part of them towards the sea lighted up with the most delicate gold -and rose colour. In the centre is the Clare Island, of which the edges -were bright cobalt, whilst the middle was lighted up with a brilliant -scarlet tinge, such as I would have laughed at in a picture, never -having seen in nature before, but looked at now with wonder and pleasure -until the hue disappeared as the sun went away. The islands in the bay -(which was of a gold colour) looked like so many dolphins and whales<a name="page_463" id="page_463"></a> -basking there. The rich park-woods stretched down to the shore; and the -immediate foreground consisted of a yellow cornfield, whereon stood -innumerable shocks of corn, casting immense long purple shadows over the -stubble. The farmer, with some little ones about him, was superintending -his reapers; and I heard him say to a little girl, ‘Nory, I love you the -best of all my children!’ Presently, one of the reapers coming up, says, -‘It’s always the custom in these parts to ask strange gentlemen to give -something to drink the first day of reaping; and we’d like to drink your -honour’s health in a bowl of coffee.’ <i>O fortunatos nimium!</i> The cockney -takes out sixpence, and thinks that he never passed such a pleasant -half-hour in all his life as in that cornfield, looking at that -wonderful bay.</p> - -<p>A car which I had ordered presently joined me from the town, and going -down a green lane very like England, and across a causeway near a -building, where the carman proposed to show me ‘me Lard’s caffin that he -brought from Rome, and a mighty big caffin entirely,’ we came close upon -the water and the Port. There was a long, handsome pier (which, no -doubt, remains at this present minute), and one solitary cutter lying -alongside it; which may or may not be there now. There were about three -boats lying near the cutter, and six sailors, with long shadows, lolling -upon the pier. As for the warehouses, they are enormous; and might -accommodate, I should think, not only the trade of Westport, but of -Manchester too. There are huge streets of these houses, ten stories -high, with cranes, owners’ names, etc., marked Wine Stores, Flour -Stores, Bonded Tobacco Warehouses, and so forth. The six sailors that -were singing on the pier, no doubt are each admirals of as many fleets -of a hundred sail, that bring wines and tobacco from all quarters of the -world to fill these enormous warehouses. These dismal mausoleums, as -vast as pyramids, are the places where the dead trade of Westport lies -buried—a trade that, in its lifetime, probably was about as big as a -mouse. Nor is this the first nor the hundredth place to be seen in this -country, which sanguine builders have erected to accommodate an -imaginary commerce. Mill-owners over-mill themselves, merchants -over-warehouse themselves, squires over-castle themselves, little -tradesmen about Dublin and the cities over-villa and over-gig -themselves, and we hear sad tales about hereditary bondage and the -accursed tyranny of England.</p> - -<p>Passing out of this dreary pseudo-commercial port, the road lay along -the beautiful shores of Clew Bay, adorned with many a rickety villa and -pleasure-house, from the cracked windows of which may be seen one of the -noblest views in the world. One of<a name="page_464" id="page_464"></a> the villas the guide pointed out -with peculiar exultation; it is called by a grand name—Waterloo Park, -and has a lodge, and a gate, and a field of a couple of acres, and -belongs to a young gentleman who, being able to write Waterloo Park on -his card, succeeded in carrying off a young London heiress with a -hundred thousand pounds. The young couple had just arrived, and one of -them must have been rather astonished, no doubt, at the ‘Park.’ But what -will not love do? With love and a hundred thousand pounds, a cottage may -be made to look like a castle, and a park of two acres may be brought to -extend for a mile. The night began now to fall, wrapping up in a sober -grey livery the bay and mountains, which had just been so gorgeous in -sunset; and we turned our backs presently upon the bay, and the villas -with the cracked windows, and scaling a road of perpetual ups and downs, -went back to Westport. On the way was a pretty cemetery, lying on each -side of the road, with a ruined chapel for the ornament of one division, -a holy well for the other. In the holy well lives a sacred trout, whom -sick people come to consult, and who operates great cures in the -neighbourhood. If the patient sees the trout floating on his back, he -dies; if on his belly, he lives; or <i>vice versâ</i>. The little spot is -old, ivy-grown, and picturesque, and I can’t fancy a better place for a -pilgrim to kneel and say his beads at.</p> - -<p>But considering the whole country goes to mass, and that the priests can -govern it as they will, teaching what shall be believed and what shall -be not credited, would it not be well for their reverences, in the year -eighteen hundred and forty-two, to discourage these absurd lies and -superstitions, and teach some simple truths to their flock? Leave such -figments to magazine-writers and ballad-makers; but, <i>corbleu!</i> it makes -one indignant to think that people in the United Kingdom, where a press -is at work, and good sense is abroad, and clergymen are eager to educate -the people, should countenance such savage superstitions and silly, -grovelling heathenisms.</p> - -<p>The chapel is before the inn where I resided, and on Sunday, from a very -early hour, the side of the street was thronged with worshippers, who -came to attend the various services. Nor are the Catholics the only -devout people of this remote district. There is a large Presbyterian -church very well attended, as was the Established Church service in the -pretty church in the park. There was no organ, but the clerk and a choir -of children sang hymns sweetly and truly; and a charity sermon being -preached for the benefit of the diocesan schools, I saw many pound-notes -in the plate, showing that the Protestants here were as ardent as<a name="page_465" id="page_465"></a> their -Roman Catholic brethren. The sermon was extempore, as usual, according -to the prevailing taste here. The preacher by putting aside his -sermon-book, may gain in warmth, which we don’t want, but lose in -reason, which we do. If I were Defender of the Faith, I would issue an -order to all priests and deacons to take to the book again; weighing -well, before they uttered it, every word they proposed to say upon so -great a subject as that of religion; and mistrusting that dangerous -facility given by active jaws and a hot imagination. Reverend divines -have adopted this habit, and keep us for an hour listening to what might -well be told in ten minutes. They are wondrously fluent, considering all -things; and though I have heard many a sentence begun whereof the -speaker did not evidently know the conclusion, yet, somehow or other, he -has always managed to get through the paragraph without any hiatus, -except perhaps in the sense. And as far as I can remark, it is not calm, -plain, downright preachers who preserve the extemporaneous system for -the most part, but pompous orators, indulging in all the cheap graces of -rhetoric—exaggerating words and feelings to make effect, and dealing in -pious caricature. Church-goers become excited by this loud talk and -captivating manner, and can’t go back afterwards to a sober discourse -read out of a grave old sermon-book, appealing to the reason and the -gentle feelings, instead of to the passions and the imagination. Beware -of too much talk, O parsons! If a man is to give an account of every -idle word he utters, for what a number of such loud nothings, windy -emphatic tropes and metaphors, spoken, not for God’s glory but the -preacher’s, will many a cushion-thumper have to answer! And this rebuke -may properly find a place here, because the clergyman by whose discourse -it was elicited is not of the eloquent dramatic sort, but a gentleman, -it is said, remarkable for old-fashioned learning and quiet habits, that -do not seem to be to the taste of the many boisterous young clergy of -the present day.</p> - -<p>The Catholic chapel was built before their graces the most reverend lord -archbishops came into fashion. It is large and gloomy, with one or two -attempts at ornament by way of pictures at the altars, and a good -inscription warning the incomer, in a few bold words, of the sacredness -of the place he stands in. Bare feet bore away thousands of people who -came to pray there; there were numbers of smart equipages for the richer -Protestant congregation. Strolling about the town in the balmy summer -evening, I heard the sweet notes of a hymn from the people in the -Presbyterian praying-house. Indeed, the country is full of piety, and a -warm, sincere, undoubting devotion.<a name="page_466" id="page_466"></a></p> - -<p>On week-days the street before the chapel is scarcely less crowded than -on the Sabbath: but it is with women and children merely; for a stream -bordered with lime-trees runs pleasantly down the street, and hither -come innumerable girls to wash, while the children make dirt-pies and -look on. Wilkie was here some years since, and the place affords a great -deal of amusement to the painter of character. Sketching, <i>tant bien que -mal</i>, the bridge and the trees, and some of the nymphs engaged in the -stream, the writer became an object of no small attention; and at least -a score of dirty brats left their dirt-pies to look on, the bare-legged -washing-girls grinning from the water.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p466_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p466_sml.jpg" width="164" height="109" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>One, a regular rustic beauty, whose face and figure would have made the -fortune of a frontispiece, seemed particularly amused and <i>agaçante;</i> -and I walked round to get a drawing of her fresh jolly face: but -directly I came near she pulled her gown over her head, and resolutely -turned round her back; and, as that part of her person did not seem to -differ in character from the backs of the rest of Europe, there is no -need of taking its likeness.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI<br /><br /> -<small>THE PATTERN AT CROAGH-PATRICK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">O<small>N</small> the pattern-day, however, the washerwomen and children had all -disappeared—nay, the stream, too, seemed to be gone out of<a name="page_467" id="page_467"></a> town. There -was a report current, also, that on the occasion of the pattern, six -hundred teetotallers had sworn to revolt; and I fear that it was the -hope of witnessing this awful rebellion which induced me to stay a -couple of days at Westport. The pattern was commenced on the Sunday, but -the priests, going up to the mountain, took care that there should be no -sports nor dancing on that day; but that the people should only content -themselves with the performance of what are called religious duties. -Religious duties! Heaven help us! If these reverend gentlemen were -worshippers of Moloch or Baal, or any deity whose honour demanded -bloodshed, and savage rites, and degradation, and torture, one might -fancy them encouraging the people to the disgusting penances the poor -things here perform. But it’s too hard to think that in our days any -priests of any religion should be found superintending such a hideous -series of self-sacrifices as are, it appears, performed on this hill.</p> - -<p>A friend who ascended the hill brought down the following account of it. -The ascent is a very steep and hard one, he says; but it was performed -in company of thousands of people who were making their way barefoot to -the several ‘stations’ upon the hill.</p> - -<p>‘The first station consists of one heap of stones, round which they must -walk seven times, casting a stone on the heap each time, and before and -after every stone’s throw saying a prayer.</p> - -<p>‘The second station is on the top of the mountain. Here there is a great -altar—a shapeless heap of stones. The poor wretches crawl <i>on their -knees</i> into this place, say fifteen prayers, and after going round the -entire top of the mountain fifteen times, say fifteen prayers again.</p> - -<p>‘The third station is near the bottom of the mountain at the further -side from Westport. It consists of three heaps. The penitents must go -seven times round these collectively, and seven times afterwards round -each individually, saying a prayer before and after each progress.’</p> - -<p>My informant describes the people as coming away from this ‘frightful -exhibition, suffering severe pain, wounded and bleeding in the knees and -feet, and some of the women shrieking with the pain of their wounds.’ -Fancy thousands of these bent upon their work, and priests standing by -to encourage them!—for shame, for shame! If all the popes, cardinals, -bishops, hermits, priests, and deacons that ever lived, were to come -forward and preach this as a truth—that to please God you must macerate -your body, that the sight of your agonies is welcome to Him, and that -your blood, groans, and degradation find favour in His eyes, I would not -believe them.<a name="page_468" id="page_468"></a> Better have over a company of Fakeers at once, and set -the Suttee going.</p> - -<p>Of these tortures, however, I had not the fortune to witness a sight; -for going towards the mountain for the first four miles, the only -conveyance I could find was half the pony of an honest sailor, who said, -when applied to, ‘I tell you what I do wid you: I give you a spell -about’; but as it turned out we were going different ways, this help was -but a small one. A car with a spare seat, however (there were hundreds -of others quite full, and scores of rattling country carts covered with -people, and thousands of bare legs trudging along the road)—a car with -a spare seat passed by at two miles from the Pattern, and that just time -to get comfortably wet through on arriving there. The whole mountain was -enveloped in mist; and we could nowhere see thirty yards before us. The -women walked forward, with their gowns over their heads; the men -sauntered on in the rain, with the utmost indifference to it. The car -presently came to a cottage, the court in front of which was black with -two hundred horses, and where as many drivers were jangling and bawling; -and here we were told to descend. You had to go over a wall and across a -brook, and behold the Pattern.</p> - -<p>The pleasures of the poor people—for after the business on the mountain -came the dancing and love-making at its foot—was woefully spoiled by -the rain, which rendered dancing on the grass impossible; nor were the -tents big enough for that exercise. Indeed, the whole sight was as -dismal and half-savage a one as I have seen. There may have been fifty -of these tents squatted round a plain of the most brilliant green grass, -behind which the mist curtains seemed to rise immediately; for you could -not even see the mountain side beyond them. Here was a great crowd of -men and women, all ugly, as the fortune of the day would have it (for -the sagacious reader has, no doubt, remarked that there are ugly and -pretty days in life). Stalls were spread about, whereof the owners were -shrieking out the praises of their wares—great, coarse, damp-looking -bannocks of bread for the most part, or, mayhap, a dirty collection of -pigs’-feet, and such refreshments. Several of the booths professed to -belong to ‘confectioners’ from Westport or Castlebar, the confectionery -consisting of huge biscuits and doubtful-looking ginger-beer—ginger-ale -or gingeretta it is called in this country, by a fanciful people who -love the finest titles. Add to these, caldrons containing water for tay -at the doors of the booths, other pots full of masses of pale legs of -mutton (the owner ‘prodding,’ every now and then for a bit, and holding -it up and asking the passenger to buy). In the booths it was impossible -to stand upright, or to<a name="page_469" id="page_469"></a> see much, on account of smoke. Men and women -were crowded in these rude tents, huddled together, and disappearing in -the darkness. Owners came bustling out to replenish the emptied -water-jugs, and landladies stood outside in the rain calling strenuously -upon all passers-by to enter. Here is a design taken from one of the -booths, presenting ingeniously an outside and an inside view of the same -place—an artifice seldom practised in pictures.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p469_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p469_sml.jpg" width="171" height="127" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, high up on the invisible mountain, the people were dragging -their bleeding knees from altar to altar, flinging stones, and muttering -some endless litanies, with the priests standing by. I think I was not -sorry that the rain, and the care of my precious health, prevented me -from mounting a severe hill to witness a sight that could only have -caused one to be shocked and ashamed that servants of God should -encourage it. The road home was very pleasant; everybody was wet -through, but everybody was happy, and by some miracle we were seven on -the car. There was the honest Englishman in the military cap, who sung -‘The sea, the hopen sea’s my ‘ome,’ although not any one of the company -called upon him for that air. Then the music was taken up by a -good-natured lass from Castlebar; then the Englishman again, ‘With -burnished brand and musketoon’; and there was no end of pushing -pinching, squeezing, and laughing. The Englishman, especially, had a -favourite yell, with which he saluted and astonished all cottages, -passengers, cars, that we met or overtook. Presently came prancing by -two dandies, who were especially frightened by<a name="page_470" id="page_470"></a> the noise. ‘Thim’s two -tailors from Westport,’ said the carman, grinning with all his might. -‘Come, gat out of the way there, gat along!’ piped a small English voice -from above somewhere. I looked up, and saw a little creature perched on -the top of a tandem, which he was driving with the most knowing air—a -dreadful young hero, with a white hat, and a white face, and a blue -bird’s-eye neckcloth. He was five feet high, if an inch, an ensign, and -sixteen; and it was a great comfort to think, in case of danger or riot, -that one of his years and personal strength was at hand to give help.</p> - -<p>‘Thim’s the afficers,’ said the carman, as the tandem wheeled by, a -small groom quivering on behind—and the carman spoke with the greatest -respect this time. Two days before, on arriving at Westport, I had seen -the same equipage at the door of the inn—where for a moment there -happened to be no waiter to receive me. So, shouldering a carpet-bag, I -walked into the inn-hall, and asked a gentleman standing there, where -was the coffee-room? It was the military tandem-driving youth, who with -much grace looked up in my face, and said calmly, <i>‘I dawnt knaw</i>.’ I -believe the little creature had just been dining in the very room—and -so present my best compliments to him.</p> - -<p>The Guide-book will inform the traveller of many a beautiful spot which -lies in the neighbourhood of Westport, and which I had not the time to -visit; but I must not take leave of the excellent little inn without -speaking once more of its extreme comfort; nor of the place itself, -without another parting word regarding its beauty. It forms an event in -one’s life to have seen that place, so beautiful is it, and so unlike -all other beauties that I know of. Were such a bay lying upon English -shores it would be a world’s wonder: perhaps, if it were on the -Mediterranean, or the Baltic, English travellers would flock to it by -hundreds; why not come and see it in Ireland? Remote as the spot is, -Westport is only two days’ journey from London now, and lies in a -country far more strange to most travellers than France or Germany can -be.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII<br /><br /> -<small>FROM WESTPORT TO BALLINASLOE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> mail-coach took us next day by Castlebar and Tuam to Ballinasloe, a -journey of near eighty miles. The country is interspersed with -innumerable seats belonging to the Blakes, the<a name="page_471" id="page_471"></a> Browns, and the -Frenches; and we passed many large domains belonging to bankrupt lords -and fugitive squires, with fine lodges, adorned with moss and battered -windows, and parks where, if the grass was growing on the roads, on the -other hand the trees had been weeded out of the grass. About these seats -and their owners the guard, an honest shrewd fellow, had all the gossip -to tell. This jolly guard himself was a ruin, it turned out; he told me -his grandfather was a man of large property; his father, he said, kept a -pack of hounds, and had spent everything by the time he, the guard, was -sixteen: so the lad made interest to get a mail-car to drive, whence he -had been promoted to the guard’s seat, and now for forty years had -occupied it, travelling eighty miles, and earning seven-and-twopence -every day of his life. He had been once ill, he said, for three days; -and if a man may be judged by ten hours’ talk with him, there are few -more shrewd, resolute, simple-minded men to be found on the outside of -any coaches or the inside of any houses in Ireland.</p> - -<p>During the first five-and-twenty miles of the journey,—for the day was -very sunny and bright,—Croaghpatrick kept us company; and, seated with -your back to the horses, you could see, ‘on the left, that vast -aggregation of mountains which stretches southwards to the Bay of -Galway; on the right, that gigantic assemblage which sweeps in circular -outline northward to Killule.’ Somewhere amongst those hills the great -John Tuam was born, whose mansion and cathedral are to be seen in Tuam -town, but whose fame is spread everywhere. To arrive at Castlebar, we go -over the undulating valley which lies between the mountains of Joyce -country and Erris; and the first object which you see on entering the -town is a stately Gothic castle that stands at a short distance from it.</p> - -<p>On the gate of the stately Gothic castle was written an inscription not -very hospitable: <span class="smcap">WITHOUT BEWARE, WITHIN AMEND</span>;—just beneath which is an -iron crane of neat construction. The castle is the county gaol, and the -iron crane is the gallows of the district. The town seems neat and -lively; there is a fine church, a grand barracks (celebrated as the -residence of the young fellow with the bird’s-eye neckcloth), a club, -and a Whig and Tory newspaper. The road hence to Tuam is very pretty and -lively, from the number of country seats along the way, giving -comfortable shelter to more Blakes, Brownes, and Lynches.</p> - -<p>In the cottages, the inhabitants looked healthy and rosy in their rags, -and the cots themselves in the sunshine almost comfortable. After a -couple of months in the country, the stranger’s eye grows somewhat -accustomed to the rags: they do not frighten<a name="page_472" id="page_472"></a> him as at first: the -people who wear them look for the most part healthy enough; especially -the small children—those who can scarcely totter, and are sitting -shading their eyes at the door, and leaving the unfinished dirt-pie to -shout as the coach passes by—are as healthy a looking race as one will -often see. Nor can any one pass through the land without being touched -by the extreme love of children among the people: they swarm everywhere, -and the whole county rings with cries of affection towards the children, -with the songs of young ragged nurses dandling babies on their knees, -and warnings of mothers to Patsey to come out of the mud, or Norey to -get off the pig’s back.</p> - -<p>At Tuam the coach stopped exactly for fourteen minutes and a half, -during which time those who wished might dine: but instead, I had the -pleasure of inspecting a very mouldy dirty town, and made my way to the -Catholic Cathedral—a very handsome edifice indeed; handsome without and -within, and of the Gothic sort. Over the door is a huge coat of arms -surmounted by a Cardinal’s hat—the arms of the See, no doubt, quartered -with John Tuam’s own patrimonial coat; and that was a frieze coat, from -all accounts, passably ragged at the elbows. Well, he must be a poor wag -who could sneer at an old coat because it was old and poor. But if a man -changes it for a tawdry gimcrack suit, bedizened with twopenny tinsel, -and struts about calling himself his Grace and my Lord, when may we -laugh if not then? There is something simple in the way in which these -good people belord their clergymen, and respect titles real or sham. -Take any Dublin paper,—a couple of columns of it are sure to be filled -with movements of the small great men of the world. Accounts from -Darrynane state that the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor is in good -health—his Lordship went out with his beagles yesterday; or His Grace -the Most Reverend the Lord Archbishop of Ballywhack, assisted by the -Right Reverend the Lord Bishops of Trincomalee and Hippopotamus, -assisted, etc.; or Colonel Tims, of Castle Tims, and lady, have quitted -the Shelburne Hotel, with a party for Kilballybathershins, where the -<i>august</i><a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> party propose to enjoy a few days’ shrimp-fishing,—and so -on. Our people are not witty and keen of perceiving the ridiculous, like -the Irish; but the bluntness and honesty of the English have well-nigh -kicked the fashionable humbug down; and except perhaps among footmen and -about Baker Street, this curiosity about the aristocracy is wearing fast -away. Have the Irish so much reason to respect their lords that they -should so chronicle all their<a name="page_473" id="page_473"></a> movements; and not only admire real -lords, but make sham ones of their own to admire <i>them</i>?</p> - -<p>There is no object of special mark upon the road from Tuam to -Ballinasloe, the country being flat for the most part, and the noble -Galway and Mayo mountains having disappeared at length, until you come -to a glimpse of Old England in the pretty village of Ahascragh. An old -oak-tree grows in the neat street, the houses are as trim and white as -eye can desire, and about the church and the town are handsome -plantations, forming on the whole such a picture of comfort and plenty -as is rarely to be seen in the part of Ireland I have traversed. All -these wonders have been wrought by the activity of an excellent resident -agent. There was a countryman on the coach deploring that, through -family circumstances, this gentleman should have been dispossessed of -his agency, and declaring that the village had already begun to -deteriorate in consequence. The marks of such decay were not, however, -visible, at least to a newcomer; and, being reminded of it, I indulged -in many patriotic longings for England: as every Englishman does when he -is travelling out of the country which he is always so willing to quit.</p> - -<p>That a place should instantly begin to deteriorate because a certain -individual was removed from it—that cottagers should become thriftless, -and houses dirty, and house-windows cracked,—all these are points which -public economists may ruminate over, and can’t fail to give the -carelessest traveller much matter for painful reflection. How is it that -the presence of one man more or less should affect a set of people come -to years of manhood, and knowing that they have their duty to do? Why -should a man at Ahascragh let his home go to ruin, and stuff his windows -with ragged breeches instead of glass, because Mr. Smith is agent in -place of Mr. Jones? Is he a child, that won’t work unless the -schoolmaster be at hand? or are we to suppose, with the Repealers, that -the cause of all this degradation and misery is the intolerable tyranny -of the sister country, and the pain which poor Ireland has been made to -endure? This is very well at the Corn Exchange, and among patriots after -dinner; but, after all, granting the grievance of the franchise (though -it may not be unfair to presume that a man who has not strength of mind -enough to mend his own breeches or his own windows will always be the -tool of one party or another), there is no Inquisition set up in the -country; the law tries to defend the people as much as they will allow; -the odious tithe has even been whisked off from their shoulders to the -landlord’s; they may live pretty much as they like. Is it not too -monstrous to howl about English tyranny and suffering Ireland,<a name="page_474" id="page_474"></a> and call -for a Stephen’s Green Parliament to make the country quiet and the -people industrious? The people are not politically worse treated than -their neighbours in England. The priests and the landlords, if they -chose to co-operate, might do more for the country now than any kings or -laws could. What you want here is not a Catholic or Protestant party, -but an Irish party.</p> - -<p>In the midst of these reflections, and by what the reader will doubtless -think a blessed interruption, we came in sight of the town of -Ballinasloe and its ‘gash-lamps,’ which a fellow-passenger did not fail -to point out with admiration. The road-menders, however, did not appear -to think that light was by any means necessary: for, having been -occupied, in the morning, in digging a fine hole upon the highway, -previous to some alterations to be effected there, they had left their -work at sundown, without any lamp to warn coming travellers of the -hole—which we only escaped by a wonder. The papers have much such -another story. In the Galway and Ballinasloe coach a horse on the road -suddenly fell down and died; the coachman drove his coach -unicorn-fashion into town; and, as for the dead horse, of course he left -it on the road at the place where it fell, and where another coach -coming up was upset over it, bones broken, passengers maimed, coach -smashed. By Heavens! the tyranny of England is unendurable; and I have -no doubt it had a hand in upsetting that coach.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br /><br /> -<small>BALLINASLOE TO DUBLIN</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">D<small>URING</small> the cattle-fair the celebrated town of Ballinasloe is thronged -with farmers from all parts of the kingdom—the cattle being -picturesquely exhibited in the park of the noble proprietor of the town, -Lord Clancarty. As it was not fair-time the town did not seem -particularly busy, nor was there much to remark in it, except a church, -and a magnificent lunatic asylum, that lies outside the town on the -Dublin road, and is as handsome and stately as a palace. I think the -beggars were more plenteous and more loathsome here than almost -anywhere; to one hideous wretch I was obliged to give money to go away, -which he did for a moment, only to obtrude his horrible face directly -afterwards, half eaten away with disease. ‘A penny for the sake of poor -little Mery,’ said another woman, who had a baby sleeping on her<a name="page_475" id="page_475"></a> -withered breast; and how can any one who has a little Mery at home -resist such an appeal? ‘Pity the poor blind man!’ roared a respectably -dressed grenadier of a fellow. I told him to go to the gentleman with a -red neckcloth and fur cap (a young buck from Trinity College)—to whom -the blind man with much simplicity immediately stepped over, and as for -the rest of the beggars, what pen or pencil could describe their hideous -leering flattery, their cringing swindling humour!</p> - -<p>The inn, like the town, being made to accommodate the periodical crowds -of visitors who attended the fair, presented in their absence rather a -faded and desolate look; and, in spite of the live-stock for which the -place is famous, the only portion of their produce which I could get to -my share, after twelve hours’ fasting and an hour’s bell-ringing and -scolding, was one very lean mutton-chop and one very small damp kidney, -brought in by an old tottering waiter to a table spread in a huge black -coffee-room, dimly lighted by one little jet of gas.</p> - -<p>As this only served very faintly to light up the above banquet, the -waiter, upon remonstrance, proceeded to light the other <i>bec</i>; but the -lamp was sulky, and upon this attempt to force it, as it were, refused -to act altogether, and went out. The big room was then accommodated with -a couple of yellow mutton-candles. There was a neat, handsome, correct -young English officer warming his slippers at the fire, and opposite him -sate a worthy gentleman, with a glass of mingled ‘materials,’ -discoursing to him in a very friendly and confidential way.</p> - -<p>As I don’t know the gentleman’s name, and as it is not at all -improbable, from the situation in which he was, that he has quite -forgotten the night’s conversation, I hope there will be no breach of -confidence in recalling some part of it. The speaker was dressed in deep -black, worn, however, with that <i>dégagé</i> air peculiar to the votaries of -Bacchus, or that nameless god, offspring of Bacchus and Ceres, who may -have invented the noble liquor called whisky. It was fine to see the -easy folds in which his neckcloth confined a shirt-collar moist with the -generous drops that trickled from the chin above,—its little percentage -upon the punch. There was a fine dashing black satin waistcoat that -called for its share, and generously disdained to be buttoned. I think -this is the only specimen I have seen yet of the personage still so -frequently described in the Irish novels—the careless drinking -‘squire—the Irish Will Whimble.</p> - -<p>‘Sir,’ says he, ‘as I was telling you before this gentleman came in -(from Westport, I preshume, sir, by the mail; and ‘my service to you!’), -the butchers in Chume (Tuam)—where I live, and shall<a name="page_476" id="page_476"></a> be happy to see -you and give you a shakedown, a cut of mutton, and the use of as good a -brace of pointers as ever you shot over—the butchers say to me, -whenever I look in at their shops and ask for a joint of meat—they say: -“Take down that quarther o’ mutton, boy; <span class="smcap">IT’S NO USE WEIGHING IT</span> for Mr. -Bodkin. He can tell with an eye what’s the weight of it to an ounce!” -And so, sir, I can; and I’d make a bet to go into any market in Dublin, -Tchume, Ballinasloe, where you please, and just by looking at the meat -decide its weight.’</p> - -<p>At the pause, during which the gentleman here designated Bodkin drank -off his materials, the young officer said gravely, that this was a very -rare and valuable accomplishment, and thanked him for the invitation to -Tchume.</p> - -<p>The honest gentleman proceeded with his personal memoirs; and (with a -charming modesty that authenticated his tale, while it interested his -hearers for the teller) he called for a fresh tumbler, and began -discoursing about horses. ‘Them, I don’t know,’ says he, confessing the -fact at once; ‘or, if I do, I’ve been always so unlucky with them that -it’s as good as if I didn’t.</p> - -<p>‘To give you an idea of my ill fortune: Me brother-‘n-law Burke once -sent me three colts of his to sell at this very fair of Ballinasloe, -and, for all I could do I could only get a bid for one of ‘em, and sold -her for sixteen pound. And d’ye know what that mare was, sir?’ says Mr. -Bodkin, giving a thump that made the spoon jump out of the punch-glass -for fright. ‘D’ye know who she was? she was Water-Wagtail, -sir,—<span class="smcap">Water-Wagtail</span>! She won fourteen cups and plates in Ireland before -she went to Liverpool; and you know what she did <i>there</i>?’ (We said, -‘Oh! of course.’) ‘Well, sir, the man who bought her from me sold her -for four hunder’ guineas; and in England she fetched eight hunder’ -pounds.</p> - -<p>‘Another of them very horses, gentlemen (Tim, some hot -wather—screeching hot, you divil—and a sthroke of the limin)—another -of them horses that I was refused fifteen pound for, me brother-in-law -sould to Sir Rufford Bufford for a hunder’-and-fifty guineas. Wasn’t -<i>that</i> luck?</p> - -<p>‘Well, sir, Sir Rufford gives Burke his bill at six months, and don’t -pay it when it come jue. A pretty pickle Tom Burke was in, as I leave ye -to fancy, for he’d paid away the bill, which he thought as good as -goold; and sure it ought to be, for Sir Rufford had come of age since -the bill was drawn, and before it was due, and, as I needn’t tell you, -had slipped into a very handsome property.</p> - -<p>‘On the protest of the bill, Burke goes in a fury to Gresha<a name="page_477" id="page_477"></a>m’s in -Sackville Street, where the baronet was living, and (would ye believe -it?) the latter says he doesn’t intend to meet the bill, on the score -that he was a minor when he gave it. On which Burke was in such a rage -that he took a horsewhip and vowed he’d beat the baronet to a jelly, and -post him in every club in Dublin, and publish every circumstance of the -transaction,’</p> - -<p>‘It <i>does</i> seem rather a queer one,’ says one of Mr. Bodkin’s hearers.</p> - -<p>‘Queer indeed: but that’s not it, you see; for Sir Rufford is as -honourable a man as ever lived; and after the quarrel he paid Burke his -money, and they’ve been warm friends ever since. But what I want to show -ye is our infernal luck. <i>Three months before, Sir Rufford had sold that -very horse for three hunder guineas</i>.’</p> - -<p>The worthy gentleman had just ordered in a fresh tumbler of his -favourite liquor, when we wished him good-night, and slept by no means -the worse, because the bedroom candle was carried by one of the -prettiest young chambermaids possible.</p> - -<p>Next morning, surrounded by a crowd of beggars more filthy, hideous, and -importunate than any I think in the most favoured towns of the south, we -set off, a coach-load, for Dublin. A clergyman, a guard, a Scotch -farmer, a butcher, a bookseller’s hack, a lad bound for Maynooth and -another for Trinity, made a varied pleasant party enough, where each, -according to his lights, had something to say.</p> - -<p>I have seldom seen a more dismal and uninteresting road than that which -we now took, and which brought us through the ‘old, inconvenient, -ill-built, and ugly town of Athlone.’ The painter would find here, -however, some good subjects for his sketch-book, in spite of the -commination of the Guide-book. Here, too, great improvements are taking -place for the Shannon navigation, which will render the town not so -inconvenient as at present it is stated to be; and hard by lies a little -village that is known and loved by all the world where English is -spoken. It is called Lishoy, but its real name is Auburn, and it gave -birth to one Noll Goldsmith, whom Mr. Boswell was in the habit of -despising very heartily. At the Quaker town of Moate, the butcher and -the farmer dropped off, the clergyman went inside, and their places were -filled by four Maynoothians, whose vacation was just at an end. One of -them, a freshman, was inside the coach with the clergyman, and told him, -with rather a long face, of the dismal discipline of his college. They -are not allowed to quit the gates (except on general walks); they are -expelled if they read a newspaper; and they begin term with ‘a retreat’ -of a week, which<a name="page_478" id="page_478"></a> time they are made to devote to silence, and, as it is -supposed, to devotion and meditation.</p> - -<p>I must say the young fellows drank plenty of whisky on the road to -prepare them for their year’s abstinence; and, when at length arrived in -the miserable village of Maynooth, determined not to go into college -that night, but to devote the evening to ‘a lark.’ They were simple, -kind-hearted young men, sons of farmers or tradesmen seemingly; and, as -is always the case here, except among some of the gentry, very -gentlemanlike, and pleasing in manners. Their talk was of this companion -and that; how one was in rhetoric, and another in logic, and a third had -got his curacy. Wait for a while; and with the happy system pursued -within the walls of their college, those smiling good-humoured faces -will come out with a scowl, and downcast eyes that seem afraid to look -the world in the face. When the time comes for them to take leave of -yonder dismal-looking barracks, they will be men no longer, but bound -over to the Church, body and soul; their free thoughts chained down and -kept in darkness, their honest affections mutilated: well, I hope they -will be happy to-night at any rate, and talk and laugh to their hearts’ -content. The poor freshman, whose big chest is carried off by the porter -yonder to the inn, has but twelve hours more of hearty, natural human -life. To-morrow, they will begin their work upon him; cramping his mind, -and bitting his tongue, and firing and cutting at his heart,—breaking -him to pull the Church chariot. Ah! why didn’t he stop at home, and dig -potatoes and get children?</p> - -<p>Part of the drive from Maynooth to Dublin is exceedingly pretty: you are -carried through Leixlip, Lucan, Chapelizod, and by scores of parks and -villas, until the gas-lamps come in sight. Was there ever a cockney that -was not glad to see them; and did not prefer the sight of them, in his -heart, to the best lake or mountain ever invented? Pat the waiter comes -jumping down to the car and says, ‘Welcome back, sir!’ and bustles the -trunk into the queer little bedroom, with all the cordial hospitality -imaginable.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br /><br /> -<small>TWO DAYS IN WICKLOW</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> little tour we have just been taking has been performed, not only by -myriads of the ‘car-drivingest, tay-drinking, say-bathingest<a name="page_479" id="page_479"></a> people in -the world,’ the inhabitants of the city of Dublin, but also by all the -tourists who have come to discover this country for the benefit of the -English nation. ‘Look here!’ says the ragged bearded genius of a guide -at the Seven Churches. ‘This is the spot which Mr. Henry Inglis -particularly admired, and said it was exactly like Norway. Many’s the -song I’ve heard Mr. Sam Lover sing here—a pleasant gentleman entirely. -Have you seen my picture that’s taken off in Mrs. Hall’s book? All the -strangers know me by it, though it makes me much cleverer than I am.’ -Similar tales has he of Mr. Barrow, and the trans-atlantic Willis, and -of Crofton Croker, who has been everywhere.</p> - -<p>The guide’s remarks concerning the works of these gentlemen inspired me, -I must confess, with considerable disgust and jealousy. A plague take -them! What remains for me to discover after the gallant adventurers in -the service of Paternoster Row have examined every rock, lake, and ruin -of the district, exhausted it of all its legends, and ‘invented new’ -most likely, as their daring genius prompted? Hence it follows that the -description of the two days’ jaunt must of necessity be short; lest -persons who have read former accounts should be led to refer to the -same, and make comparisons which might possibly be unfavourable to the -present humble pages.</p> - -<p>Is there anything new to be said regarding the journey? In the first -place, there’s the railroad: it’s no longer than the railroad to -Greenwich, to be sure, and almost as well known: but has it been <i>done</i>? -that’s the question; or has anybody discovered the dandies on the -railroad?</p> - -<p>After wondering at the beggars and carmen of Dublin, the stranger can’t -help admiring another vast and numerous class of inhabitants of the -city—namely, the dandies. Such a number of smartly-dressed young -fellows, I don’t think any town possesses: no, not Paris, where the -young shopmen, with spurs and stays, may be remarked strutting abroad on -fête-days; nor London, where on Sundays, in the Park, you see thousands -of this cheap kind of aristocracy parading—nor Liverpool, famous for -the breed of commercial dandies, desk and counter Dorsays and cotton and -sugar-barrel Brummels, and whom one remarks pushing on to business with -a brisk determined air—all the above races are only to be encountered -on holidays, except by those persons whose affairs take them to shops, -docks, or counting-houses, where these fascinating young fellows labour -during the week.</p> - -<p>But the Dublin breed of dandies is quite distinct from those of the -various cities above-named, and altogether superior; for they appear -every day, and all day long, not once a week merely, and<a name="page_480" id="page_480"></a> have an -original and splendid character and appearance of their own, very hard -to describe, though no doubt every traveller, as well as myself, has -admired and observed it. They assume a sort of military and ferocious -look, not observable in other cheap dandies, except in Paris perhaps now -and then; and are to be remarked not so much for the splendour of their -ornaments as for the profusion of them. Thus, for instance, a hat which -is worn straight over the two eyes costs very likely more than one which -hangs upon one ear; a great oily bush of hair to balance the hat -(otherwise the head no doubt would fall hopelessly on one side) is even -more economical than a crop which requires the barber’s scissors -ofttimes; also a tuft on the chin may be had at a small expense of -bear’s-grease by persons of a proper age; and although big pins are the -fashion, I am bound to say I have never seen so many or so big as here. -Large agate marbles or ‘taws,’ globes terrestrial and celestial, -pawnbrokers’ balls,—I cannot find comparisons large enough for these -wonderful ornaments of the person. Canes also should be mentioned, which -are sold very splendid, with gold or silver heads, for a shilling on the -quays; and the dandy not uncommonly finishes off with a horn -quizzing-glass, which being stuck in one eye, contracts the brows and -gives a fierce determined look to the whole countenance.</p> - -<p>In idleness at least these young men can compete with the greatest -lords; and the wonder is, how the city can support so many of them, or -they themselves; how they manage to spend their time; who gives them -money to ride hacks in the ‘Phaynix’ on fields and race days; to have -boats at Kingstown during the summer; and to be crowding the -railway-coaches all the day long. Cars go whirling about all day, -bearing squads of them. You see them sauntering at all the -railway-stations in vast numbers, and jumping out of the carriages as -the trains come up, and greeting other dandies with that rich large -brogue which some actor ought to make known to the English public: it -being the biggest, richest, and coarsest of all the brogues of Ireland.</p> - -<p>I think these dandies are the chief objects which arrest the stranger’s -attention as he travels on the Kingstown railroad, and I have always -been so much occupied in watching and wondering at them as scarcely to -have leisure to look at anything else during the pretty little ride of -twenty minutes, so beloved by every Dublin cockney. The waters of the -bay wash in many places the piers on which the railway is built, and you -see the calm stretch of water beyond, and the big purple hill of Howth, -and the lighthouses, and the jetties, and the shipping. Yesterday was a -boat-race (I don’t know how many scores of such take place during the -season), and<a name="page_481" id="page_481"></a> you may be sure there were tens of thousands of the -dandies to look on. There had been boat-races the two days previous: -before that, had been a field day—before that, three days of garrison -races—to-day, to-morrow, and the day after, there are races at Howth. -There seems some sameness in the sports, but everybody goes; everybody -is never tired; and then I suppose comes the punch-party, and the song -in the evening—the same old pleasures, and the same old songs the next -day, and so on to the end. As for the boat-race, I saw two little boats -in the distance tugging away for the dear life—the beach and piers -swarming with spectators, the bay full of small yachts, and innumerable -row-boats, and in the midst of the assemblage a convict-ship lying ready -for sail, with a black mass of poor wretches on her deck, who too were -eager for pleasure.</p> - -<p>Who is not, in this country? Walking away from the pier and King -George’s column, you arrive upon rows after rows of pleasure-houses, -whither all Dublin flocks during the summer time; for every one must -have his sea-bathing, and they say that the country houses to the west -of the town are to be empty, or had for very small prices; while for -those on the coast, especially towards Kingstown, there is the readiest -sale at large prices. I have paid frequent visits to one, of which the -rent is as great as that of a tolerable London house; and there seems to -be others suited to all purses—for instance, there are long lines of -two-roomed houses, stretching far back and away from the sea, -accommodating, doubtless, small commercial men, or small families, or -some of those travelling dandies we have just been talking about, and -whose costume is so cheap and so splendid.</p> - -<p>A two-horse car, which will accommodate twelve, or will condescend to -receive twenty passengers, starts from the railway-station for Bray, -running along the coast for the chief part of the journey, though you -have but few views of the sea, on account of intervening woods and -hills. The whole of this country is covered with handsome villas and -their gardens and pleasure-grounds. There are round many of the houses -parks of some extent, and always of considerable beauty, among the trees -of which the road winds. New churches are likewise to be seen in various -places; built like the poorhouses, that are likewise everywhere -springing up, pretty much upon one plan—a sort of bastard or Vauxhall -Gothic—resembling no architecture of any age previous to that when -Horace Walpole invented the Castle of Otranto and the other monstrosity -upon Strawberry Hill, though it must be confessed that those on the Bray -line are by no means so imaginative. Well, what matters, say you, that -the churches be ugly, if the truth is preached<a name="page_482" id="page_482"></a> within? Is it not fair, -however, to say that Beauty is the truth too, of its kind? and why -should it not be cultivated as well as other truth? Why build these -hideous barbaric temples, when at the expense of a little study and -taste, beautiful structures might be raised?</p> - -<p>After leaving Bray, with its pleasant bay, and pleasant river, and -pleasant inn, the little Wicklow tour may be said to commence properly; -and, as that romantic and beautiful country has been described many -times in familiar terms, our only chance is to speak thereof in romantic -and beautiful language, such as no other writer can possibly have -employed.</p> - -<p>We rang at the gate of the steward’s lodge, and said, ‘Grant us a pass, -we pray, to see the parks of Powerscourt, and to behold the brown deer -upon the grass, and the cool shadows under the whispering trees.’</p> - -<p>But the steward’s son answered, ‘You may not see the parks of -Powerscourt, for the lord of the castle comes home, and we expect him -daily.’ So, wondering at this reply, but not understanding the same, we -took leave of the son of the steward, and said, ‘No doubt Powerscourt is -not fit to see. Have we not seen parks in England, my brother, and shall -we break our hearts that this Irish one hath its gates closed to us?’</p> - -<p>Then the car-boy said, ‘My lords, the park is shut, but the waterfall -runs for every man; will it please you see the waterfall?’ ‘Boy,’ we -replied, ‘we have seen many waterfalls; nevertheless, lead on!’ and the -boy took his pipe out of his mouth, and belaboured the ribs of his -beast.</p> - -<p>And the horse made believe, as it were, to trot, and jolted the ardent -travellers; and we passed the green trees of Tinnehinch, which the -grateful Irish nation bought and consecrated to the race of <span class="smcap">Grattan</span>; and -we said, ‘What nation will spend fifty thousand pounds for our benefit?’ -and we wished we might get it; and we passed on. The birds were, -meanwhile, chanting concerts in the woods; and the sun was -double-gilding the golden corn.</p> - -<p>And we came to a hill, which was steep and long of descent; and the -car-boy said, ‘My lords, I may never descend this hill with safety to -your honours’ bones: for my horse is not sure of foot, and loves to -kneel in the highway; descend therefore, and I will await your return -here on the top of the hill.’</p> - -<p>So we descended, and one grumbled greatly; but the other said, ‘Sir, be -of good heart! the way is pleasant, and the footman will not weary as he -travels it’; and we went through the swinging gates of a park, where the -harvestmen sate at their potatoes—a mealy meal.<a name="page_483" id="page_483"></a></p> - -<p>The way was not short, as the companion said, but still it was a -pleasant way to walk. Green stretches of grass were there, and a forest -nigh at hand. It was but September; yet the autumn had already begun to -turn the green ones into red; and the ferns that were waving underneath -the trees were reddened and fading too. And as Dr. Jones’s boys of a -Saturday disport in the meadows after school-hours, so did the little -clouds run races over the waving grass. And as grave ushers who look on -smiling at the sports of these little ones, so stood the old trees -around the green, whispering and nodding to one another.</p> - -<p>Purple mountains rose before us in front, and we began presently to hear -a noise and roaring afar off—not a fierce roaring, but one deep and -calm, like to the respiration of the great sea, as he lies basking on -the sands in the sunshine.</p> - -<p>And we came soon to a little hillock of green, which was standing before -a huge mountain of purple black, and there were white clouds over the -mountains, and some trees waving on the hillock, and between the trunks -of them we saw the waters of the waterfall descending; and there was a -snob on a rock, who stood and examined the same.</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 88px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p483_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p483_sml.jpg" width="88" height="122" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>Then we approached the water, passing the clump of oak-trees. The waters -were white, and the cliffs which they varnished were purple. But those -round about were grey, tall, and gay with blue shadows, and ferns, -heath, and rusty-coloured funguses sprouting here and there in the same. -But in the ravine where the waters fell, roaring, as it were, with the -fall, the rocks were dark, and the foam of the cataract was of a yellow -colour. And we stood, and were silent, and wondered. And still the trees -continued to wave, and the waters to roar and tumble, and the sun to -shine, and the fresh wind to blow.</p> - -<p>And we stood and looked: and said in our hearts it was beautiful, and -bethought us how shall all this be set down in types and ink? (for our -trade is to write books and sell the same—a chapter for a guinea, a -line for a penny); and the waterfall roared in answer: ‘For shame, O -vain man, think not of thy books and of thy pence now; but look on, and -wonder, and be silent! Can types or ink describe my beauty, though aided -by thy small wit?<a name="page_484" id="page_484"></a> I am made for thee to praise and wonder at: be -content, and cherish thy wonder. It is enough that thou hast seen a -great thing: is it needful that thou shouldst prate of all thou hast -seen?’</p> - -<p>So we came away silently, and walked through the park without looking -back. And there was a man at the gate, who opened it and seemed to say, -‘Give me a little sixpence.’ But we gave nothing, and walked up the -hill, which was sore to climb; and on the summit found the car-boy, who -was lolling on his cushions and smoking, as happy as a lord.</p> - -<p>Quitting the waterfall of Powerscourt (the grand style in which it has -been described was adopted in order that the reader, who has probably -read other descriptions of the spot, might have at least <i>something</i> new -in this account of it), we speedily left behind us the rich and wooded -tract of country about Powerscourt, and came to a bleak tract, which, -perhaps by way of contrast to so much natural wealth, is not unpleasing, -and began ascending what is very properly called the Long Hill. Here you -see, in the midst of the loneliness, a grim-looking barrack, that was -erected when, after the Rebellion, it was necessary for some time to -occupy this most rebellious country; and a church, looking equally -dismal, a lean-looking, sham-Gothic building, in the midst of this green -desert. The road to Luggala, whither we were bound, turns off the Long -Hill, up another hill, which seems still longer and steeper, inasmuch as -it was ascended perforce on foot, and over lonely, boggy moorlands, -enlivened by a huge grey boulder plumped here and there, and come, one -wonders how, to the spot. Close to this hill of Slieve-Buck is marked in -the maps a district called ‘the uninhabited country,’ and these stones -probably fell at a period of time when not only this district, but all -the world, was uninhabited,—and in some convulsion of the neighbouring -mountains, this and other enormous rocks were cast abroad.</p> - -<p>From behind one of them, or out of the ground somehow, as we went up the -hill, sprang little ragged guides, who are always lurking about in -search of stray pence from tourists; and we had three or four of such at -our back by the time we were at the top of the hill. Almost the first -sight we saw was a smart coach-and-four, with a loving wedding party -within, and a genteel valet and lady’s-maid without. I wondered, had -they been burying their modest loves in the uninhabited district? But -presently, from the top of the hill, I saw the place on which their -honeymoon had been passed; nor could any pair of lovers, nor a pious -hermit, bent on retirement from the world, have selected a more -sequestered spot.</p> - -<p>Standing by a big shining granite stone on the hilltop, we<a name="page_485" id="page_485"></a> looked -immediately down upon Lough Tay—a little round lake of half a mile in -length, which lay beneath us as black as a pool of ink—a high, -crumbling, white-sided mountain, falling abruptly into it on the side -opposite to us, with a huge ruin of shattered rocks at its base. -Northwards, we could see between mountains a portion of the neighbouring -lake of Lough Dan, which, too, was dark, though the Annamoe river, which -connects the two lakes, lay coursing through the greenest possible -flats, and shining as bright as silver. Brilliant green shores, too, -come gently down to the southern side of Lough Tay; through these runs -another river, with a small rapid or fall, which makes a music for the -lake; and here, amidst beautiful woods, lies a villa, where the four -horses, the groom and valet, the postillions, and the young couple had, -no doubt, been hiding themselves.</p> - -<p>Hereabouts, the owner of the villa, Mr. Latouche, has a great grazing -establishment; and some herd-boys, no doubt seeing strangers on the -hill, thought proper that the cattle should stray that way, that they -might drive them back again, and parenthetically ask the travellers for -money,—everybody asks travellers for money, as it seems. Next day, -admiring in a labourer’s arms a little child—his master’s son, who -could not speak—the labourer, his he-nurse, spoke for him, and demanded -a little sixpence to buy the child apples. One grows not a little -callous to this sort of beggary; and the only one of our numerous young -guides who got a reward was the raggedest of them. He and his companions -had just come from school, he said,—not a Government school, but a -private one, where they paid. I asked how much,—‘Was it a penny a -week?’ ‘No; not a penny a week, but so much at the end of the year.’ -‘Was it a barrel of meal, or a few stone of potatoes, or something of -that sort?’ ‘Yes; something of that sort.’</p> - -<p>The something must, however, have been a very small something on the -poor lad’s part. He was one of four young ones, who lived with their -mother, a widow. He had no work; he could get no work; nobody had work. -His mother had a cabin with no land—not a perch of land, no -potatoes—nothing but the cabin. How did they live?—the mother knitted -stockings. I asked, had she any stockings at home?—the boy said, ‘No.’ -How did he live?—he lived how he could; and we gave him threepence, -with which, in delight, he went bounding off to the poor mother. -Gracious heavens! what a history to hear, told by a child looking quite -cheerful as he told it, and as if the story was quite a common one. And -a common one, too, it is; and God forgive us!<a name="page_486" id="page_486"></a></p> - -<p>Here is another, and of a similar low kind, but rather pleasanter. We -asked the car-boy how much he earned. He said, ‘Seven shillings a week, -and his chances’—which in the summer season, from the number of -tourists who are jolted in his car, must be tolerably good—eight or -nine shillings a week more, probably. But he said, in winter his master -did not hire him for the car; and he was obliged to look for work -elsewhere: as for saving, he never had saved a shilling in his life.</p> - -<p>We asked him, was he married? and he said, No, but he was <i>as good as -married;</i> for he had an old mother and four little brothers to keep, and -six mouths to feed, and to dress himself decent to drive the gentlemen. -Was not the ‘as good as married’ a pretty expression? and might not some -of what are called their betters learn a little good from these simple -poor creatures? There’s many a young fellow who sets up in the world -would think it rather hard to have four brothers to support; and I have -heard more than one genteel Christian pining over five hundred a year. A -few such may read this, perhaps: let them think of the Irish widow with -the four children and <i>nothing</i>, and at least be more contented with -their port and sherry and their leg of mutton.</p> - -<p>This brings us at once to the subject of dinner and the little village, -Roundwood, which was reached by this time, lying a few miles off from -the lakes, and reached by a road not particularly remarkable for any -picturesqueness in beauty, though you pass through a simple pleasing -landscape, always agreeable as a repose, I think, after viewing a sight -so beautiful as those mountain lakes we have just quitted. All the hills -up which we had panted had imparted a fierce sensation of hunger; and it -was nobly decreed that we should stop in the middle of the street of -Roundwood, impartially between the two hotels, and solemnly decide upon -a resting-place after having inspected the larders and bedrooms of each.</p> - -<p>And here, as an impartial writer, I must say, that the hotel of Mr. -Wheatley possesses attractions which few men can resist, in the shape of -two very handsome young ladies, his daughters; whose faces, were they -but painted on his signboard, instead of the mysterious piece which -ornaments it, would infallibly draw tourists into the house, thereby -giving the opposition inn of Murphy not the least chance of custom.</p> - -<p>A landlord’s daughters in England, inhabiting a little country inn, -would be apt to lay the cloth for the traveller, and their respected -father would bring in the first dish of the dinner; but this arrangement -is never known in Ireland; we scarcely ever see the cheering countenance -of my landlord. And as for the<a name="page_487" id="page_487"></a> young ladies of Roundwood, I am bound to -say that no young persons in Baker Street could be more genteel; and -that our bill, when it was brought the next morning, was written in as -pretty and fashionable a lady’s hand as ever was formed in the most -elegant finishing school at Pimlico.</p> - -<p>Of the dozen houses of the little village, the half seem to be houses of -entertainment. A green common stretches before these, with its rural -accompaniments of geese, pigs, and idlers; a park and plantation at the -end of the village, and plenty of trees round about it, give it a happy, -comfortable, English look; which is, to my notion, the best compliment -that can be paid to a hamlet; for where, after all, are villages so -pretty?</p> - -<p>Here, rather to one’s wonder, for the district was not thickly enough -populated to encourage dramatic exhibitions, a sort of theatre was -erected on the common; a ragged cloth covering the spectators and the -actors, the former (if there were any) obtaining admittance through two -doors on the stage, in front, marked <span class="smcap">PIT</span> & <span class="smcap">GALERY</span>. Why should the word -not be spelt with one <span class="smcap">L</span> as with two?</p> - -<p>The entrance to the pit was stated to be threepence, and to the galery -twopence. We heard the drums and pipes of the orchestra as we sate at -dinner; it seemed to be a good opportunity to examine Irish humour of a -peculiar sort, and we promised ourselves a pleasant evening in the pit.</p> - -<p>But, although the drums began to beat at half-past six, and a crowd of -young people formed round the ladder at that hour, to whom the manager -of the troop addressed the most vehement invitations to enter, nobody -seemed to be inclined to mount the steps; for the fact, most likely was -that not one of the poor fellows possessed the requisite twopence which -would induce the fat old lady who sate by it to fling open the -gallery-door. At one time I thought of offering a half-crown for a -purchase of tickets for twenty and so at once benefiting the management -and the crowd of ragged urchins who stood wistfully without his -pavilion; but it seemed ostentatious, and we had not the courage to face -the tall man in the greatcoat gesticulating and shouting in front of the -stage and make the proposition.</p> - -<p>Why not? It would have given the company potatoes at least for supper, -and made a score of children happy. They would have seen ‘the learned -pig who spells your name, the feats of manly activity, the wonderful -Italian vaulting’; and they would have heard the comic songs by ‘your -humble servant.’</p> - -<p>‘Your humble servant’ was the head of the troop: a long man, with a -broad accent, a yellow topcoat, and a piteous lean<a name="page_488" id="page_488"></a> face. What a -speculation was this poor fellow’s! he must have a company of at least a -dozen to keep. There were three girls in trousers, who danced in front -of the stage, in Polish caps, tossing their arms about to the tunes of -three musicianers; there was a page, two young tragedy actors, and a -clown; there was the fat old woman at the gallery-door waiting for the -twopences; there was the Jack-pudding; and it was evident that there -must have been some one within, or else who would take care of the -learned pig?</p> - -<p>The poor manager stood in front, and shouted to the little Irishry -beneath; but no one seemed to move. Then he brought forward Jack -Pudding, and had a dialogue with him; the jocularity of which, by -heavens! made the heart ache to hear. We had determined, at least, to go -to the play before that, but the dialogue was too much: we were obliged -to walk away, unable to face that dreadful Jack Pudding, and heard the -poor manager shouting still for many hours through the night, and the -drums thumping vain invitations to the people. Oh unhappy children of -the Hibernian Thespis! it is my belief that they must have eaten the -learned pig that night for supper.</p> - -<p>It was Sunday morning when we left the little inn at Roundwood; the -people were flocking in numbers to church, on cars and pillions, neat, -comfortable, and well-dressed. We saw in this country more health, more -beauty, and more shoes than I have remarked in any quarter. That famous -resort of sightseers, the Devil’s Glen, lies at a few miles’ distance -from the little village; and, having gone on the car as near to the spot -as the road permitted, we made across the fields—boggy, stony, -ill-tilled fields they were—for about a mile, at the end of which walk, -we found ourselves on the brow of the ravine that has received so ugly a -name.</p> - -<p>Is there a legend about the place? No doubt for this, as for almost -every other natural curiosity in Ireland, there is some tale of monk, -saint, fairy, or devil; but our guide in the present day was a barrister -from Dublin, who did not deal in fictions by any means so romantic, and -the history, whatever it was, remained untold. Perhaps the little -breechesless cicerone who offered himself, would have given us the -story, but we dismissed the urchin with scorn, and had to find our own -way through bush and bramble down to the entrance of the gully.</p> - -<p>Here we came on a cataract, which looks very big in Messrs. Curry’s -pretty little Guide-book (that every traveller to Wicklow will be sure -to have in his pocket); but the waterfall, on this shining Sabbath -morning, was disposed to labour as little as possible, and, indeed, is a -spirit of a very humble ordinary sort.<a name="page_489" id="page_489"></a></p> - -<p>But there is a ravine of a mile and a half, through which a river runs -roaring (a lady who keeps the gate will not object to receive a -gratuity)—there is a ravine, or Devil’s Glen, which forms a delightful -wild walk, and where a Methusaleh of a landscape-painter might find -studies for all his life long. All sorts of foliage and colour, all -sorts of delightful caprices of light and shadow—the river tumbling and -frothing amidst the boulders—<i>raucum per lævia murmur saxa ciens</i>, and -a chorus of 150,000 birds (there might be more), hopping, twittering, -singing under the clear cloudless Sabbath scene, make this walk one of -the most delightful that can be taken; and, indeed, I hope there is no -harm in saying that you may get as much out of an hour’s walk there, as -out of the best hour’s extempore preaching. But this was as a salvo to -our conscience for not being at church.</p> - -<p>Here, however, was a long aisle, arched gothically overhead, in a much -better taste than is seen in some of those dismal new churches; and, by -way of painted glass, the sun lighting up multitudes of various-coloured -leaves, and the birds for choristers, and the river by way of organ, and -in it stones enough to make a whole library of sermons. No man can walk -in such a place without feeling grateful, and grave, and humble; and -without thanking Heaven for it as he comes away. And, walking and musing -in this free happy place, one could not help thinking of a million and a -half of brother Cockneys, shut up in their huge prison (the treadmill -for the day being idle), and told by some legislators that relaxation is -sinful, that works of art are abominations, except on week-days, and -that their proper place of resort is a dingy tabernacle, where a -loud-voiced man is howling about hell-fire in bad grammar. Is not this -beautiful world, too, a part of our religion? Yes, truly, in whatever -way my Lord John Russell may vote; and it is to be learned without -having recourse to any professor at any Bethesda, Ebenezer, or -Jerusalem; there can be no mistake about it; no terror, no bigoted -dealing of damnation to one’s neighbour—it is taught without false -emphasis or vain spouting on the preacher’s part—how should there be -such with such a preacher?</p> - -<p>This wild onslaught upon sermons and preachers needs perhaps an -explanation; for which purpose we must whisk back out of the Devil’s -Glen (improperly so named) to Dublin, and to this day week, when, at -this very time, I heard one of the first preachers of the city deliver a -sermon that lasted for an hour and twenty minutes—time enough to walk -up the Glen and back, and remark a thousand delightful things by the -way.</p> - -<p><a name="page_490" id="page_490"></a>Mr. G——‘s church (though there would be no harm in mentioning the -gentleman’s name, for a more conscientious and excellent man, as it is -said, cannot be) is close by the Custom House in Dublin, and crowded -morning and evening with his admirers. The service was beautifully read -by him, and the audience joined in the responses, and in the psalms and -hymns,<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> with a fervour which is very unusual in England. Then came -the sermon; and what more can be said of it than that it was extempore, -and lasted for an hour and twenty minutes? The orator never failed once -for a word, so amazing is his practice; though, as a stranger to this -kind of exercise, I could not help trembling for the performer, as one -has for Madame Saqui on the slack-rope, in the midst of a blaze of -rockets and squibs, expecting every minute she must go over. But the -artist was too skilled for that; and after some tremendous bound of a -metaphor in the midst of which you expect he must tumble neck and heels, -and be engulfed in the dark abyss of nonsense, down he was sure to come, -in a most graceful attitude too, in the midst of a fluttering ‘ah!’ from -a thousand wondering people.</p> - -<p>But I declare solemnly that when I came to try and recollect of what the -exhibition consisted, and give an account of the sermon at dinner that -evening, it was quite impossible to remember a word of it; although, to -do the orator justice, he repeated many of his opinions a great number -of times over. Thus, if he had to discourse of death to us, it was—At -the approach of the Dark Angel of the Grave—at the coming of the grim -King of Terrors—at the warning of that awful Power to whom all of us -must bow down—at the summons of that Pallid Spectre whose equal foot -knocks at the monarch’s tower or the poor man’s cabin—and so forth. -There is an examiner of plays, and indeed there ought to be an examiner -of sermons, by which audiences are to be fully as much injured or -misguided as by the other named exhibitions. What call have reverend -gentlemen to repeat their dicta half a dozen times over, like Sir Robert -Peel when he says anything that he fancies to be witty? Why are men to -be kept for an hour and twenty minutes listening to that which may be -more effectually said in twenty?<a name="page_491" id="page_491"></a></p> - -<p>And it need not be said here that a church is not a sermon-house—that -it is devoted to a purpose much more lofty and sacred, for which has -been set apart the noblest service, every single word of which latter -has been previously weighed with the most scrupulous and thoughtful -reverence. And after this sublime work of genius, learning, and piety is -concluded, is it not a shame that a man should mount a desk, who has not -taken the trouble to arrange his words beforehand, and speak thence his -crude opinions in his doubtful grammar? It will be answered that the -extempore preacher does not deliver crude opinions, but that he arranges -his discourse beforehand; to all which it may be answered that Mr.—— -contradicted himself more than once in the course of the above oration, -and repeated himself a half-dozen of times. A man in that place has no -right to say a word too much or too little.</p> - -<p>And it comes to this,—it is the preacher the people follow, not the -prayers; or why is this church more frequented than any other? It is -that warm emphasis, and word-mouthing, and vulgar imagery, and glib -rotundity of phrase, which brings them together and keeps them happy and -breathless. Some of this class call the Cathedral Service <i>Paddy’s -Opera</i>; they say it is Popish—downright scarlet—they won’t go to it. -They will have none but their own hymns—and pretty they are—no -ornaments but those of their own minister, his rank incense and tawdry -rhetoric. Coming out of the church, on the Custom House steps hard by, -there was a fellow with a bald large forehead, a new black coat, a -little Bible, spouting—spouting <i>in omne volubilis œvum</i>—the very -counterpart of the reverend gentleman hard by. It was just the same -thing, just as well done, the eloquence quite as easy and round, the -amplifications as ready, the big words rolling round the tongue, just as -within doors. But we are out of the Devil’s Glen by this time; and -perhaps, instead of delivering a sermon there, we had better have been -at church hearing one.</p> - -<p>The country people, however, are far more pious; and the road along -which we went to Glendalough was thronged with happy figures of people -plodding to or from mass. A chapel-yard was covered with grey cloaks; -and at a little inn hard by, stood numerous carts, cars, shandry-dans, -and pillioned horses, awaiting the end of the prayers. The aspect of the -country is wild, and beautiful of course; but why try to describe it? I -think the Irish scenery just like the Irish melodies—sweet, wild, and -sad even in the sunshine. You can neither represent one nor other by -words; but I am sure if one could translate ‘The Meeting of the Waters’ -into form and colours, it would fall into the exact shape of a tender -Irish landscape. So, take and play that tune upon your<a name="page_492" id="page_492"></a> fiddle, and shut -your eyes, and muse a little, and you have the whole scene before you.</p> - -<p>I don’t know if there is any tune about Glendalough; but if there be, it -must be the most delicate, fantastic, fairy melody that ever was played. -Only fancy can describe the charms of that delightful place. Directly -you see it, it smiles at you as innocent and friendly as a little child; -and once seen, it becomes your friend for ever, and you are always happy -when you think of it. Here is a little lake, and little fords across it, -surrounded by little mountains, and which lead you now to little islands -where there are all sorts of fantastic little old chapels and -graveyards; or, again, into little brakes and shrubberies where small -rivers are crossing over little rocks, plashing and jumping, and singing -as loud as ever they can. Thomas Moore has written rather an awful -description of it; and it may indeed appear big to <i>him</i>, and to the -fairies who must have inhabited the place in old days—that’s clear. For -who could be accommodated in it except the little people?</p> - -<p>There are seven churches, whereof the clergy must have been the smallest -persons, and have had the smallest benefices and the littlest -congregations ever known. As for the cathedral, what a bishoplet it must -have been that presided there!—the place would hardly hold the Bishop -of London, or Mr. Sidney Smith—two full-sized clergymen of these -days—who would be sure to quarrel there for want of room, or for any -other reason. There must have been a dean no bigger than Mr. Moore -before mentioned, and a chapter no bigger than that chapter in <i>Tristram -Shandy</i> which does not contain a single word, and mere popguns of -canons, and a beadle about as tall as Crofton Croker, to whip the little -boys who were playing at taw (with peas) in the yard.</p> - -<p>They say there was a university, too, in the place, with I don’t know -how many thousand scholars; but for accounts of this, there is an -excellent guide on the spot, who, for a shilling or two, will tell all -he knows, and a great deal more too.</p> - -<p>There are numerous legends, too, concerning St. Kevin, and Fin Mac Coul -and the devil, and the deuce knows what. But these stories are, I am -bound to say, abominably stupid and stale; and some guide<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> ought to -be seized upon and choked, and flung into the lake, by way of warning to -the others to stop their interminable<a name="page_493" id="page_493"></a> prate. This is the curse -attending curiosity, for visitors to almost all the show-places in the -country: you have not only the guide—who himself talks too much, but a -string of ragged amateurs, starting from bush and briar, ready to carry -his honour’s umbrella or my lady’s cloak, or to help either up a bank or -across a stream. And all the while they look wistfully in your face, -saying, ‘Give me sixpence!’ as clear as looks can speak. The -unconscionable rogues! how dare they, for the sake of a little -starvation or so, interrupt gentlefolks in their pleasure?</p> - -<p>A long tract of wild country, with a park or two here and there, a -police barrack perched on a hill, a half-starved-looking church -stretching its long scraggy steeple over a wide plain, mountains whose -base is richly cultivated while their tops are purple and lonely, warm -cottages and farms nestling at the foot of the hills, and humble cabins -here and there on the wayside, accompany the car, that jingles back over -fifteen miles of ground through Inniskerry to Bray. You pass by wild -gaps and greater and lesser Sugar Loaves; and about eight o’clock, when -the sky is quite red with sunset, and the long shadows are of such a -purple as (they may say what they like) Claude could no more paint than -I can, you catch a glimpse of the sea, beyond Bray, and crying out, -‘<span title="Greek: Thalatta thalatta!">θἁλαττα, θἁλαττα!</span>, -affect to be wondrously delighted by the sight of that element.</p> - -<p>The fact is, however, that at Bray is one of the best inns in Ireland; -and there you may be perfectly sure is a good dinner ready, five minutes -after the honest car-boy, with innumerable hurroos and smacks of his -whip, has brought up his passengers to the door with a gallop.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p>As for the Vale of Avoca, I have not described that; because (as has -been before occasionally remarked) it is vain to attempt to describe -natural beauties; and because, secondly (though this is a minor -consideration), we did not go thither. But we went on another day to the -Dargle, and to Shanganah, and the city of Cabinteely, and to the -Scalp—that wild pass; and I have no more to say about them, than about -the Vale of Avoca. The Dublin cockney, who has these places at his door, -knows them quite well; and, as for the Londoner, who is meditating a -trip to the Rhine for the summer, or to Britanny or Normandy, let us -beseech him to see his <i>own country first</i> (if Lord Lyndhurst will allow -us to call this a part of it); and if, after twenty-four hours of an -easy journey from London, the cockney be not placed in the midst of a -country as beautiful, as strange to him, as romantic as the most -imaginative man on ‘Change can desire,—may this work be praised by the -critics all around and never reach a second edition!<a name="page_494" id="page_494"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV<br /><br /> -<small>COUNTRY MEETINGS IN KILDARE—MEATH—DROGHEDA</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A<small>N</small> agricultural show was to be held at the town of Naas, and I was glad, -after having seen the grand exhibition at Cork, to be present at a more -homely, unpretending country festival, where the eyes of Europe, as the -orators say, did not happen to be looking on. Perhaps men are apt, under -the idea of this sort of inspection, to assume an air somewhat more -pompous and magnificent than that which they wear every day. The Naas -meeting was conducted without the slightest attempt at splendour or -display—a hearty, modest, matter-of-fact country meeting.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 87px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p494_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p494_sml.jpg" width="87" height="76" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>Market-day was fixed upon of course, and the town, as we drove into it, -was thronged with frieze-coats, the market-place bright with a great -number of apple-stalls, and the street filled with carts and vans of -numerous small tradesmen, vending cheeses, or cheap crockeries, or -ready-made clothes and such goods. A clothier, with a great crowd round -him, had arrayed himself in a staring new waistcoat of his stock, and -was turning slowly round to exhibit the garment, spouting all the while -to his audience, and informing them that he could fit out any person, in -one minute, ‘in a complete new shuit from head to fut.’ There seemed to -be a crowd of gossips at every shop-door, and, of course, a number of -gentlemen waiting at the inn-steps, criticising the cars and carriages -as they drove up. Only those who live in small towns know what an object -of interest the street becomes, and the carriages and horses which pass -therein. Most of the gentlemen had sent stock to compete for the prizes. -The shepherds were tending the stock. The judges were making their -award, and until their sentence was given, no competitors could enter -the show-yard. The entrance to that, meanwhile, was thronged by a great -posse of people, and as the gate abutted upon an old grey tower, a -number of people had scaled that, and were looking at the beasts in the -court below. Likewise, there was a tall haystack, which possessed -similar advantages of situation, and was equally thronged with men and -boys. The rain had fallen heavily all night, the heavens were still -black with it, and the coats of the<a name="page_495" id="page_495"></a> men, and the red feet of many -ragged female spectators, were liberally spattered with mud.</p> - -<p>The first object of interest we were called upon to see was a famous -stallion; and passing through the little by-streets (dirty and small, -but not so small and dirty as other by-streets to be seen in Irish -towns) we came to a porte-cochère, leading into a yard filled with wet -fresh hay, sinking juicily under the feet; and here in a shed was the -famous stallion. His sire must have been a French diligence-horse; he -was of a roan colour, with a broad chest, and short clean legs. His -forehead was ornamented with a blue ribbon, on which his name and prizes -were painted, and on his chest hung a couple of medals by a chain—a -silver one awarded to him at Cork, a gold one carried off by superior -merit from other stallions assembled to contend at Dublin. When the -points of the animal were sufficiently discussed, a mare, his sister, -was produced, and admired still more than himself. Any man who has -witnessed the performance of the French horses in the Havre diligence, -must admire the vast strength and the extraordinary swiftness of the -breed; and it was agreed on all hands, that such horses would prove -valuable in this country, where it is hard now to get a stout horse for -the road, so much has the fashion for blood, and nothing but blood, -prevailed of late.</p> - -<p>By the time the stallion was seen, the judges had done their -arbitration; and we went to the yard, where broad-backed sheep were -resting peaceably in their pens; bulls were led about by the nose; -enormous turnips, both Swedes and Aberdeens, reposed in the mud; little -cribs of geese, hens, and peafowl were come to try for the prize; and -pigs might be seen—some encumbered with enormous families, others with -fat merely. They poked up one brute to walk for us: he made, after many -futile attempts, a desperate rush forward, his legs almost lost in fat, -his immense sides quivering and shaking with the exercise; he was then -allowed to return to his straw, into which he sunk panting. Let us hope -that he went home with a pink ribbon round his tail that night, and got -a prize for his obesity.</p> - -<p>I think the pink ribbon was, at least to a Cockney, the pleasantest -sight of all; for on the evening after the show we saw many carts going -away so adorned, having carried off prizes on the occasion. First came a -great bull stepping along, he and his driver having each a bit of pink -in their hats; then a cart full of sheep; then a car of -good-natured-looking people, having a churn in the midst of them that -sported a pink favour. When all the prizes were distributed, a select -company sate down to dinner at Macavoy’s Hotel; and no doubt a reporter -who was present has<a name="page_496" id="page_496"></a> given in the county paper an account of all the -good things eaten and said. At our end of the table we had saddle of -mutton, and I remarked a boiled leg of the same delicacy, with turnips, -at the opposite extremity. Before the vice I observed a large piece of -roast beef, which I could not observe at the end of dinner, because it -was all swallowed. After the mutton we had cheese, and were just -beginning to think that we had dined very sufficiently, when a squadron -of apple-pies came smoking in, and convinced us that, in such a glorious -cause, Britons are never at fault. We ate up the apple-pies, and then -the punch was called for by those who preferred that beverage to wine, -and the speeches began.</p> - -<p>The chairman gave ‘The Queen,’ nine times nine and one cheer more; -‘Prince Albert and the rest of the Royal Family,’ great cheering; ‘The -Lord-Lieutenant’—his Excellency’s health was received rather coolly, I -thought. And then began the real business of the night: Health of the -Naas Society, health of the Agricultural Society, and healths all round; -not forgetting the Sallymount Beagles and the Kildare Foxhounds—which -toasts were received with loud cheers and halloos by most of the -gentlemen present, and elicited brief speeches from the masters of the -respective hounds, promising good sport next season. After the Kildare -Foxhounds, an old farmer in a grey coat got gravely up, and without -being requested to do so in the least, sung a song, stating that—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘At seven in the morning by most of the clocks<br /></span> -<span class="i1">We rode to Kilruddery in search of a fox’;<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">and at the conclusion of his song challenged a friend to give another -song. Another old farmer, on this, rose and sung one of Morris’s songs -with a great deal of queer humour; and, no doubt many more songs were -sung during the evening, for plenty of hot-water jugs were blocking the -door as we went out.</p> - -<p>The jolly frieze-coated songster who celebrated the Kilruddery fox, -sung, it must be confessed, most woefully out of tune; but still it was -pleasant to hear him, and I think the meeting was the most agreeable one -I have seen in Ireland: there was more good-humour, more cordial union -of classes, more frankness and manliness, than one is accustomed to find -in Irish meetings. All the speeches were kind-hearted, straightforward -speeches, without a word of politics or an attempt at oratory: it was -impossible to say whether the gentlemen present were Protestant or -Catholic,—each one had a hearty word of encouragement for his tenant, -and a kind welcome for his neighbour. There were forty stout, well-to-do -farmers in the room, renters of fifty, seventy, a hundred acres of land. -There<a name="page_497" id="page_497"></a> were no clergymen present, though it would have been pleasant to -have seen one of each persuasion, to say grace for the meeting and the -meat.</p> - -<p>At a similar meeting at Ballytore the next day, I had an opportunity of -seeing a still finer collection of stock than had been brought to Naas, -and at the same time one of the most beautiful, flourishing villages in -Ireland. The road to it from H—— town, if not remarkable for its rural -beauty, is pleasant to travel, for evidences of neat and prosperous -husbandry are around you everywhere—rich crops in the fields, and neat -cottages by the roadside, accompanying us as far as Ballytore—a white, -straggling village, surrounding green fields, of some five furlongs -square, with a river running in the midst of them, and numerous fine -cattle in the green. Here is a large windmill, fitted up like a castle, -with battlements and towers; the castellan thereof is a good-natured old -Quaker gentleman, and numbers more of his following inhabit the town.</p> - -<p>The consequence was, that the shops of the village were the neatest -possible, though by no means grand or portentous. Why should Quaker -shops be neater than other shops? They suffer to the full as much -oppression as the rest of the hereditary bondsmen; and yet, in spite of -their tyrants, they prosper.</p> - -<p>I must not attempt to pass an opinion upon the stock exhibited at -Ballytore; but, in the opinion of some large agricultural proprietors -present, it might have figured with advantage in any show in England, -and certainly was finer than the exhibition at Naas; which, however, is -a very young society. The best part of the show, however, to everybody’s -thinking (and it is pleasant to observe the manly fair-play spirit which -characterises the society), was, that the prizes of the Irish -Agricultural Society were awarded to two men—one a labourer, the other -a very small holder, both having reared the best stock exhibited on the -occasion. At the dinner, which took place in a barn of the inn, smartly -decorated with laurels for the purpose, there was as good and stout a -body of yeomen as at Naas the day previous, but only two landlords; and -here, too, as at Naas, neither priest nor parson. Cattle-feeding, of -course, formed the principal theme of the after-dinner discourse—not, -however, altogether to the exclusion of tillage; and there was a good -and useful prize for those who could not afford to rear fat oxen—for -the best-kept cottage and garden namely, which was won by a poor man -with a large family and scanty precarious earnings, but who yet found -means to make the most of his small means, and to keep his little -cottage neat and cleanly. The tariff and the plentiful harvest together -had helped to bring down prices<a name="page_498" id="page_498"></a> severely; and we heard from the farmers -much desponding talk. I saw hay sold for £2 the ton, and oats for 8s. -3d. the barrel.</p> - -<p>In the little village I remarked scarcely a single beggar, and very few -bare feet indeed among the crowds who came to see the show. Here the -Quaker village had the advantage of the town of Naas, in spite of its -poorhouse, which was only half full when we went to see it; but the -people prefer beggary and starvation abroad, to comfort and neatness in -the union-house.</p> - -<p>A neater establishment cannot be seen than this; and liberty must be -very sweet indeed, when people prefer it and starvation to the certainty -of comfort in the union-house. We went to see it after the show at Naas.</p> - -<p>The first persons we saw at the gate of the place were four buxom -lasses, in blue jackets and petticoats, who were giggling and laughing -as gaily as so many young heiresses of a thousand a year, and who had a -colour in their cheeks that any lady of Almack’s might envy. They were -cleaning pails and carrying in water from a green court or playground in -front of the house, which some of the able-bodied men of the place were -busy in enclosing. Passing through the large entrance of the house, a -nondescript Gothic building, we came to a court divided by a road and -two low walls: the right enclosure is devoted to the boys of the -establishment, of whom there were about fifty at play—boys more healthy -or happy it is impossible to see. Separated from them is the nursery; -and here were seventy or eighty young children, a shrill clack of happy -voices leading the way to the door where they were to be found. Boys and -children had a comfortable little uniform, and shoes were furnished for -all; though the authorities did not seem particularly severe in -enforcing the wearing of the shoes, which most of the young persons left -behind them.</p> - -<p>In spite of all the <i>Times’s</i> in the world, the place was a happy one. -It is kept with a neatness and comfort to which, until his entrance into -the union-house, the Irish peasant must perforce have been a stranger. -All the rooms and passages are white, well scoured, and airy; all the -windows are glazed; all the beds have a good store of blankets and -sheets. In the women’s dormitories there lay several infirm persons, not -ill enough for the infirmary, and glad of the society of the common -room. In one of the men’s sleeping-rooms we found a score of old -grey-coated men sitting round another who was reading prayers to them; -and outside the place we found a woman starving in rags, as she had been -ragged and starving for years; her husband was wounded, and lay in his -house upon straw; her children were ill with a fever; she had neither -meat, nor physic, nor clothing, nor fresh air, nor warmth<a name="page_499" id="page_499"></a> for -them;—and she preferred to starve on rather than enter the house.</p> - -<p>The last of our agricultural excursions was to the fair of Castledermot, -celebrated for the show of cattle to be seen there, and attended by the -farmers and gentry of the neighbouring counties. Long before reaching -the place we met troops of cattle coming from it—stock of a beautiful -kind, for the most part large, sleek, white, long-backed, most of the -larger animals being bound for England. There was very near as fine a -show in the pastures along the road, which lies across a light green -country with plenty of trees to ornament the landscape, and some neat -cottages along the roadside.</p> - -<p>At the turnpike of Castledermot the droves of cattle met us by scores no -longer, but by hundreds, and the long street of the place was thronged -with oxen, sheep, and horses, and with those who wished to see, to sell, -or to buy. The squires were altogether in a cluster at the -police-houses; the owners of the horses rode up and down, showing the -best paces of their brutes; among whom you might see Paddy, in his -ragged frieze-coat, seated on his donkey’s bare rump, and proposing him -for sale. I think I saw a score of this humble though useful breed that -were brought for sale to the fair. ‘I can sell him,’ says one fellow, -with a pompous air, ‘wid his tackle or widout.’ He was looking as grave -over the negotiation as if it had been for a thousand pounds. Besides -the donkeys, of course there was plenty of poultry, and there were pigs -without number, shrieking, and struggling, and pushing hither and -thither among the crowd, rebellious to the straw-rope. It was a fine -thing to see one huge grunter, and the manner in which he was landed -into a cart. The cart was let down on an easy inclined plane to tempt -him; two men ascending, urged him by the forelegs, other two entreated -him by the tail. At length, when more than half of his body had been -coaxed upon the cart, it was suddenly whisked up, causing the animal -thereby to fall forward; a parting shove sent him altogether into the -cart, the two gentlemen inside jump out, and the monster is left to ride -home.</p> - -<p>The farmers, as usual, were talking of the tariff, predicting ruin to -themselves, as farmers will, on account of the decreasing price of -stock, and the consequent fall of grain. Perhaps the person most to be -pitied is the poor pig-proprietor yonder: it is his rent which he is -carrying through the market, squeaking at the end of the straw-rope, and -Sir Robert’s bill adds insolvency to that poor fellow’s misery.</p> - -<p><a name="page_500" id="page_500"></a>This was the last of the sights which the kind owner of H—— town had -invited me into his country to see; and I think they were among the most -pleasing I witnessed in Ireland. Rich and poor were working friendlily -together; priest and parson were alike interested in these honest, -homely, agricultural festivals; not a word was said about hereditary -bondage and English tyranny; and one did not much regret the absence of -those patriotic topics of conversation. If but for the sake of the -change, it was pleasant to pass a few days with people among whom there -was no quarrelling; no furious denunciations against Popery on the part -of the Protestants, and no tirades against the parsons from their bitter -and scornful opponents of the other creed.</p> - -<p>Next Sunday, in the county Meath, in a quiet old church lying amongst -meadows and fine old stately avenues of trees, and for the benefit of a -congregation of some thirty persons, I heard for the space of an hour -and twenty minutes some thorough Protestant doctrine, and the Popish -superstitions properly belaboured. Does it strengthen a man in his own -creed to hear his neighbour’s belief abused? One would imagine so; for -though abuse converts nobody, yet many of our pastors think they are not -doing their duty by their own fold unless they fling stones at the flock -in the next field, and have, for the honour of the service, a match at -cudgelling with the shepherd. Our shepherd to-day was of this pugnacious -sort.</p> - -<p>The Meath landscape, if not varied and picturesque, is extremely rich -and pleasant; and we took some drives along the banks of the Boyne, to -the noble park of Slane (still sacred to the memory of George IV., who -actually condescended to pass some days there), and to Trim, of which -the name occurs so often in Swift’s Journals, and where stands an -enormous old castle that was inhabited by Prince John. It was taken from -him by an Irish chief, our guide said; and from the Irish chief it was -taken by Oliver Cromwell. O’Thuselah was the Irish chief’s name no -doubt.</p> - -<p>Here, too, stands, in the midst of one of the most wretched towns in -Ireland, a pillar erected in honour of the Duke of Wellington by the -gentry of his native county. His birthplace, Dangan, lies not far off. -And as we saw the hero’s statue, a flight of birds had hovered about it: -there was one on each epaulette and two on his marshal’s staff; and, -besides these wonders, we saw a certain number of beggars; and a madman, -who was walking round a mound and preaching a sermon on grace; and a -little child’s funeral came passing through the dismal town, the only -stirring thing in it (the coffin was laid on a one-horse country car—a -little deal box, in which the poor child lay—and a great troop of -people followed the humble procession); and the innkeeper,<a name="page_501" id="page_501"></a> who had -caught a few stray gentlefolk in a town where travellers must be rare, -and in his inn, which is more gaunt and miserable than the town itself, -and which is by no means rendered more cheerful because sundry -theological works are left for the rare frequenters in the coffee-room. -The innkeeper brought in a bill which would have been worthy of Long’s, -and which was paid with much grumbling on both sides.</p> - -<p>It would not be a bad rule for the traveller in Ireland to avoid those -inns where theological works are left in the coffee-room. He is pretty -sure to be made to pay very dearly for these religious privileges.</p> - -<p>We waited for the coach at the beautiful lodge and gate of Annsbrook; -and one of the sons of the house coming up, invited us to look at the -domain, which is as pretty and neatly ordered as—as any in England. It -is hard to use this comparison so often, and must make Irish hearers -angry. Can’t one see a neat house and grounds without instantly thinking -that they are worthy of the sister country; and implying, in our cool -way, its superiority everywhere else? Walking in this gentleman’s -grounds, I told him, in the simplicity of my heart, that the -neighbouring country was like Warwickshire, and the grounds as good as -any English park. Is it the fact that English grounds <i>are</i> superior, or -only that Englishmen are disposed to consider them so?</p> - -<p>A pretty little twining river, called the Nanny’s Water, runs through -the Park: there is a legend about that, as about other places. Once upon -a time (ten thousand years ago), St. Patrick being thirsty as he passed -by this country, came to the house of an old woman, of whom he asked a -drink of milk. The old woman brought it to his reverence with the best -of welcomes, and——here it is a great mercy that the Belfast mail -comes up, whereby the reader is spared the rest of the history.</p> - -<p>The Belfast mail had only to carry us five miles to Drogheda, but, in -revenge, it made us pay three shillings for the five miles; and again, -by way of compensation, it carried us over five miles of a country that -was worth, at least, five shillings to see—not romantic or especially -beautiful, but having the best of all beauty—a quiet, smiling, -prosperous, unassuming, <i>work-day</i> look, that in views and landscapes -most good judges admire. Hard by Nanny’s Water, we came to Duleek -Bridge, where, I was told, stands an old residence of the De Bath -family, who were, moreover, builders of the picturesque old Bridge.</p> - -<p>It leads over a wide green common, which puts one in mind of Eng—— (a -plague on it, there is the comparison again!), and at the end of the -common lies the village among trees: a beautiful<a name="page_502" id="page_502"></a> and peaceful sight. In -the background there was a tall, ivy-covered old tower, looking noble -and imposing, but a ruin and useless—then there was a church, and next -to it a chapel—the very same sun was shining upon both. The chapel and -church were connected by a farmyard, and a score of golden ricks were in -the background, the churches in unison, and the people (typified by the -corn-ricks) flourishing at the feet of both—may one ever hope to see -the day in Ireland when this little landscape allegory shall find a -general application?</p> - -<p>For some way, after leaving Duleek, the road and the country round -continue to wear the agreeable cheerful look just now lauded. You pass -by a house where James II. is said to have slept the night before the -Battle of the Boyne (he took care to sleep far enough off on the night -after), and also by an old red-brick hall, standing at the end of an old -chace or terrace-avenue, that runs for about a mile down to the house, -and finishes at a moat towards the road. But as the coach arrives near -Drogheda, and in the boulevards of that town, all resemblance to England -is lost. Up hill and down, we pass low rows of filthy cabins in dirty -undulations. Parents are at the cabin-doors dressing the hair of ragged -children; shockheads of girls peer out from the black circumference of -smoke, and children inconceivably filthy, yell wildly and vociferously -as the coach passes by. One little ragged savage rushed furiously up the -hill, speculating upon permission to put on the drag-chain at -descending, and hoping for a halfpenny reward. He put on the chain, but -the guard did not give a halfpenny. I flung him one, and the boy rushed -wildly after the carriage, holding it up with joy. ‘The man inside has -given me one,’ says he, holding it up exultingly to the guard. I flung -out another (by-the-bye, and without any prejudice, the halfpence in -Ireland <i>are</i> smaller than those of England), but when the child got -this halfpenny, small as it was, it seemed to overpower him—the little -man’s look of gratitude was worth a great deal more than the biggest -penny ever struck.</p> - -<p>The town itself, which I had three-quarters of an hour to ramble -through, is smoky, dirty, and lively. There was a great bustle in the -black main street, and several good shops, though some of the houses -were in a half state of ruin, and battered shutters closed many of the -windows, where formerly had been ‘Emporiums,’ ‘Repositories,’ and other -grandly-titled abodes of small commerce. Exhortations to repeal were -liberally plastered on the blackened walls, proclaiming some past or -promised visit of the great agitator. From the bridge is a good bustling -spectacle of the river and the craft; the quays were grimy with<a name="page_503" id="page_503"></a> the -discharge of the coal-vessels that lay alongside them; the warehouses -were not less black; the seamen and porters loitering on the quay were -as swarthy as those of Puddledock; numerous factories and chimneys were -vomiting huge clouds of black smoke: the commerce of the town is stated -by the Guide-book to be considerable, and increasing of late years. Of -one part of its manufactures every traveller must speak with -gratitude—of the ale namely, which is as good as the best brewed in the -sister kingdom. Drogheda ale is to be drunk all over Ireland in the -bottled state: candour calls for the acknowledgment that it is equally -praiseworthy in draught. And while satisfying himself of this fact, the -philosophic observer cannot but ask why ale should not be as good -elsewhere as at Drogheda; is the water of the Boyne the only water in -Ireland whereof ale can be made?</p> - -<p>Above the river and craft, and the smoky quays of the town, the hills -rise abruptly, up which innumerable cabins clamber. On one of them, by a -church, is a round tower or fort, with a flag; the church is the -successor of one battered down by Cromwell in 1649, in his frightful -siege of the place. The place of one of his batteries is still marked -outside the town, and known as ‘Cromwell’s Mount’; here he ‘made the -breach assaultable, and, by the help of God, stormed it.’ He chose the -strongest point of the defence for his attack.</p> - -<p>After being twice beaten back, by the divine assistance he was enabled -to succeed in a third assault: he ‘knocked on the head’ all the officers -of the garrison; he gave orders that none of the men should be spared. -‘I think,’ says he, ‘that night we put to the sword two thousand men, -and one hundred of them having taken possession of St. Peter’s steeple -and a round tower next the gate, called St. Sunday’s, I ordered the -steeple of St. Peter’s to be fired, when one in the flames was heard to -say, “God confound me, I burn, I burn!”’ The Lord General’s history of -‘this great mercy vouchsafed to us’ concludes with appropriate religious -reflections: and prays Mr. Speaker of the House of Commons to remember -that ‘it is good that God alone have all the glory.’ Is not the -recollection of this butchery almost enough to make an Irishman turn -rebel?</p> - -<p>When troops march over the bridge, a young friend of mine (whom I -shrewdly suspect to be an Orangeman in his heart) told me that their -bands play the ‘Boyne Water.’ Here is another legend of defeat for the -Irishman to muse upon; and here it was, too, that King Richard II. -received the homage of four Irish kings, who flung their skenes or -daggers at his feet and knelt to him, and were wonder-stricken by the -riches of his tents and the garments of<a name="page_504" id="page_504"></a> his knights and ladies. I think -it is in Lingard that the story is told; and the antiquarian has no -doubt seen that beautiful old manuscript at the British Museum where -these yellow-mantled warriors are seen riding down to the king, splendid -in his forked beard, and peaked shoes, and long, dangling, scalloped -sleeves, and embroidered gown.</p> - -<p>The Boyne winds picturesquely round two sides of the town, and, -following it, we came to the Linen Hall,—in the days of the linen -manufacture a place of note, now the place where Mr. O’Connell harangues -the people,—but all the windows of the house were barricaded when we -passed it, and of linen or any other sort of merchandise there seemed to -be none. Three boys were running past it with a mouse tied to a string, -and a dog galloping after: two little children were paddling down the -street, one saying to the other, ‘<i>Once I had a halfpenny</i>, and bought -apples with it.’ The barges were lying lazily on the river, on the -opposite side of which was a wood of a gentleman’s domain, over which -the rooks were cawing, and by the shore were some ruins, where ‘Mr. Ball -once had his kennel of hounds’—touching reminiscence of former -prosperity!</p> - -<p>There is a very large and ugly Roman Catholic chapel in the town, and a -smaller one of better construction; it was so crowded, however, although -on a week-day, that we could not pass beyond the chapel-yard; where were -great crowds of people, some praying, some talking, some buying and -selling. There were two or three stalls in the yard, such as one sees -near Continental churches, presided over by old women, with a store of -little brass crucifixes, beads, books, and bénitiers for the faithful to -purchase. The church is large and commodious within, and looks (not like -all other churches in Ireland) as if it were frequented. There is a -hideous stone monument in the churchyard representing two corpses half -rotted away;—time or neglect had battered away the inscription, nor -could we see the dates of some older tombstones in the ground, which -were mouldering away in the midst of nettles and rank grass on the wall.</p> - -<p>By a large public school of some reputation, where a hundred boys are -educated (my young guide the Orangeman was one of them; he related with -much glee how, on one of the Liberator’s visits, a schoolfellow had -waved a blue and orange flag from the window and cried, ‘King William -for ever, and to hell with the Pope!’), there is a fine old gate leading -to the river, and in excellent preservation, in spite of time and Oliver -Cromwell. It is a good specimen of Irish architecture. By this time that -exceedingly slow coach, the Newry Lark, had arrived at that exceedingly<a name="page_505" id="page_505"></a> -filthy inn where the mail had dropped us an hour before. An enormous -Englishman was holding a vain combat of wit with a brawny grinning -beggar-woman at the door. ‘There’s a <i>clever</i> gentleman,’ says the -beggar-woman; ‘sure he’ll give me something.’ ‘How much should you -like?’ says the Englishman, with playful jocularity. ‘Musha,’ says she, -‘many a <i>littler</i> man nor you has given me a shilling.’ The coach drives -away; the lady had clearly the best of the joking-match: but I did not -see, for all that, that the Englishman gave her a single farthing.</p> - -<p>From Castle Bellingham—as famous for ale as Drogheda, and remarkable -likewise for a still better thing than ale, an excellent resident -proprietress, whose fine park lies by the road, and by whose care and -taste the village has been rendered one of the most neat and elegant I -have yet seen in Ireland—the road to Dundalk is exceedingly -picturesque, and the traveller has the pleasure of feasting his eye with -the noble line of Mourn Mountains, which rise before him while he -journeys over a level country for several miles. The Newry Lark, to be -sure, disdained to take advantage of the easy roads to accelerate its -movements in any way; but the aspect of the country is so pleasant that -one can afford to loiter over it. The fields were yellow with the -stubble of the corn, which in this, one of the chief corn counties of -Ireland, had just been cut down; and a long straggling line of neat -farmhouses and cottages runs almost the whole way from Castle Bellingham -to Dundalk. For nearly a couple of miles of the distance the road runs -along the picturesque flat called Lurgan Green; and gentlemen’s -residences and parks are numerous along the road, and one seems to have -come amongst a new race of people, so trim are the cottages, so neat the -gates and hedges, in this peaceful smiling district. The people, too, -show signs of the general prosperity. A National school had just -dismissed its female scholars as we passed through Dunlar; and though -the children had most of them bare feet, their clothes were good and -clean, their faces rosy and bright, and their long hair as shiny and as -nicely combed as young ladies’ need to be. Numerous old castles and -towers stand on the road here and there; and long before we entered -Dundalk we had a sight of a huge factory-chimney in the town, and of the -dazzling white walls of the Roman Catholic church lately erected there. -The cabin-suburb is not great, and the entrance to the town is much -adorned by the Hospital—a handsome Elizabethan building—and a row of -houses of a similar architectural style, which lie on the left of the -traveller.<a name="page_506" id="page_506"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br /><br /> -<small>DUNDALK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> stranger can’t fail to be struck with the look of Dundalk, as he has -been with the villages and country leading to it, when contrasted with -places in the south and west of Ireland. The coach stopped at a -cheerful-looking <i>Place</i>, of which almost the only dilapidated mansion -was the old inn at which it discharged us, and which did not hold out -much prospect of comfort. But in justice to the King’s Arms, it must be -said that good beds and dinners are to be obtained there by voyagers; -and if they choose to arrive on days when his Grace the Most Reverend -the Lord Archbishop of Armagh and R.C. Primate of Ireland is dining with -his clergy, the house of course is crowded, and the waiters, and the boy -who carries in the potatoes, a little hurried and flustered. When their -reverences were gone, the laity were served; and I have no doubt, from -the leg of a duck which I got, that the breast and wings must have been -very tender.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the walk was pleasant through the bustling little town. A -grave old church, with a tall copper spire, defends one end of the main -street; and a little way from the inn is the superb new chapel, which -the architect, Mr. Duff, has copied from King’s College Chapel in -Cambridge. The ornamental part of the interior is not yet completed; but -the area of the chapel is spacious and noble, and three handsome altars -of scagliola (or some composition resembling marble) have been erected -of handsome and suitable form. When, by the aid of further -subscriptions, the church shall be completed, it will be one of the -handsomest places of worship the Roman Catholics possess in this -country. Opposite the chapel stands a neat low black building—the gaol; -in the middle of the building, and over the doorway, is an ominous -balcony and window, with an iron beam overhead. Each end of the beam is -ornamented with a grinning iron skull! Is this the hanging-place? and do -these grinning cast-iron skulls facetiously explain the business for -which the beam is there? For shame! for shame! Such disgusting emblems -ought no longer to disgrace a Christian land. If kill we must, let us do -so with as much despatch and decency as possible,—not brazen out our -misdeeds and perpetuate them in this frightful satiric way.</p> - -<p>A far better cast-iron emblem stands over a handsome shop in the place -hard by—a plough namely, which figures over the<a name="page_507" id="page_507"></a> factory of Mr. -Shekelton, whose industry and skill seem to have brought the greatest -benefit to his fellow-townsmen, of whom he employs numbers in his -foundries and workshops. This gentleman was kind enough to show me -through his manufactories, where all sorts of iron-works are made, from -a steam-engine to a door-key; and I saw everything to admire, and a vast -deal more than I could understand, in the busy, cheerful, orderly, -bustling, clanging place. Steam-boilers were hammered here; and pins -made by a hundred busy hands in a manufactory above. There was the -engine-room, where the monster was whirring his ceaseless wheels and -directing the whole operations of the factory, fanning the forges, -turning the drills, blasting into the pipes of the smelting-houses: he -had a house to himself, from which his orders issued to the different -establishments round about. One machine was quite awful to me, a gentle -cockney, not used to such things—it was an iron-devourer, a wretch with -huge jaws and a narrow mouth, ever opening and shutting, opening and -shutting. You put a half-inch iron plate between his jaws, and they shut -not a whit slower or quicker than before, and bit through the iron as if -it were a sheet of paper. Below the monster’s mouth was a punch that -performed its duties with similar dreadful calmness, going on its rising -and falling.</p> - -<p>I was so lucky as to have an introduction to the Vicar of Dundalk, which -that gentleman’s kind and generous nature interpreted into a claim for -unlimited hospitality; and he was good enough to consider himself bound -not only to receive me, but to give up previous engagements abroad in -order to do so. I need not say that it afforded me sincere pleasure to -witness, for a couple of days, his labours among his people; and indeed -it was a delightful occupation to watch both flock and pastor. The world -is a wicked, selfish, abominable place, as the parson tells us; but his -reverence comes out of his pulpit and gives the flattest contradiction -to his doctrine, busying himself with kind actions from morning till -night, denying to himself, generous to others, preaching the truth to -young and old, clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, consoling the -wretched, and giving hope to the sick;—and I do not mean to say that -this sort of life is led by the Vicar of Dundalk merely, but do firmly -believe that it is the life of the great majority of the Protestant and -Roman Catholic clergy of the country. There will be no breach of -confidence, I hope, in publishing here the journal of a couple of days -spent with one of these reverend gentlemen, and telling some readers, as -idle and profitless as the writer, what the clergyman’s peaceful labours -are.<a name="page_508" id="page_508"></a></p> - -<p>In the first place, we set out to visit the church—the comfortable -copper-spired old edifice that was noticed two pages back. It stands in -a green churchyard of its own, very neat and trimly kept, with an old -row of trees that were dropping their red leaves upon a flock of vaults -and tombstones below. The building being much injured by flame and time, -some hundred years back, was repaired, enlarged, and ornamented—as -churches in those days were ornamented—and has consequently lost a good -deal of its Gothic character. There is a great mixture, therefore, of -old style and new style and no style; but, with all this, the church is -one of the most commodious and best appointed I have seen in Ireland. -The vicar held a council with a builder regarding some ornaments for the -roof of the church, which is, as it should be, a great object for his -care and architectural taste, and on which he has spent a very large sum -of money. To these expenses he is, in a manner bound, for the living is -a considerable one, its income being no less than two hundred and fifty -pounds a year; out of which he has merely to maintain a couple of -curates and a clerk and sexton, to contribute largely towards schools -and hospitals, and relieve a few scores of pensioners of his own who are -fitting objects of private bounty.</p> - -<p>We went from the church to a school, which has been long a favourite -resort of the good vicar’s: indeed, to judge from the schoolmaster’s -books, his attendance there is almost daily—and the number of the -scholars some two hundred. The number was considerably greater until the -schools of the Educational Board were established, when the Roman -Catholic clergymen withdrew many of their young people from Mr. -Thackeray’s establishment.</p> - -<p>We found a large room with sixty or seventy boys at work; in an upper -chamber were a considerable number of girls, with their teachers, two -modest and pretty young women; but the favourite resort of the vicar was -evidently the Infant School,—and no wonder: it is impossible to witness -a more beautiful or touching sight.</p> - -<p>Eighty of these little people, healthy, clean, and rosy—some in smart -gowns and shoes and stockings, some with patched pinafores and little -bare pink feet—sate upon a half-dozen low benches, and were singing, at -the top of their fourscore fresh voices, a song when we entered. All the -voices were hushed as the vicar came in, and a great bobbing and -curtseying took place; whilst a hundred and sixty innocent eyes turned -awfully towards the clergyman, who tried to look as unconcerned as -possible, and began to make his little ones a speech. ‘I have brought,’ -says he, ‘a gentleman from England, who has heard of my little<a name="page_509" id="page_509"></a> children -and their school, and hopes he will carry away a good account of it. -Now, you know, we must all do our best to be kind and civil to -strangers: what can we do here for this gentleman that he would -like?—do you think he would like a song?’</p> - -<p><i>All the Children.</i>—‘We’ll sing to him!’</p> - -<p>Then the schoolmistress, coming forward, sang the first words of a hymn, -which at once eighty little voices took up, or near eighty—for some of -the little things were too young to sing yet, and all they could do was -to beat the measure with little red hands as the others sang. It was a -hymn about heaven, with a chorus of ‘Will not that be joyful, joyful?’ -and one of the verses beginning ‘Little children, too, are there.’ Some -of my fair readers (if I have the honour to find such) who have been -present at similar tender charming concerts, know the hymn, no doubt. It -was the first time I had ever heard it; and I do not care to own that it -brought tears to my eyes, though it is ill to parade such kind of -sentiment in print. But I think I will never, while I live, forget that -little chorus, nor would any man who has ever loved a child or lost one. -God bless you, O little happy singers! What a noble and useful life is -his, who, in place of seeking wealth or honour, devotes his life to such -a service as this! And all through our country, thank God! in quiet -humble corners that busy citizens and men of the world never hear of, -there are thousands of such men employed in such holy pursuits, with no -reward beyond that which the fulfilment of duty brings them. Most of -these children were Roman Catholics. At this tender age the priests do -not care to separate them from their little Protestant brethren: and no -wonder. He must be a child-murdering Herod who would find the heart to -do so.</p> - -<p>After the hymn, the children went through a little scripture catechism, -answering very correctly, and all in a breath, as the mistress put the -questions. Some of them were, of course, too young to understand the -words they uttered; but the answers are so simple that they cannot fail -to understand them before long; and they learn in spite of themselves.</p> - -<p>The catechism being ended, another song was sung; and now the vicar (who -had been humming the chorus along with his young singers, and, in spite -of an awful and grave countenance, could not help showing his extreme -happiness) made another oration, in which he stated that the gentleman -from England was perfectly satisfied; that he would have a good report -of the Dundalk children to carry home with him; that the day was very -fine, and the schoolmistress would probably like to take a walk; and, -finally, would the young<a name="page_510" id="page_510"></a> people give her a holiday? ‘As many,’ -concluded he, ‘as will give the schoolmistress a holiday, hold up their -hands!’ This question was carried unanimously.</p> - -<p>But I am bound to say, when the little people were told that as many as -<i>wouldn’t like</i> a holiday were to hold up <i>their</i> hands, all the little -hands went up again exactly as before: by which it may be concluded -either that the infants did not understand his reverence’s speech, or -that they were just as happy to stay at school as to go and play; and -the reader may adopt whichever of the reasons he inclines to. It is -probable that both are correct.</p> - -<p>The little things are so fond of the school, the vicar told me as we -walked away from it, that on returning home they like nothing better -than to get a number of their companions who don’t go to school, and to -play at infant-school.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p510_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p510_sml.jpg" width="163" height="105" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>They may be heard singing their hymns in the narrow alleys and humble -houses in which they dwell; and I was told of one dying who sang his -song of ‘Will not that be joyful, joyful?’ to his poor mother weeping at -his bedside, and promising her that they should meet where no parting -should be.</p> - -<p>‘There was a child in the school,’ said the vicar, ‘whose father, a -Roman Catholic, was a carpenter by trade, a good workman, and earning a -considerable weekly sum, but neglecting his wife and children and -spending his earnings in drink. We have a song against drunkenness that -the infants sing; and one evening, going home, the child found her -father excited with liquor and ill-treating his wife. The little thing -forthwith interposed between them, told her father what she had heard at -school regarding the criminality of drunkenness and quarrelling, and -finished her little sermon with the hymn. The father was first amused, -then touched;<a name="page_511" id="page_511"></a> and the end of it was that he kissed his wife, and asked -her to forgive him, hugged his child, and from that day would always -have her in his bed, made her sing to him morning and night, and forsook -his old haunts for the sake of his little companion.’</p> - -<p>He was quite sober and prosperous for eight months; but the vicar at the -end of that time began to remark that the child looked ragged at school, -and passing by her mother’s house, saw the poor woman with a black eye. -‘If it was any one but your husband, Mrs. C——, who gave you that black -eye,’ says the vicar, ‘tell me; but if he did it, don’t say a word.’ The -woman was silent, and soon after, meeting her husband, the vicar took -him to task. ‘You were sober for eight months. Now tell me fairly, -C——,’ says he, ‘were you happier when you lived at home with your wife -and child, or are you more happy now?’ The man owned that he was much -happier formerly, and the end of the conversation was, that he promised -to go home once more and try the sober life again, and he went home and -succeeded.</p> - -<p>The vicar continued to hear good accounts of him; but passing one day by -his house he saw the wife there looking very sad. Had her husband -relapsed?—No, he was dead, she said—dead of the cholera; but he had -been sober ever since his last conversation with the clergyman, and had -done his duty to his family up to the time of his death. ‘I said to the -woman,’ said the good old clergyman, in a grave low voice, ‘your husband -is gone now to the place where, according to his conduct here, his -eternal reward will be assigned him; and let us be thankful to think -what a different position he occupies now, to that which he must have -held had not his little girl been the means, under God, of converting -him.’</p> - -<p>Our next walk was to the County Hospital, the handsome edifice which -ornaments the Drogheda entrance of the town, and which I had remarked on -my arrival. Concerning this hospital, the governors were, when I passed -through Dundalk, in a state of no small agitation; for a gentleman by -the name of——, who, from being an apothecary’s assistant in the place, -had gone forth as a sort of amateur inspector of hospitals throughout -Ireland, had thought fit to censure their extravagance in erecting the -new building, stating that the old one was fully sufficient to hold -fifty patients, and that the public money might consequently have been -spared. Mr.——‘s plan for the better maintenance of them in general -is, that commissioners should be appointed to direct them, and not -county gentlemen as heretofore; the discussion of which question does -not need to be carried on in this humble work.<a name="page_512" id="page_512"></a></p> - -<p>My guide, who is one of the governors of the new hospital, conducted me, -in the first place, to the old one—a small dirty house in a damp and -low situation, with but three rooms to accommodate patients, and these -evidently not fit to hold fifty, or even fifteen patients. The new -hospital is one of the handsomest buildings of the size and kind in -Ireland; an ornament to the town, as the angry commissioner stated, but -not after all a building of undue cost, for the expense of its erection -was but £3000, and the sick of the county are far better accommodated in -it than in the damp and unwholesome tenement regretted by the eccentric -commissioner.</p> - -<p>An English architect, Mr. Smith, of Hertford, designed and completed the -edifice; strange to say, only exceeding his estimates by the sum of -three-and-sixpence, as the worthy governor of the hospital with great -triumph told me. The building is certainly a wonder of cheapness, and, -what is more, so complete for the purpose for which it was intended, and -so handsome in appearance, that the architect’s name deserves to be -published by all who hear it; and if any country newspaper editors -should notice this volume, they are requested to make the fact known. -The house is provided with every convenience for men and women, with all -the appurtenances of baths, water, gas, airy wards, and a garden for -convalescents; and below, a dispensary, a handsome board-room, kitchen, -and matron’s apartments, etc.—indeed, a noble requiring a house for a -large establishment need not desire a handsomer one than this, at its -moderate price of £3000. The beauty of this building has, as is almost -always the case, created emulation, and a terrace in the same taste has -been raised in the neighbourhood of the hospital.</p> - -<p>From the Hospital we bent our steps to the Institution; of which place I -give below the rules, and a copy of the course of study, and the -dietary: leaving English parents to consider the fact, that their -children can be educated at this place for <i>thirteen pounds a year</i>. Nor -is there anything in the establishment savouring of the Dotheboys -Hall.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> I never saw, in any public school in England, sixty cleaner, -smarter, more gentlemanlike boys<a name="page_513" id="page_513"></a> than were here at work. The upper -class had been at work on Euclid as we came in, and were set, by way of -amusing the<a name="page_514" id="page_514"></a> stranger, to perform a sum of compound interest of -diabolical complication, which, with its algebraic and arithmetic -solution, was handed up to me by three or four of the pupils; and I -strove to look as wise as I possibly could. Then they went through -questions of mental arithmetic with astonishing correctness and -facility; and finding from the master that classics were not taught in -the school, I took occasion to lament this circumstance, saying, with a -knowing air, that I would like to have examined the lads in a Greek -play.</p> - -<p>Classics, then, these young fellows do not get. Meat they get but twice -a week. Let English parents bear this fact in mind; but that the lads -are healthy and happy, anybody who sees them can have no question; -furthermore, they are well instructed in a sound practical -education—history, geography, mathematics, religion. What a place to -know of would this be for many a poor half-pay officer, where he may put -his children in all confidence that they will be well cared for and -soundly educated! Why have we not State Schools in England, where, for -the prime cost—for a sum which never need exceed for a young boy’s -maintenance £25 a year—our children might be brought up? We are -establishing National Schools for the labourer; why not give education -to the sons of the poor gentry—the clergyman whose pittance is small, -and would still give his son the benefit of a public education—the -artist—the officer—the merchant’s office-clerk, the literary man? What -a benefit might be conferred upon all of us if honest Charter Schools -could be established for our children, and where it would be impossible -for Squeers to make a profit!<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p> - -<p>Our next day’s journey led us, by half-past ten o’clock, to the ancient -town of Louth, a little poor village now, but a great seat of learning -and piety, it is said, formerly, where there stood a university and -abbeys, and where St. Patrick worked wonders. Here my kind friend, the -rector, was called upon to marry a smart<a name="page_515" id="page_515"></a> sergeant of police to a pretty -lass, one of the few Protestants who attend his church; and, the -ceremony over, we were invited to the house of the bride’s father hard -by, where the clergyman was bound to cut the cake, and drink a glass of -wine to the health of the new-married couple. There was evidently to be -a dance and some merriment in the course of the evening; for the good -mother of the bride (Oh, blessed is he who has a good mother-in-law!) -was busy at a huge fire in the little kitchen, and along the road we met -various parties of neatly-dressed people, and several of the sergeant’s -comrades, who were hastening to the wedding. The mistress of the -rector’s darling Infant School was one of the bridesmaids: consequently -the little ones had a holiday.</p> - -<p>But he was not to be disappointed of his Infant School in this manner; -so, mounting the car again, with a fresh horse, we went a very pretty -drive of three miles to the snug lone schoolhouse of Glyde-farm—near a -handsome park, I believe of the same name, where the proprietor is -building a mansion of the Tudor order.</p> - -<p>The pretty scene of Dundalk was here played over again; the children -sang their little hymns, the good old clergyman joined delighted in the -chorus, the holiday was given, and the little hands held up, and I -looked at more clean bright faces and little rosy feet—the scene need -not be repeated in print, but I can understand what pleasure a man must -take in the daily witnessing of it, and in the growth of these little -plants, which are set and tended by his care. As we returned to Louth, a -woman met us with a curtsey and expressed her sorrow that she had been -obliged to withdraw her daughter from one of the rector’s schools, which -the child was vexed at leaving too. But the orders of the priest were -peremptory; and who can say they were unjust? The priest, on his side, -was only enforcing the rule which the parson maintains as his:—the -latter will not permit his young flock to be educated except upon -certain principles and by certain teachers; the former has his own -scruples unfortunately also—and so that noble and brotherly scheme of -National Education falls to the ground. In Louth, the National School -was standing by the side of the priest’s chapel—it is so almost -everywhere throughout Ireland; the Protestants have rejected, on very -good motives doubtless, the chance of union which the Education Board -gave them—be it so: if the children of either sect be educated apart, -so that they <i>be</i> educated, the education scheme will have produced its -good, and the union will come afterwards.</p> - -<p>The church at Louth stands boldly upon a hill looking down on the -village, and has nothing remarkable in it but neatness, except the -monument of a former rector, Dr. Little, which attracts the<a name="page_516" id="page_516"></a> spectator’s -attention from the extreme inappropriateness of the motto on the coat of -arms of the reverend defunct. It looks rather unorthodox to read in a -Christian temple, where a man’s bones have the honour to lie, and where, -if anywhere, humility is requisite—that there is <i>multum in parvo</i>, ‘a -great deal in Little.’ O Little, in life you were not much, and lo! you -are less now; why should filial piety engrave that pert pun upon your -monument, to cause people to laugh in a place where they ought to be -grave? The defunct doctor built a very handsome rectory-house, with a -set of stables that would be useful to a nobleman, but are rather too -commodious for a peaceful rector who does not ride to hounds; and it was -in Little’s time, I believe, that the church was removed from the old -abbey, where it formerly stood, to its present proud position on the -hill.</p> - -<p>The abbey is a fine ruin, the windows of a good style, the tracings of -carvings on many of them; but a great number of stones and ornaments -were removed formerly to build farm-buildings withal, and the place is -now as rank and ruinous as the generality of Irish burying-places seem -to be. Skulls lie in clusters amongst nettle-beds by the abbey-walls; -graves are only partially covered with rude stones; a fresh coffin was -lying broken in pieces within the abbey; and the surgeon of the -dispensary hard by might procure subjects here, almost without -grave-breaking. Hard by the abbey is a building of which I beg leave to -offer the following interesting sketch:—</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p516_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p516_sml.jpg" width="126" height="61" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">The legend in the country goes that the place was built for the -accommodation of Saint ‘Murtogh,’ who lying down to sleep here in the -open fields, not having any place to house under, found to his surprise, -on waking in the morning, the above edifice, which the angels had built. -The angelic architecture, it will be seen, is of rather a rude kind; and -the village antiquary, who takes a pride in showing the place, says that -the building was erected <i>two thousand years ago</i>. In the handsome -grounds of the rectory is another spot visited by popular tradition—a -fairy’s ring: a regular mound of some thirty feet in height, flat and -even on the top, and<a name="page_517" id="page_517"></a> provided with a winding path for the -foot-passenger to ascend. Some trees grew on the mound, one of which was -removed in order to make the walk. But the country-people cried out -loudly at this desecration, and vowed that the ‘little people’ had -quitted the country side for ever in consequence.</p> - -<p>While walking in the town, a woman meets the rector with a number of -curtseys and compliments, and vows that ‘tis your reverence is the -friend of the poor, and may the Lord preserve you to us, and lady; and -having poured out blessings innumerable, concludes by producing a paper -for her son that’s in trouble in England. The paper ran to the effect, -that ‘We, the undersigned, inhabitants of the parish of Louth, have -known Daniel Horgan ever since his youth, and can speak confidently as -to his integrity, piety, and good conduct.’ In fact, the paper stated -that Daniel Horgan was an honour to his country, and consequently quite -incapable of the crime of sack-stealing, I think, with which at present -he was charged and lay in prison in Durham Castle. The paper had, I -should think, come down to the poor mother from Durham, with a direction -ready written to despatch it back again when signed, and was evidently -the work of one of those benevolent individuals in assize-towns, who, -following the profession of the law, delight to extricate unhappy young -men of whose innocence (from various six-and-eightpenny motives) they -feel convinced. There stood the poor mother, as the rector examined the -document, with a huge wafer in her hand, ready to forward it so soon as -it was signed; for the truth is, that ‘We, the undersigned,’ were as yet -merely imaginary.</p> - -<p>‘You don’t come to church,’ says the rector. ‘I know nothing of you or -your son: why don’t you go to the priest?’</p> - -<p>‘Oh, your reverence, my son’s to be tried next Tuesday,’ whimpered the -woman; and then said the priest was not in the way, but as we had seen -him a few minutes before, recalled the assertion, and she confessed that -she <i>had</i> been to the priest, and that he would not sign; and fell to -prayers, tears, and unbounded supplications to induce the rector to give -his signature. But that hard-hearted divine, stating that he had <i>not</i> -known Daniel Horgan from his youth upwards, that he could not certify as -to his honesty or dishonesty, enjoined the woman to make an attempt upon -the R.C. curate, to whose handwriting he would certify if need were.</p> - -<p>The upshot of the matter was that the woman returned with a certificate -from the R.C. curate as to her son’s good behaviour while in the -village, and the rector certified that the handwriting was that of the -R.C. clergyman in question, and the woman<a name="page_518" id="page_518"></a> popped her big red wafer into -the letter and went her way. Tuesday is passed long ere this: Mr. -Horgan’s guilt or innocence is long since clearly proved, and he -celebrates the latter in freedom, or expiates the former at the mill. -Indeed, I don’t know that there was any call to introduce his adventures -to the public, except, perhaps, it may be good to see how in this little -distant Irish village the blood of life is running. Here goes a happy -party to a marriage, and the parson prays a ‘God bless you!’ upon them, -and the world begins for them. Yonder lies a stall-fed rector in his -tomb, flaunting over his nothingness his pompous heraldic motto; and -yonder lie the fresh fragments of a nameless deal coffin, which any foot -may kick over. Presently you hear the clear voices of little children -praising God; and here comes a mother wringing her hands and asking for -succour for her lad, who was a child but the other day. Such <i>motus -animorum atque hoec certamina tanta</i> are going on in an hour of an -October day in a little pinch of clay in the county Louth.</p> - -<p>Perhaps—being in the moralising strain—the honest surgeon at the -dispensary might come in as an illustration. He inhabits a neat humble -house, a story higher than his neighbours’, but with a thatched roof. He -relieves a thousand patients yearly at the dispensary, he visits seven -hundred in the parish, he supplies the medicines gratis; and receiving -for these services the sum of about one hundred pounds yearly, some -county economists and calculators are loud against the extravagance of -his salary, and threaten his removal. All these individuals and their -histories we presently turn our backs upon, for, after all, dinner is at -five o’clock, and we have to see the new road to Dundalk, which the -county has lately been making.</p> - -<p>Of this undertaking, which shows some skilful engineering—some gallant -cutting of rocks and hills, and filling of valleys, with a tall and -handsome stone bridge thrown across the river, and connecting the high -embankments on which the new road at that place is formed—I can say -little, except that it is a vast convenience to the county, and a great -credit to the surveyor and contractor too; for the latter, though a poor -man, and losing heavily by his bargain, has yet refused to mulct his -labourers of their wages; and, as cheerfully as he can, still pays them -their shilling a day.<a name="page_519" id="page_519"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br /><br /> -<small>NEWRY, ARMAGH, BELFAST—FROM DUNDALK TO NEWRY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">M<small>Y</small> kind host gave orders to the small ragged boy that drove the car to -take ‘particular care of the little gentleman’; and the car-boy, -grinning in appreciation of the joke, drove off at his best pace, and -landed his cargo at Newry, after a pleasant two hours’ drive. The -country for the most part is wild, but not gloomy—the mountains round -about are adorned with woods and gentlemen’s seats; and the car-boy -pointed out one hill—that of Slievegullion, which kept us company all -the way—as the highest hill in Ireland. Ignorant or deceiving car-boy! -I have seen a dozen hills, each the highest in Ireland, in my way -through the country, of which the inexorable Guide-book gives the -measurement and destroys the claim. Well, it was the tallest hill, in -the estimation of the car-boy; and in this respect the world is full of -car-boys. Has not every mother of a family a Slievegullion of a son, -who, according to her measurement, towers above all other sons? Is not -the patriot, who believes himself equal to three Frenchmen, a car-boy in -heart? There was a kind young creature, with a child in her lap, that -evidently held this notion. She paid the child a series of compliments, -which would have led one to fancy he was an angel from heaven at the -least; and her husband sate gravely by, very silent, with his arms round -a barometer.</p> - -<p>Beyond these there were no incidents or characters of note, except an -old hostler that they said was ninety years old, and watered the horse -at a lone inn on the road. ‘Stop!’ cries this wonder of years and rags, -as the car, after considerable parley, got under weigh. The car-boy -pulled up, thinking a fresh passenger was coming out of the inn.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Stop, till one of the gentlemen gives me something</i>,’ says the old -man, coming slowly up with us; which speech created a laugh, and got him -a penny: he received it without the least thankfulness, and went away -grumbling to his pail.</p> - -<p>Newry is remarkable as being the only town I have seen which has no -cabin suburb: strange to say, the houses begin all at once, handsomely -coated and hatted with stone and slate; and if Dundalk was prosperous, -Newry is better still. Such a sight of neatness and comfort is -exceedingly welcome to an English traveller, who, moreover, finds -himself, after driving through a plain bustling clean street, landed at -a large plain comfortable inn, where business seems<a name="page_520" id="page_520"></a> to be done, where -there are smart waiters to receive him, and a comfortable warm -coffee-room that bears no traces of dilapidation.</p> - -<p>What the merits of the <i>cuisine</i> may be I can’t say for the information -of travellers; a gentleman to whom I had brought a letter from Dundalk -taking care to provide me at his own table, accompanying me previously -to visit the lions of the town. A river divides it, and the counties of -Armagh and Down: the river runs into the sea at Carlingford Bay, and is -connected by a canal with Lough Neagh, and thus with the north of -Ireland. Steamers to Liverpool and Glasgow sail continually. There are -mills, foundries, and manufactories, of which the Guide-book will give -particulars; and the town of 13,000 inhabitants is the busiest and most -thriving that I have yet seen in Ireland.</p> - -<p>Our first walk was to the church; a large and handsome building, -although built in the unlucky period when the Gothic style was coming -into vogue. Hence one must question the propriety of many of the -ornaments, though the whole is massive, well-finished, and stately. Near -the church stands the Roman Catholic chapel, a very fine building, the -work of the same architect, Mr. Duff, who erected the chapel at Dundalk; -but, like almost all other edifices of the kind in Ireland that I have -seen, the interior is quite unfinished, and already so dirty and -ruinous, that one would think a sort of genius for dilapidation must -have been exercised in order to bring it to its present condition. There -are tattered green-baize doors to enter at, a dirty clay floor, and -cracked plaster walls, with an injunction to the public not to spit on -the floor. Maynooth itself is scarcely more dreary. The architect’s -work, however, does him the highest credit: the interior of the church -is noble and simple in style; and one can’t but grieve to see a fine -work of art, that might have done good to the country, so defaced and -ruined as this is.</p> - -<p>The Newry poorhouse is as neatly ordered and comfortable as any house, -public or private, in Ireland: the same look of health which was so -pleasant to see among the Naas children of the union-house, was to be -remarked here: the same care and comfort for the old people. Of -able-bodied there were but few in the house; it is in winter that there -are most applicants for this kind of relief; the sunshine attracts the -women out of the place, and the harvest relieves it of the men. -Cleanliness, the matron said, is more intolerable to most of the inmates -that any other regulation of the house; and instantly on quitting the -house they relapse into their darling dirt, and of course at their -periodical return are subject to the unavoidable initiatory lustration.</p> - -<p>Newry has many comfortable and handsome public buildings;<a name="page_521" id="page_521"></a> the streets -have a business-like look, the shops and people are not too poor, and -the southern grandiloquence is not shown here in the shape of fine words -for small wares. Even the beggars are not so numerous, I fancy, or so -coaxing and wheedling in their talk. Perhaps, too, among the gentry, the -same moral change may be remarked, and they seem more downright and -plain in their manner; but one must not pretend to speak of national -characteristics from such a small experience as a couple of evenings’ -intercourse may give.</p> - -<p>Although not equal in natural beauty to a hundred other routes which the -traveller takes in the south, the ride from Newry to Armagh is an -extremely pleasant one, on account of the undeniable increase of -prosperity which is visible through the country. Well-tilled fields, -neat farmhouses, well-dressed people, meet one everywhere, and people -and landscape alike have a plain, hearty, flourishing look.</p> - -<p>The greater part of Armagh has the aspect of a good stout old English -town, although round about the steep on which the cathedral stands (the -Roman Catholics have taken possession of another hill, and are building -an opposition cathedral on this eminence) there are some decidedly Irish -streets, and that dismal combination of house and pig-sty which is so -common in Munster and Connaught.</p> - -<p>But the main streets, though not fine, are bustling, substantial, and -prosperous; and a fine green has some old trees and some good houses, -and even handsome stately public buildings, round about it, that remind -one of a comfortable cathedral city across the water.</p> - -<p>The cathedral service is more completely performed here than in any -English town, I think. The church is small, but extremely neat, fresh, -and handsome—almost too handsome; covered with spick-and-span gilding -and carved-work in the style of the thirteenth century; every pew as -smart and well-cushioned as my lord’s own seat in the country church; -and for the clergy and their chief, stalls and thrones quite curious for -their ornament and splendour. The Primate with his blue riband and badge -(to whom the two clergymen bow reverently as, passing between them, he -enters at the gate of the altar rail) looks like a noble Prince of the -Church; and I had heard enough of his magnificent charity and kindness -to look with reverence at his lofty handsome features.</p> - -<p>Will it be believed that the sermon lasted only for twenty minutes? Can -this be Ireland? I think this wonderful circumstance impressed me more -than any other with the difference between north and south, and, having -the Primate’s own countenance for<a name="page_522" id="page_522"></a> the opinion, may confess a great -admiration for orthodoxy in this particular.</p> - -<p>A beautiful monument to Archbishop Stuart, by Chantrey; a magnificent -stained window, containing the arms of the clergy of the diocese (in the -very midst of which I was glad to recognise the sober old family coat of -the kind and venerable Rector of Louth), and numberless carvings and -decorations, will please the lover of church architecture here. I must -confess, however, that in my idea the cathedral is quite too complete. -It is of the twelfth century, but not the least venerable. It is as neat -and trim as a lady’s drawing-room. It wants a hundred years at least to -cool the raw colour of the stones, and to dull the brightness of the -gilding; all which benefits, no doubt, time will bring to pass, and -future cockneys setting off from London Bridge after breakfast in an -aërial machine may come to hear the morning service here, and not remark -the faults which have struck a too susceptible tourist of the nineteenth -century.</p> - -<p>Strolling round the town after service, I saw more decided signs that -Protestantism was there in the ascendant. I saw no less than three -different ladies on the prowl, dropping religious tracts at various -doors; and felt not a little ashamed to be seen by one of them getting -into a car with bag and baggage, being bound for Belfast.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The ride of ten miles from Armagh to Portadown was not the prettiest, -but one of the pleasantest drives I have had in Ireland; for the country -is well cultivated along the whole of the road, the trees in plenty, and -villages and neat houses always in sight. The little farms, with their -orchards and comfortable buildings, were as clean and trim as could be -wished; they are mostly of one story, with long thatched roofs and -shining windows, such as those that may be seen in Normandy and Picardy. -As it was Sunday evening, all the people seemed to be abroad, some -sauntering quietly down the roads—a pair of girls here and there pacing -leisurely in a field, a little group seated under the trees of an -orchard, which pretty adjunct to the farm is very common in this -district; and the crop of apples seemed this year to be extremely -plenty. The physiognomy of the people too has quite changed: the girls -have their hair neatly braided up, not loose over their faces as in the -south; and not only are bare feet very rare, and stockings extremely -neat and white, but I am sure I saw at least a dozen good silk gowns -upon the women along the road, and scarcely one which was not clean and -in good order. The men for the most part figured in jackets, caps, and -trousers, eschewing the<a name="page_523" id="page_523"></a> old well of a hat which covers the popular head -at the other end of the island, the breeches, and the long, ill-made -tail-coat. The people’s faces are sharp and neat, not broad, lazy, -knowing-looking, like that of many a shambling Diogenes who may be seen -lounging before his cabin in Cork or Kerry. As for the cabins, they have -disappeared; and the houses of the people may rank decidedly as -cottages. The accent, too, is quite different; but this is hard to -describe in print. The people speak with a Scotch twang, and, as I -fancied, much more simply and to the point. A man gives you a downright -answer, without any grin, or joke, or attempt at flattery. To be sure, -these are rather early days to begin to judge of national -characteristics; and very likely the above distinctions have been drawn -after profoundly studying a Northern and a Southern waiter at the inn at -Armagh.</p> - -<p>At any rate, it is clear that the towns are vastly improved, the -cottages and villages no less so; the people look active and -well-dressed; a sort of weight seems all at once to be taken from the -Englishman’s mind on entering the province, when he finds himself once -more looking upon comfort, and activity, and resolution. What is the -cause of this improvement? <i>Protestantism</i> is, more than one -Church-of-England man said to me; but for Protestantism, would it not be -as well to read Scotchism?—meaning thrift, prudence, perseverance, -boldness, and common sense, with which qualities any body of men, of any -Christian denomination, would no doubt prosper.</p> - -<p>The little brisk town of Portadown, with its comfortable unpretending -houses, its squares and market-place, its pretty quay with craft along -the river,—a steamer building on the dock, close to mills and -warehouses that look in a full state of prosperity,—was a pleasant -conclusion to this ten miles’ drive, that ended at the newly opened -railway-station. The distance hence to Belfast is twenty-five miles; -Lough Neagh may be seen at one point of the line, and the Guide-book -says that the station towns of Lurgan and Lisburn are extremely -picturesque; but it was night when I passed by them, and after a journey -of an hour and a quarter reached Belfast.</p> - -<p>That city has been discovered by another eminent cockney traveller (for -though born in America, the dear old Bow-bell blood must run in the -veins of Mr. N. P. Willis), and I have met, in the periodical works of -the country, with repeated angry allusions to his description of -Belfast, the pink heels of the chambermaid who conducted him to bed -(what business had he to be looking at the young woman’s legs at all?), -and his wrath at the beggary of the town and the laziness of the -inhabitants, as marked by a line<a name="page_524" id="page_524"></a> of dirt running along the walls, and -showing where they were in the habit of lolling.</p> - -<p>These observations struck me as rather hard when applied to Belfast, -though possibly pink heels and beggary might be remarked in other cities -of the kingdom; but the town of Belfast seemed to me really to be as -neat, prosperous, and handsome a city as need be seen; and, with respect -to the inn, that in which I stayed, (Kearn’s) was as comfortable and -well-ordered an establishment as the most fastidious cockney can desire, -and with an advantage which some people perhaps do not care for, that -the dinners which cost seven shillings at London taverns are here served -for half a crown; but I must repeat here, in justice to the public, what -I stated to Mr. William the waiter, viz., that half a pint of port wine -<i>does</i> contain more than two glasses—at least it does in happy, happy -England.... Only, to be sure, here the wine is good, whereas the port -wine in England is not port, but, for the most part, an abominable drink -of which it would be a mercy only to give us two glasses; which, -however, is clearly wandering from the subject in hand.</p> - -<p>They call Belfast the Irish Liverpool: if people are for calling names, -it would be better to call it the Irish London at once—the chief city -of the kingdom, at any rate. It looks hearty, thriving, and prosperous, -as if it had money in its pockets and roast beef for dinner: it has no -pretensions to fashion, but looks mayhap better in its honest broadcloth -than <i>some people</i> in their shabby brocade. The houses are as handsome -as at Dublin, with this advantage, that people seem to live in them. -They have no attempt at ornament for the most part, but are grave, -stout, red-brick edifices, laid out at four angles in orderly streets -and squares.</p> - -<p>The stranger cannot fail to be struck (and haply a little frightened) by -the great number of meeting-houses that decorate the town, and give -evidence of great sermonising on Sundays. These buildings do not affect -the Gothic, like many of the meagre edifices of the Established and the -Roman Catholic churches, but have a physiognomy of their own—a -thick-set citizen look. Porticos have they, to be sure, and ornaments -Doric, Ionic, and what not; but the meeting-house peeps through all -these classical friezes and entablatures; and though one reads of -‘imitations of the Ionic Temple of Ilissus, near Athens,’ the classic -temple is made to assume a bluff, downright, Presbyterian air, which -would astonish the original builder, doubtless. The churches of the -Establishment are handsome and stately;—the Catholics are building a -brick cathedral, no doubt of the Tudor style. The present chapel, -flanked by the National Schools, is an exceedingly<a name="page_525" id="page_525"></a> unprepossessing -building of the Strawberry Hill or Castle of Otranto Gothic; the keys -and mitre figuring in the centre—‘The cross-keys and night-cap,’ as a -hard-hearted Presbyterian called them to me, with his blunt humour.</p> - -<p>The three churches are here pretty equally balanced—Presbyterians -25,000, Catholics 20,000, Episcopalians 17,000. Each party has two or -more newspaper organs; and the wars between them are dire and unceasing, -as the reader may imagine. For whereas, in other parts of Ireland where -Catholics and Episcopalians prevail, and the Presbyterian body is too -small, each party has but one opponent to belabour; here, the Ulster -politician, whatever may be his way of thinking, has the great advantage -of possessing two enemies on whom he may exercise his eloquence; and in -this triangular duel all do their duty nobly. Then there are -subdivisions of hostility. For the Church there is a High Church and a -Low Church journal; for the Liberals there is a Repeal journal and a -No-repeal journal. For the Presbyterians there are yet more varieties of -journalist opinion, of which it does not become a stranger to pass a -judgment. If the <i>Northern Whig</i> says that the <i>Banner of Ulster</i> ‘is a -polluted rag, which has hoisted the red banner of falsehood’ (which -elegant words may be found in the first-named journal of the 13th -October), let us be sure the <i>Banner</i> has a compliment for the <i>Northern -Whig</i> in return; if the Repeal <i>Vindicator</i> and the priests attack the -Presbyterian journals and the Home Missions, the reverend gentlemen of -Geneva are quite as ready with the pen as their brethren of Rome, and -not much more scrupulous in their language than the laity. When I was in -Belfast, violent disputes were raging between Presbyterian and -Episcopalian Conservatives with regard to the Marriage Bill; between -Presbyterians and Catholics on the subject of the Home Missions; between -the Liberals and Conservatives, of course. ‘Thank God,’ for instance, -writes a Repeal journal, ‘that the honour and power <i>of Ireland</i> are not -involved in the disgraceful Afghan war!’—a sentiment insinuating Repeal -and something more; disowning, not merely this or that ministry, but the -sovereign and her jurisdiction altogether. But details of these -quarrels, religious or political, can tend to edify but few readers out -of the country. Even in it, as there are some nine shades of -politico-religious differences, an observer pretending to impartiality -must necessarily displease eight parties, and almost certainly the whole -nine; and the reader who desires to judge the politics of Belfast must -study for himself. Nine journals, publishing four hundred numbers in a -year, each number containing about as much as an octavo volume: these, -and the back<a name="page_526" id="page_526"></a> numbers of former years, sedulously read, will give the -student a notion of the subject in question. And then, after having read -the statements on either side, he must ascertain the truth of them, by -which time more labour of the same kind will have grown upon him, and he -will have attained a good old age.</p> - -<p>Amongst the poor, the Catholics and Presbyterians are said to go in a -pretty friendly manner to the National Schools; but among the -Presbyterians themselves it appears there are great differences and -quarrels, by which a fine institution, the Belfast Academy, seems to -have suffered considerably. It is almost the only building in this large -and substantial place that bears, to the stranger’s eye, an unprosperous -air. A vast building, standing fairly in the midst of a handsome green -and place, and with snug, comfortable red-brick streets stretching away -at neat right angles all around, the Presbyterian College looks handsome -enough at a short distance, but on a nearer view is found in a woful -state of dilapidation. It does not possess the supreme dirt and filth of -Maynooth—<i>that</i> can but belong to one place, even in Ireland; but the -building is in a dismal state of unrepair, steps and windows broken, -doors and stairs battered. Of scholars I saw but a few, and these were -in the drawing academy. The fine arts do not appear as yet to flourish -in Belfast. The models from which the lads were copying were not good: -one was copying a bad copy of a drawing by Prout; one was colouring a -print. The ragged children in a German National School have better -models before them, and are made acquainted with truer principles of art -and beauty.</p> - -<p>Hard by is the Belfast Museum, where an exhibition of pictures was in -preparation, under the patronage of the Belfast Art Union. Artists in -all parts of the kingdom had been invited to send their works, of which -the Union pays the carriage; and the porters and secretary were busy -unpacking cases, in which I recognised some of the works which had -before figured on the walls of the London Exhibition rooms.</p> - -<p>The book-shops which I saw in this thriving town said much for the -religions disposition of the Belfast public: there were numerous -portraits of reverend gentlemen, and their works of every variety:—<i>The -Sinners’ Friend, The Watchman on the Tower, The Peep of Day, Sermons -delivered at Bethesda Chapel</i>, by so-and-so; with hundreds of the neat -little gilt books with bad prints, scriptural titles, and gilt edges, -that came from one or two serious publishing houses in London, and in -considerable numbers from the neighbouring Scotch shores. As for the -Theatre, with such a public the drama can be expected to find but<a name="page_527" id="page_527"></a> -little favour; and the gentleman who accompanied me in my walk, and to -whom I am indebted for many kindnesses during my stay, said not only -that he had never been in the playhouse, but that he never heard of any -one going thither. I found out the place where the poor neglected -dramatic Muse of Ulster hid herself; and was of a party of six in the -boxes, the benches of the pit being dotted over with about a score more. -Well, it was a comfort to see that the gallery was quite full, and -exceedingly happy and noisy: they stamped, and stormed, and shouted, and -clapped, in a way that was pleasant to hear. One young god, between the -acts, favoured the public with a song—extremely ill sung, certainly, -but the intention was everything; and his brethren above stamped in -chorus with roars of delight.</p> - -<p>As for the piece performed, it was a good old melodrama of the British -sort, inculcating a thorough detestation of vice and a warm sympathy -with suffering virtue. The serious are surely too hard upon poor -playgoers. We never for a moment allow rascality to triumph beyond a -certain part of the third act; we sympathise with the woes of young -lovers—her in ringlets and a Polish cap, him in tights and a Vandyke -collar; we abhor avarice or tyranny in the person of ‘the first old man’ -with the white wig and red stockings, or of the villain with the roaring -voice and black whiskers; we applaud the honest wag (he is a good fellow -in spite of his cowardice) in his hearty jests at the tyrant before -mentioned; and feel a kindly sympathy with all mankind as the curtain -falls over all the characters in a group, of which successful love is -the happy centre. Reverend gentlemen in meeting-house and church, who -shout against the immoralities of this poor stage, and threaten all -playgoers with the fate which is awarded to unsuccessful plays, should -try and bear less hardly upon us.</p> - -<p>An artist, who, in spite of the Art Union, can scarcely, I should think, -flourish in a place that seems devoted to preaching, politics, and -trade, has somehow found his way to this humble little theatre, and -decorated it with some exceedingly pretty scenery—almost the only -indication of a taste for the fine arts which I have found as yet in the -country.</p> - -<p>A fine night-exhibition in the town is that of the huge spinning-mills -which surround it, and of which the thousand windows are lighted up at -nightfall, and may be seen from almost all quarters of the city.</p> - -<p>A gentleman to whom I had brought an introduction good-naturedly left -his work to walk with me to one of these mills, and stated by whom he -had been introduced to me to the mill-proprietor, Mr. Mulholland. -<i>‘That</i> recommendation,’ said Mr.<a name="page_528" id="page_528"></a> Mulholland gallantly, ‘is welcome -anywhere.’ It was from my kind friend Mr. Lever. What a privilege some -men have, who can sit quietly in their studies and make friends all the -world over!</p> - -<p>Here is the figure of a girl sketched in the place; there are nearly -five hundred girls employed in it. They work in huge long chambers, -lighted by numbers of windows, hot with steam, buzzing and humming with -hundreds of thousands of whirling wheels, that all take their motion -from a steam-engine which lives apart in a hot cast-iron temple of its -own, from which it communicates with the innumerable machines that the -five hundred girls preside over. They have seemingly but to take away -the work when done—the enormous monster in the cast-iron room does it -all. He cards the flax, and combs it, and spins it, and beats it, and -twists it; the five hundred girls stand by to feed him, or take the -material from him, when he has had his will of it. There is something -frightful in the vastness as in the minuteness of this power. Every -thread writhes and twirls as the steam-fate orders it,—every thread, of -which it would take a hundred to make the thickness of a hair.</p> - -<div class="figleft" style="width: 108px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p528_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p528_sml.jpg" width="108" height="173" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>I have seldom, I think, seen more good looks than amongst the young -women employed in this place. They work for twelve hours daily, in rooms -of which the heat is intolerable to a stranger; but in spite of it they -looked gay, stout, and healthy; nor were their forms much concealed by -the very simple clothes they wear while in the mill.</p> - -<p>The stranger will be struck by the good looks not only of these -spinsters, but of almost all the young women in the streets. I never saw -a town where so many women are to be met—so many and so pretty—with -and without bonnets, with good figures, in neat homely shawls and -dresses. The grisettes of Belfast are among the handsomest ornaments of -it; and as good, no doubt, and irreproachable in morals as their sisters -in the rest of Ireland.</p> - -<p>Many of the merchants’ counting-houses are crowded in little -old-fashioned ‘entries,’ or courts, such as one sees about the Bank<a name="page_529" id="page_529"></a> in -London. In and about these, and in the principal streets in the daytime, -is a great activity, and homely unpretending bustle. The men have a -business look too, and one sees very few flaunting dandies, as in -Dublin. The shopkeepers do not brag upon their signboards, or keep -‘emporiums,’ as elsewhere,—their places of business being for the most -part homely; though one may see some splendid shops, which are not to be -surpassed by London. The docks and quays are busy with their craft and -shipping, upon the beautiful borders of the Lough;—the large red -warehouses stretching along the shores, with ships loading, or -unloading, or building, hammers clanging, pitch-pots flaming and -boiling, seamen cheering in the ships, or lolling lazily on the shore. -The life and movement of a port here give the stranger plenty to admire -and observe. And nature has likewise done everything for the -place—surrounding it with picturesque hills and water;—for which -latter I must confess I was not very sorry to leave the town behind me, -and its mills, and its meeting-houses, and its commerce, and its -theologians, and its politicians.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p529_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p529_sml.jpg" width="90" height="114" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /><br /> -<small>BELFAST TO THE CAUSEWAY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> Lough of Belfast has a reputation for beauty almost as great as that -of the Bay of Dublin; but though, on the day I left Belfast for Larne, -the morning was fine, and the sky clear and blue above, an envious mist -lay on the water, which hid all its beauties from<a name="page_530" id="page_530"></a> the dozen of -passengers on the Larne coach. All we could see were ghostly-looking -silhouettes of ships gliding here and there through the clouds; and I am -sure the coachman’s remark was quite correct, that it was a pity the day -was so misty. I found myself, before I was aware, entrapped into a -theological controversy with two grave gentlemen outside the -coach—another fog, which did not subside much before we reached -Carrickfergus. The road from the Ulster capital to that little town -seemed meanwhile to be extremely lively; cars and omnibuses passed -thickly peopled. For some miles along the road is a string of handsome -country-houses, belonging to the rich citizens of the town; and we -passed by neat-looking churches and chapels, factories and rows of -cottages clustered round them, like villages of old at the foot of -feudal castles. Furthermore it was hard to see, for the mist which lay -on the water had enveloped the mountains too, and we only had a glimpse -or two of smiling comfortable fields and gardens.</p> - -<p>Carrickfergus rejoices in a real romantic-looking castle jutting bravely -into the sea, and famous as a background for a picture. It is of use for -little else now, luckily, nor has it been put to any real warlike -purposes since the day when honest Thurot stormed, took, and evacuated -it. Let any romancer who is in want of a hero peruse the second volume, -or it may be the third, of the <i>Annual Register</i>, where the adventures -of that gallant fellow are related. He was a gentleman, a genius, and, -to crown all, a smuggler. He lived for some time in Ireland, and in -England, in disguise; he had love-passages and romantic adventures; he -landed a body of his countrymen on these shores, and died in the third -volume, after a battle gallantly fought on both sides, but in which -victory rested with the British arms. What can a novelist want more? -William III. also landed here; and as for the rest, ‘M’Skimin, the -accurate and laborious historian of the town, informs us that the -founding of the castle is lost in the depths of antiquity.’ It is -pleasant to give a little historic glance at a place as one passes -through. The above facts may be relied on as coming from Messrs. Curry’s -excellent new Guide-book, with the exception of the history of Mons. -Thurot, which is ‘private information,’ drawn years ago from the scarce -work previously mentioned. By the way, another excellent companion to -the traveller in Ireland is the collection of the <i>Irish Penny -Magazine</i>, which may be purchased for a guinea, and contains a mass of -information regarding the customs and places of the country. Willis’s -work is amusing, as everything is, written by that lively author, and -the engravings accompanying it as unfaithful as any ever made.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, asking pardon for this double digression, which has<a name="page_531" id="page_531"></a> been -made while the guard-coachman is delivering his mail-bags—while the -landlady stands looking on in the sun, her hands folded a little below -the waist—while a company of tall burly troops from the castle has -passed by, ‘surrounded’ by a very mean, mealy-faced, uneasy-looking -little subaltern—while the poor, epileptic idiot of the town, wallowing -and grinning in the road, and snorting out supplications for a -halfpenny, has tottered away in possession of the coin;—meanwhile, -fresh horses are brought out, and the small boy who acts behind the -coach, makes an unequal and disagreeable tootooing on a horn kept to -warn sleepy carmen and celebrate triumphal entries into and exits from -cities. As the mist clears up, the country shows round about wild but -friendly; at one place we passed a village where a crowd of well-dressed -people were collected at an auction of farm-furniture, and many more -figures might be seen coming over the fields and issuing from the mist. -The owner of the carts and machines is going to emigrate to America. -Presently we come to the demesne of Red Hall, ‘through which is a pretty -drive of upwards of a mile in length: it contains a rocky glen, the bed -of a mountain stream—which is perfectly dry, except in winter—and the -woods about it are picturesque, and it is occasionally the resort of -summer-parties of pleasure.’ Nothing can be more just than the first -part of the description, and there is very little doubt that the latter -paragraph is equally faithful;—with which we come to Larne, a ‘most -thriving town,’ the same authority says, but a most dirty and -narrow-streeted and ill-built one. Some of the houses reminded one of -the south, as thus—</p> - -<div class="figright" style="width: 64px;"> -<a href="images/ill-p531_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p531_sml.jpg" width="64" height="88" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p>A benevolent fellow-passenger said that the window was ‘a convanience’; -and here, after a drive of nineteen miles upon a comfortable coach, we -were transferred with the mail-bags to a comfortable car that makes the -journey to Ballycastle. There is no harm in saying that there was a very -pretty smiling buxom young lass for a travelling companion; and somehow, -to a lonely person, the landscape always looks prettier in such society. -The ‘Antrim coast road,’ which we now, after a few miles, begin to -follow, besides being one of the most noble and gallant works of art -that is to be seen in any country, is likewise a route highly -picturesque and romantic; the sea spreading wide before the spectator’s -eyes upon one side of the route;—the tall cliffs of limestone rising -abruptly above him on the other. There are in the map of Curry’s -Guide-book points indicating castle and abbey ruins in the<a name="page_532" id="page_532"></a> vicinity of -Glenarm; and the little place looked so comfortable as we abruptly came -upon it round a rock, that I was glad to have an excuse for staying, and -felt an extreme curiosity with regard to the abbey and the castle.</p> - -<p>The abbey only exists in the unromantic shape of a wall; the castle, -however, far from being a ruin, is an antique in the most complete -order—an old castle repaired so as to look like new, and increased by -modern wings, towers, gables, and terraces, so extremely old that the -whole forms a grand and imposing-looking baronial edifice, towering -above the little town which it seems to protect, and with which it is -connected by a bridge and a severe-looking armed tower and gate. In the -town is a town-house, with a campanile in the Italian taste, and a -school or chapel opposite, in the Early English; so that the inhabitants -can enjoy a considerable architectural variety. A grave-looking church, -with a beautiful steeple, stands amid some trees hard by a second -handsome bridge and the little quay; and here, too, was perched a poor -little wandering theatre (gallery 1d., pit 2d.), and proposing that -night to play ‘Bombastes Furioso, and the Comic Bally of Glenarm in an -Uproar.’ I heard the thumping of the drum in the evening; but, as at -Roundwood, nobody patronised the poor players: at nine o’clock there was -not a single taper lighted under their awning, and my heart (perhaps it -is too susceptible) bled for Fusbos.</p> - -<p>The severe gate of the castle was opened by a kind, good-natured old -porteress, instead of a rough gallowglass with a battle-axe and yellow -shirt (more fitting guardian of so stern a postern), and the old dame -insisted upon my making an application to see the grounds of the castle, -which request was very kindly granted, and afforded a delightful -half-hour’s walk. The grounds are beautiful, and excellently kept; the -trees in their autumn livery of red, yellow, and brown, except some -stout ones that keep to their green summer clothes, and the laurels and -their like, who wear pretty much the same dress all the year round. The -birds were singing with most astonishing vehemence in the dark -glistening shrubberies; but the only sound in the walks was that of the -rakes pulling together the falling leaves. There was of these walks one -especially, flanked towards the river by a turreted wall covered with -ivy, and having on the one side a row of lime-trees that had turned -quite yellow, while opposite them was a green slope, and a quaint -terrace-stair, and a long range of fantastic gables, towers, and -chimneys;—there was, I say, one of these walks which Mr. Cattermole -would hit off with a few strokes of his gallant pencil, and which I -could fancy to be frequented by some of those long-trained, tender, -gentle-looking young beauties whom Mr. Stone loves to design. Here they -come<a name="page_533" id="page_533"></a> talking of love in a tone that is between a sigh and a whisper, -and gliding in rustling shot silks over the fallen leaves.</p> - -<p>There seemed to be a good deal of stir in the little port, where, says -the Guide-book, a couple of hundred vessels take in cargoes annually of -the produce of the district. Stone and lime are the chief articles -exported, of which the cliffs for miles give an unfailing supply; and, -as one travels the mountains at night, the kilns may be seen lighted up -in the lonely places, and flaring red in the darkness.</p> - -<p>If the road from Larne to Glenarm is beautiful, the coast route from the -latter place to Cushendall is still more so; and, except peerless -Westport, I have seen nothing in Ireland so picturesque as this noble -line of coast-scenery. The new road, luckily, is not yet completed, and -the lover of natural beauties had better hasten to the spot in time, -ere, by flattening and improving the road, and leading it along the -sea-shore, half the magnificent prospects are shut out, now visible from -along the mountainous old road; which, according to the good old -fashion, gallantly takes all the hills in its course, disdaining to turn -them. At three miles’ distance, near the village of Cairlough, Glenarm -looks more beautiful than when you are close upon it; and, as the car -travels on to the stupendous Garron Head, the traveller, looking back, -has a view of the whole line of coast southward as far as Isle Magee, -with its bays and white villages, and tall precipitous cliffs, green, -white, and grey. Eyes left, you may look with wonder at the mountains -rising above, or presently at the pretty park and grounds of Drumnasole. -Here, near the woods of Nappan, which are dressed in ten thousand -colours—ash-leaves turned yellow, nut-trees red, birch-leaves brown, -lime-leaves speckled over with black spots (marks of a disease which -they will never get over)—stands a school-house that looks like a -French château, having probably been a villa in former days, and -discharges, as we pass, a cluster of fair-haired children that begin -running madly down the hill, their fair hair streaming behind them. Down -the hill goes the car madly too, and you wonder and bless your stars -that the horse does not fall, or crush the children that are running -before, or you that are sitting behind. Every now and then, at a trip of -the horse, a disguised lady’s-maid, with a canary-bird in her lap and a -vast anxiety about her best bonnet in the bandbox, begins to scream; at -which the car-boy grins, and rattles down the hill only the quicker. The -road, which almost always skirts the hillside, has been torn sheer -through the rock here and there; and immense work of levelling, -shovelling, picking, blasting, filling, is going on along the whole -line. As I was looking up a vast<a name="page_534" id="page_534"></a> cliff, decorated with patches of green -here and there at its summit, and at its base, where the sea had beaten -until now, with long, thin, waving grass, that I told a grocer, my -neighbour, was like mermaids’ hair (though he did not in the least -coincide in the simile)—as I was looking up the hill, admiring two -goats that were browsing on a little patch of green, and two sheep -perched yet higher (I had never seen such agility in mutton)—as, I say -once more, I was looking at these phenomena, the grocer nudges me and -says, ‘<i>Look on to this side</i>—<i>that’s Scotland yon</i>,’ If ever this book -reaches a second edition, a sonnet shall be inserted in this place, -describing the author’s feelings on <span class="smcap">his first view of Scotland</span>. -Meanwhile, the Scotch mountains remain undisturbed, looking blue and -solemn far away in the placid sea.</p> - -<p>Rounding Garron Head, we come upon the inlet which is called Red Bay, -the shores and sides of which are of red clay, that has taken the place -of limestone, and towards which, between two noble ranges of mountains, -stretches a long green plain, forming, together with the hills that -protect it and the sea that washes it, one of the most beautiful -landscapes of this most beautiful country. A fair writer, whom the -Guide-book quotes, breaks out into strains of admiration in speaking of -this district; calls it ‘Switzerland in miniature,’ celebrates its -mountains of Glenariff and Lurgethan, and lauds, in terms of equal -admiration, the rivers, waterfalls, and other natural beauties that lie -within the glen.</p> - -<p>The writer’s enthusiasm regarding this tract of country is quite -warranted, nor can any praise in admiration of it be too high; but alas! -in calling a place ‘Switzerland in miniature,’ do we describe it? In -joining together cataracts, valleys, rushing streams, and blue -mountains, with all the emphasis and picturesqueness of which type is -capable, we cannot get near to a copy of Nature’s sublime countenance; -and the writer can’t hope to describe such grand sights so as to make -them visible to the fireside reader, but can only, to the best of his -taste and experience, warn the future traveller where he may look out -for objects to admire. I think this sentiment has been repeated a score -of times in this journal; but it comes upon one at every new display of -beauty and magnificence, such as here the Almighty in His bounty has set -before us; and every such scene seems to warn one, that it is not made -to talk about too much, but to think of, and love, and be grateful for.</p> - -<p>Rounding this beautiful bay and valley, we passed by some caves that -penetrate deep into the red rock, and are inhabited—one by a -blacksmith, whose forge was blazing in the dark; one by cattle; and one -by an old woman that has sold whisky here for time out of mind. The road -then passes under an arch cut in the<a name="page_535" id="page_535"></a> rock by the same spirited -individual who has cleared away many of the difficulties in the route to -Glenarm, and beside a conical hill, where for some time previous have -been visible the ruins of the ‘ancient ould castle’ of Red Bay. At a -distance, it looks very grand upon its height; but on coming close it -has dwindled down to a mere wall, and not a high one. Hence, quickly we -reach Cushendall, where the grocer’s family are on the look-out for him; -the driver begins to blow his little bugle, and the disguised -lady’s-maid begins to smooth her bonnet and hair.</p> - -<p>At this place a good dinner of fresh whiting, broiled bacon, and small -beer was served up to me for the sum of eightpence, while the -lady’s-maid in question took her tea. ‘This town is full of Papists,’ -said her ladyship, with an extremely genteel air; and, either in -consequence of this, or because she ate up one of the fish, which she -had clearly no right to, a disagreement arose between us, and we did not -exchange another word for the rest of the journey. The road led us for -fourteen miles by wild mountains, and across a fine aqueduct to -Ballycastle; but it was dark as we left Cushendall, and it was difficult -to see more in the grey evening but that the country was savage and -lonely, except where the kilns were lighted up here and there in the -hills, and a shining river might be seen winding in the dark ravines. -Not far from Ballycastle lies a little old ruin, called the Abbey of -Bonamargy: by it the Margy river runs into the sea, upon which you come -suddenly; and on the shore are some tall buildings and factories, that -looked as well in the moonlight as if they had not been in ruins; and -hence a fine avenue of limes leads to Ballycastle. They must have been -planted at the time recorded in the Guide-book, when a mine was -discovered near the town, and the works and warehouses on the quay -erected. At present, the place has little trade, and half a dozen carts -with apples, potatoes, dried fish, and turf, seem to contain the -commerce of the market.</p> - -<p>The picturesque sort of vehicle which is here designed, is said to be -going much out of fashion in the country, the solid wheels giving place -to those common to the rest of Europe. A fine and edifying conversation -took place between the designer and the owner of the vehicle. ‘Stand -still for a minute, you and the car, and I will give you twopence!’ -‘What do you want to do with it?’ says the latter. ‘To draw it.’ ‘To -<i>draw</i> it?’ says he, with a wild look of surprise, ‘and is it you’ll -draw it?’ ‘I mean, I want to take a picture of it; you know what a -picture is?’ ‘No, I don’t.’ ‘Here’s one,’ says I, showing him a book. -‘Oh, faith, sir,’ says the carman, drawing back rather alarmed, ‘I’m no -scholar!’ And he concluded by saying, ‘<i>Will you buy the<a name="page_536" id="page_536"></a> turf, or will -you not?</i> by which straightforward question he showed himself to be a -real practical man of sense; and, as he got an unsatisfactory reply to -this query, he forthwith gave a lash to his pony, and declined to wait a -minute longer. As for the twopence, he certainly accepted that handsome -sum, and put it into his pocket, but with an air of extreme wonder at -the transaction, and of contempt for the giver, which very likely was -perfectly justifiable. I have seen men despised in genteel companies -with not half so good a cause.</p> - -<p>In respect to the fine arts, I am bound to say that the people in the -south and west showed much more curiosity and interest with regard to a -sketch and its progress than has been shown by the <i>badauds</i> of the -north; the former looking on by dozens, and exclaiming, ‘That’s Frank -Mahony’s house!’ or, ‘Look at Biddy Mullins and the child!’ or ‘He’s -taking off the chimney now!’ as the case may be; whereas, sketching in -the north, I have collected no such spectators, the people not taking -the slightest notice of the transaction.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p536_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p536_sml.jpg" width="134" height="115" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>The little town of Ballycastle does not contain much to occupy the -traveller: behind the church stands a ruined old mansion with round -turrets, that must have been a stately tower in former days. The town is -more modern, but almost as dismal as the tower. A little street behind -it slides off into a potato-field—the peaceful barrier of the place; -and hence I could see the tall rock of Bengore, with the sea beyond it, -and a pleasing landscape stretching towards it.</p> - -<p>Dr. Hamilton’s elegant and learned book has an awful picture of yonder -head of Bengore; and hard by it the Guide-book says is<a name="page_537" id="page_537"></a> a coal-mine, -where Mr. Barrow found a globular stone hammer, which, he infers, was -used in the coal-mine before weapons of iron were invented. The former -writer insinuates that the mine must have been worked more than a -thousand years ago, ‘before the turbulent chaos of events that succeeded -the eighth century.’ Shall I go and see a coal-mine that may have been -worked a thousand years since? Why go see it? says idleness. To be able -to say that I have seen it. Sheridan’s advice to his son here came into -my mind;<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> and I shall reserve a description of the mine, and an -antiquarian dissertation regarding it, for publication elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Ballycastle must not be left without recording the fact that one of the -snuggest inns in the country is kept by the postmaster there; who has -also a stable full of good horses for travellers who take his little inn -on the way to the Giant’s Causeway.</p> - -<p>The road to the Causeway is bleak, wild, and hilly. The cabins along the -road are scarcely better than those of Kerry, the inmates as ragged, and -more fierce and dark-looking. I never was so pestered by juvenile -beggars as in the dismal village of Ballintoy. A crowd of them rushed -after the car, calling for money in a fierce manner, as if it was their -right; dogs as fierce as the children came yelling after the vehicle; -and the faces which scowled out of the black cabins were not a whit more -good-humoured. We passed by one or two more clumps of cabins, with their -turf and corn-stacks lying together at the foot of the hills; placed -there for the convenience of the children, doubtless, who can thus -accompany the car either way, and shriek out their ‘Bonny gantleman, gie -us a hap’ny.’ A couple of churches, one with a pair of its pinnacles -blown off, stood in the dismal open country, and a gentleman’s house -here and there: there were no trees about them, but a brown grass round -about—hills rising and falling in front, and the sea beyond. The -occasional view of the coast was noble; wild Bengore towering eastwards -as we went along; Raghery Island before us, in the steep rocks and caves -of which Bruce took shelter when driven from yonder Scottish coast, that -one sees stretching blue in the north-east.</p> - -<p>I think this wild gloomy tract through which one passes is a good -prelude for what is to be the great sight of the day, and got my mind to -a proper state of awe by the time we were near the journey’s end; and -turning away shorewards by the fine house of Sir Francis Macnaghten, -went towards a lone handsome inn, that stands close to the Causeway. The -landlord at Ballycastle had lent me Hamilton’s book, to read on the -road; but I had not time<a name="page_538" id="page_538"></a> then to read more than half a dozen pages of -it. They described how the author, a clergyman distinguished as a man of -science, had been thrust out of a friend’s house by the frightened -servants one wild night, and butchered by some White Boys, who were -waiting outside, and called for his blood. I had been told at Belfast -that there was a corpse in the inn: was it there now? It had driven off, -the car-boy said, ‘in a handsome hearse and four to Dublin the whole -way.’ It was gone, but I thought the house looked as if the ghost was -there. See, yonder are the black rocks stretching to Portrush; how -leaden and grey the sea looks! how grey and leaden the sky! You hear the -waters roaring evermore, as they have done since the beginning of the -world. The car drives up with a dismal grinding noise of the wheels to -the big lone house; there’s no smoke in the chimneys; the doors are -locked; three savage-looking men rush after the car: are they the men -who took out Mr. Hamilton—took him out and butchered him in the -moonlight? Is everybody, I wonder, dead in that big house? Will they let -us in before those men are up? Out comes a pretty smiling girl, with a -curtsey, just as the savages are at the car, and you are ushered into a -very comfortable room; and the men turn out to be guides. Well, thank -Heaven it’s no worse! I had fifteen pounds still left; and, when -desperate, have no doubt should fight like a lion.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /><br /> -<small>THE GIANT’S CAUSEWAY—COLERAINE—PORTRUSH</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">T<small>HE</small> traveller no sooner issues from the inn by a back door, which he is -informed will lead him straight to the Causeway, than the guides pounce -upon him, with a dozen rough boatmen who are likewise lying in wait; and -a crew of shrill beggar-boys, with boxes of spars, ready to tear him and -each other to pieces seemingly, yell and bawl incessantly round him. -‘I’m the guide Miss Henry recommends,’ shouts one. ‘I’m Mr. Macdonald’s -guide,’ pushes in another. ‘This way,’ roars a third, and drags his prey -down a precipice; the rest of them clambering and quarrelling after. I -had no friends: I was perfectly helpless. I wanted to walk down to the -shore by myself, but they would not let me, and I had nothing for it but -to yield myself into the hands of the guide who had seized me, who -hurried me down the steep to a little wild bay, flanked on each side by -rugged cliffs and<a name="page_539" id="page_539"></a> rocks, against which the waters came tumbling, -frothing, and roaring furiously. Upon some of these black rocks two or -three boats were lying: four men seized a boat, pushed it shouting into -the water, and ravished me into it. We had slid between two rocks, where -the channel came gurgling in; we were up one swelling wave that came in -a huge advancing body ten feet above us, and were plunging madly down -another (the descent causes a sensation in the lower regions of the -stomach which it is not at all necessary here to describe), before I had -leisure to ask myself why the deuce I was in that boat, with four rowers -hurrooing and bounding madly from one huge liquid mountain to -another—four<a name="page_540" id="page_540"></a> rowers whom I was bound to pay. I say, the query came -qualmishly across me why the devil I was there, and why not walking -calmly on the shore.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p539_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p539_sml.jpg" width="178" height="234" alt="A ROW TO THE GIANT’S CAUSEWAY" title="" /> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A ROW TO THE GIANT’S CAUSEWAY</span> -</p> - -<p>The guide began pouring his professional jargon into my ears. ‘Every one -of them bays,’ says he, ‘has a name (take my place, and the spray won’t -come over you): that is Port Noffer, and the next, Port na Gange; them -rocks is the Stookawns (for every rock has his name as well as every -bay); and yonder—give way, my boys,—hurray, we’re over it now; has it -wet you much, sir?—that’s the little cave; it goes five hundred feet -under ground, and the boats goes in it easy of a calm day.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it a fine day or a rough one now?’ said I; the internal disturbance -going on with more severity than ever.</p> - -<p>‘It’s betwixt and between; or, I may say, neither one nor the other. Sit -up, sir; look at the entrance of the cave: don’t be afraid, sir; never -has an accident happened in any one of these boats, and the most -delicate ladies has rode in them on rougher days than this. Now, boys, -pull to the big cave; that, sir, is six hundred and sixty yards in -length, though some says it goes for miles inland, where the people -sleeping in their houses hears the waters roaring under them.’</p> - -<p>The water was tossing and tumbling into the mouth of the little cave. I -looked,—for the guide would not let me alone till I did,—and saw what -might be expected: a black hole of some forty feet high, into which it -was no more possible to see than into a millstone. ‘For Heaven’s sake, -sir,’ says I, ‘if you’ve no particular wish to see the mouth of the big -cave, put about and let us see the Causeway and get ashore.’ This was -done, the guide meanwhile telling some story of a ship of the Spanish -Armada having fired her guns at two peaks of rock, then visible, which -the crew mistook for chimney-pots—what benighted fools these Spanish -Armadilloes must have been—it is easier to see a rock than a -chimney-pot; it is easy to know that chimney-pots do not grow on -rocks:—but where, if you please, is the Causeway?</p> - -<p>‘That’s the Causeway before you,’ says the guide.</p> - -<p>‘Which?’</p> - -<p>‘That pier which you see jutting out into the bay right ahead.’</p> - -<p>‘Mon Dieu! and have I travelled a hundred and fifty miles to see -<i>that</i>?’</p> - -<p>I declare, upon my conscience, the barge moored at Hungerford Market is -a more majestic object, and seems to occupy as must space. As for -telling a man that the Causeway is merely a part of the sight; that he -is there for the purpose of examining the surrounding scenery; that if -he looks to the westward he will see<a name="page_541" id="page_541"></a> Portrush and Donegal Head before -him; that the cliffs immediately in his front are green in some places, -black in others, interspersed with blotches of brown and streaks of -verdure;—what is all this to a lonely individual lying sick in a boat, -between two immense waves that only give him momentary glimpses of the -land in question, to show that it is frightfully near, and yet you are -an hour from it? They won’t let you go away—that cursed guide <i>will</i> -tell out his stock of legends and stories. The boatmen insist upon your -looking at boxes of ‘specimens,’ which you must buy of them; they laugh -as you grow paler and paler; they offer you more and more ‘specimens’; -even the dirty lad who pulls number three, and is not allowed by his -comrades to speak, puts in <i>his</i> oar, and hands you over a piece of -Irish diamond (it looks like half-sucked alicompayne), and scorns you. -‘Hurray, lads, now for it, give way!’ how the oars do hurtle in the -rullocks, as the boat goes up an aqueous mountain, and then down into -one of those cursed maritime valleys where there is no rest as on shore!</p> - -<p>At last, after they had pulled me enough about, and sold me all the -boxes of specimens, I was permitted to land at the spot whence we set -out, and whence, though we had been rowing for an hour, we had never -been above five hundred yards distant. Let all cockneys take warning -from this; let the solitary one caught issuing from the back door of the -hotel, shout at once to the boatmen to be gone—that he will have none -of them. Let him, at any rate, go first down to the water to determine -whether it be smooth enough to allow him to take any decent pleasure by -riding on its surface. For after all, it must be remembered that it is -pleasure we come for—that we are not <i>obliged</i> to take those -boats.—Well, well! I paid ten shillings for mine, and ten minutes -before would cheerfully have paid five pounds to be allowed to quit it; -it was no hard bargain after all. As for the boxes of spar and -specimens, I at once, being on terra firma, broke my promise, and said I -would see them all —— first. It is wrong to swear, I know; but -sometimes it relieves one <i>so</i> much!</p> - -<p>The first act on shore was to make a sacrifice to Sanctissima Tellus; -offering up to her a neat and becoming Taglioni coat, bought for a -guinea in Covent Garden only three months back. I sprawled on my back on -the smoothest of rocks that is, and tore the elbows to pieces: the guide -picked me up; the boatmen did not stir, for they had had their will of -me; the guide alone picked me up, I say, and bade me follow him. We went -across a boggy ground in one of the little bays, round which rise the -green walls of the cliff, terminated on either side by a black crag, and -the line of the shore washed by the poluphlosboiotic, nay, the -poluphlosboio<a name="page_542" id="page_542"></a>tatotic sea. Two beggars stepped over the bog after us, -howling for money, and each holding up a cursed box of specimens. No -oaths, threats, entreaties, would drive this vermin away; for some time -the whole scene had been spoilt by the incessant and abominable jargon -of them, the boatmen, and the guides. I was obliged to give them money -to be left in quiet, and if, as no doubt will be the case, the Giant’s -Causeway shall be a still greater resort of travellers than ever, the -county must put policemen on the rocks to keep the beggars away, or -fling them in the water when they appear.</p> - -<p>And now, by force of money, having got rid of the sea and land beggars, -you are at liberty to examine at your leisure the wonders of the place. -There is not the least need for a guide to attend the stranger, unless -the latter have a mind to listen to a parcel of legends, which may be -well from the mouth of a wild simple peasant who believes in his tales, -but are odious from a dullard who narrates them at the rate of sixpence -a lie. Fee him and the other beggars, and at last you are left tranquil -to look at the strange scene with your own eyes, and enjoy your own -thoughts at leisure.</p> - -<p>That is, if the thoughts awakened by such a scene may be called -enjoyment; but for me, I confess, they are too near akin to fear to be -pleasant; and I don’t know that I would desire to change that sensation -of awe and terror which the hour’s walk occasioned, for a greater -familiarity with this wild, sad, lonely place. The solitude is awful. I -can’t understand how those chattering guides dare to lift up their -voices here, and cry for money.</p> - -<p>It looks like the beginning of the world, somehow: the sea looks older -than in other places, the hills and rocks strange, and formed -differently from other rocks and hills—as those vast dubious monsters -were formed who possessed the earth before man. The hilltops are -shattered into a thousand cragged fantastical shapes; the water comes -swelling into scores of little strange creeks, or goes off with a leap, -roaring into those mysterious caves yonder, which penetrate who knows -how far into our common world. The savage rock-sides are painted of a -hundred colours. Does the sun ever shine here? When the world was -moulded and fashioned out of formless chaos, this must have been the -<i>bit over</i>—a remnant of chaos! Think of that!—it is a tailor’s simile. -Well, I am a cockney: I wish I were in Pall Mall! Yonder is a -kelp-burner: a lurid smoke from his burning kelp rises up to the leaden -sky, and he looks as naked and fierce as Cain. Bubbling up out of the -rocks at the very brim of the sea rises a little crystal spring:<a name="page_543" id="page_543"></a> how -comes it there? and there is an old grey hag beside it, who has been -there for hundreds and hundreds of years, and there sits and sells -whisky at the extremity of creation! How do you dare to sell whisky -there, old woman? Did you serve old Saturn with a glass when he lay -along the Causeway here? In reply, she says, she has no change for a -shilling: she never has; but her whisky is good.</p> - -<p>This is not a description of the Giant’s Causeway (as some clever critic -will remark), but of a Londoner there, who is by no means so interesting -an object as the natural curiosity in question. That single hint is -sufficient; I have not a word more to say. ‘If,’ says he, ‘you cannot -describe the scene lying before us—if you cannot state from your -personal observation that the number of basaltic pillars composing the -Causeway has been computed at about forty thousand, which vary in -diameter, their surface presenting the appearance of a tesselated -pavement of polygonal stones—that each pillar is formed of several -distinct joints, the concave end of the one being accurately fitted into -the concave of the next, and the length of the joints varying from five -feet to four inches—that although the pillars are polygonal, there is -but one of three sides in the whole forty thousand (think of that!), but -three of nine sides, and that it may be safely computed that ninety-nine -out of one hundred pillars have either five, six, or seven sides;—if -you cannot state something useful, you had much better, sir, retire and -get your dinner.’</p> - -<p>Never was summons more gladly obeyed. The dinner must be ready by this -time; so, remain you, and look on at the awful scene, and copy it down -in words if you can. If at the end of the trial you are dissatisfied -with your skill as a painter, and find that the biggest of your words -cannot render the hues and vastness of that tremendous swelling sea—of -those lean solitary crags standing rigid along the shore, where they -have been watching the ocean ever since it was made—of those grey -towers of Dunluce standing upon a leaden rock, and looking as if some -old, old princess, of old, old fairy times, were dragon-guarded -within—of yon flat stretches of sand where the Scotch and Irish -mermaids hold conference—come away too, and prate no more about the -scene! There is that in nature, dear Jenkins, which passes even our -powers. We can feel the beauty of a magnificent landscape, perhaps; but -we can describe a leg of mutton and turnips better. Come, then, this -scene is for our betters to depict. If Mr. Tennyson were to come hither -for a month, and brood over the place, he might, in some of those lofty -heroic lines which the author of the ‘Morte d’Arthur’ knows how to<a name="page_544" id="page_544"></a> pile -up, convey to the reader a sense of this gigantic desolate scene. What! -you too are a poet? Well then, Jenkins, stay! but believe me, you had -best take my advice, and come off.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The worthy landlady made her appearance with the politest of bows and an -apology,—for what does the reader think a lady should apologise in the -most lonely rude spot in the world?—because a plain servant-woman was -about to bring in the dinner, the waiter being absent on leave at -Coleraine! O heaven and earth! where will the genteel end? I replied -philosophically that I did not care twopence for the plainness or beauty -of the waiter, but that it was the dinner I looked to, the frying -whereof made a great noise in the huge lonely house; and it must be -said, that though the lady <i>was</i> plain, the repast was exceedingly good. -‘I have expended my little all,’ says the landlady, stepping in with a -speech after dinner, ‘in the building of this establishment; and though -to a man its profits may appear small, to such a <i>being</i> as I am it will -bring, I trust, a sufficient return’; and on my asking her why she took -the place, she replied that she had always, from her earliest youth, a -fancy to dwell in that spot, and had accordingly realised her wish by -building this hotel—this mausoleum. In spite of the bright fire, and -the good dinner, and the good wine, it was impossible to feel -comfortable in the place; and when the car-wheels were heard, I jumped -up with joy to take my departure and forget the awful lonely shore, that -wild, dismal, genteel inn. A ride over a wide gusty country, in a grey, -misty, half-moonlight, the loss of a wheel at Bushmills, and the escape -from a tumble, were the delightful varieties after the late awful -occurrences. ‘Such a being’ as I am, would die of loneliness in that -hotel; and so let all brother cockneys be warned.</p> - -<p>Some time before we came to it, we saw the long line of mist that lay -above the Bann, and coming through a dirty suburb of low cottages, -passed down a broad street with gas and lamps in it (thank Heaven, there -are people once more!), and at length drove up in state, across a -gas-pipe, in a market-place, before an hotel in the town of Coleraine, -famous for linen and for Beautiful Kitty, who must be old and ugly now, -for it’s a good five-and-thirty years since she broke her pitcher, -according to Mr. Moore’s account of her. The scene as we entered the -Diamond was rather a lively one—a score of little stalls were brilliant -with lights; the people were thronging in the place making their -Saturday bargains; the town clock began to toll nine; and hark! faithful -to a minute, the horn of the Derry mail was heard tootooing, and four -com<a name="page_545" id="page_545"></a>mercial gentlemen, with Scotch accents, rushed into the hotel at the -same time with myself.</p> - -<p>Among the beauties of Coleraine may be mentioned the price of beef, -which a gentleman told me may be had for fourpence a pound; and I saw -him purchase an excellent codfish for a shilling. I am bound, too, to -state, for the benefit of aspiring Radicals, what two Conservative -citizens of the place stated to me, viz.:—that though there were two -Conservative candidates then canvassing the town, on account of a -vacancy in the representation, the voters were so truly liberal that -they would elect any person of any other political creed, who would -simply bring money enough to purchase their votes. There are 220 voters, -it appears; of whom it is not, however, necessary to ‘argue’ with more -than fifty, who alone are open to conviction; but as parties are pretty -equally balanced, the votes of the quinquagint, of course, carry an -immense weight with them. Well, this is all discussed calmly standing on -an inn steps, with a jolly landlord and a professional man of the town -to give the information. So, Heaven bless us, the ways of London are -beginning to be known even here. Gentility has already taken up her seat -in the Giant’s Causeway, where she apologises for the plainness of her -look; and, lo! here is bribery as bold as in the most civilised -places—hundreds and hundreds of miles away from St. Stephen’s and Pall -Mall. I wonder, in that little island of Raghery, so wild and lonely, -whether civilisation is beginning to dawn upon them?—whether they bribe -and are genteel? But for the rough sea of yesterday, I think I would -have fled thither to make the trial.</p> - -<p>The town of Coleraine, with a number of cabin suburbs belonging to it, -lies picturesquely grouped on the Bann river; and the whole of the -little city was echoing with psalms as I walked through it on the Sunday -morning. The piety of the people seems remarkable; some of the inns even -will not receive travellers on Sunday; and this is written in an hotel, -of which every room is provided with a Testament, containing an -injunction on the part of the landlord to consider this world itself as -only a passing abode. Is it well that Boniface should furnish his guest -with Bibles as well as bills, and sometimes shut his door on a -traveller, who has no other choice but to read it on a Sunday? I heard -of a gentleman arriving from shipboard at Kilrush on a Sunday, when the -pious hotel-keeper refused him admittance; and some more tales, which to -go into would require the introduction of private names and -circumstances, but would tend to show that the Protestant of the north -is as much priest-ridden as the Catholic of the south;—priest and -old-woman-ridden, for there are certain<a name="page_546" id="page_546"></a> expounders of doctrine in our -Church, who are not, I believe, to be found in the Church of Rome; and -woe betide the stranger who comes to settle in these parts, if his -‘seriousness’ be not satisfactory to the heads (with false fronts to -most of them) of the congregations.</p> - -<p>Look at that little snug harbour of Portrush; a hideous new castle -standing on a rock protects it on one side, a snug row of gentlemen’s -cottages curve round the shore facing northwards, a bath-house, an -hotel, more smart houses, face the beach westward, defended by another -mound of rocks. In the centre of the little town stands a new-built -church; and the whole place has an air of comfort and neatness which is -seldom seen in Ireland. One would fancy that all the tenants of these -pretty snug habitations, sheltered in this nook far away from the world, -have nothing to do but to be happy, and spend their little comfortable -means in snug little hospitalities among one another, and kind little -charities among the poor. What does a man in active life ask for more -than to retire to such a competence, to such a snug nook of the world; -and there repose with a stock of healthy children round the fireside, a -friend within call, and the means of decent hospitality wherewith to -treat him?</p> - -<p>Let any one meditating this pleasant sort of retreat, and charmed with -the look of this or that place as peculiarly suited to his purpose, take -a special care to understand his neighbourhood first, before he commit -himself by lease-signing or house-buying. It is not sufficient that you -should be honest, kind-hearted, hospitable, of good family—what are -your opinions upon religious subjects? Are they such as agree with the -notions of old Lady This, or Mrs. That, who are the patronesses of the -village? If not, woe betide you! you will be shunned by the rest of the -society, thwarted in your attempts to do good, whispered against over -evangelical bohea and serious muffins. Lady This will inform every new -arrival that you are a reprobate, and lost; and Mrs. That will consign -you and your daughters, and your wife (a worthy woman, but, alas! united -to that sad worldly man!) to damnation. The clergyman who partakes of -the muffins and bohea before mentioned, will very possibly preach -sermons against you from the pulpit: this was not done at Portstewart to -my knowledge, but I have had the pleasure of sitting under a minister in -Ireland who insulted the very patron who gave him his living, -discoursing upon the sinfulness of partridge-shooting, and threatening -hell-fire as the last ‘meet’ for fox-hunters; until the squire, one of -the best and most charitable resident landlords in Ireland, was -absolutely driven out of the church where his fathers had worshipped -for<a name="page_547" id="page_547"></a> hundreds of years, by the insults of this howling evangelical -inquisitor.</p> - -<p>So much as this I did not hear at Portstewart; but I was told that at -yonder neat-looking bath-house <i>a dying woman</i> was denied a bath on a -Sunday. By a clause of the lease by which the bath-owner rents his -establishment, he is forbidden to give baths to any one on the Sunday. -The landlord of the inn, forsooth, shuts his gates on the same day, and -his conscience on week-days will not allow him to supply his guests with -whisky or ardent spirits. I was told by my friend, that because he -refused to subscribe for some fancy charity, he received a letter to -state that ‘he spent more in one dinner than in charity in the course of -the year.’ My worthy friend did not care to contradict the statement, as -why should a man deign to meddle with such a lie? But think how all the -fishes, and all the pieces of meat, and all the people who went in and -out of his snug cottage by the seaside must have been watched by the -serious round about! The sea is not more constant roaring there, than -scandal is whispering. How happy I felt, while hearing these histories -(demure heads in crimped caps peering over the blinds at us as we walked -on the beach), to think I am a cockney, and don’t know the name of the -man who lives next door to me!</p> - -<p>I have heard various stories, of course from persons of various ways of -thinking, charging their opponents with hypocrisy, and proving the -charge by statements clearly showing that the priests, the preachers, or -the professing religionists in question, belied their professions -wofully by their practice. But in matters of religion, hypocrisy is so -awful a charge to make against a man, that I think it is almost unfair -to mention even in the cases in which it is proven, and which,—as, pray -God, they are but exceptional,—a person should be very careful of -mentioning, lest they be considered to apply generally. <i>Tartuffe</i> has -been always a disgusting play to me to see, in spite of its sense and -its wit; and so, instead of printing, here or elsewhere, a few stories -of the Tartuffe kind which I have heard in Ireland, the best way will be -to try and forget them. It is an awful thing to say of any man walking -under God’s sun by the side of us, ‘You are a hypocrite, lying as you -use the Most Sacred Name, knowing that you lie while you use it.’ Let it -be the privilege of any sect that is so minded, to imagine that there is -perdition in store for all the rest of God’s creatures who do not think -with them; but the easy countercharge of hypocrisy, which the world has -been in the habit of making in its turn, is surely just as fatal and -bigoted an accusation as any that the sects make against the world.</p> - -<p>What has this disquisition to do <i>à propos</i> of a walk on the<a name="page_548" id="page_548"></a> beach at -Portstewart? Why, it may be made here as well as in other parts of -Ireland, or elsewhere as well, perhaps, as here. It is the most -priest-ridden of countries; Catholic clergymen lord it over their ragged -flocks, as Protestant preachers, lay and clerical, over their more -genteel co-religionists. Bound to inculcate peace and goodwill, their -whole life is one of enmity and distrust.</p> - -<p>Walking away from the little bay and the disquisition which has somehow -been raging there, we went across some wild dreary highlands to the -neighbouring little town of Portrush, where is a neat town and houses, -and a harbour, and a new church too, so like the last-named place that I -thought for a moment we had only made a round, and were back again at -Portstewart. Some gentlemen of the place, and my guide, who had a -neighbourly liking for it, showed me the new church, and seemed to be -well pleased with the edifice; which is, indeed, a neat and convenient -one, of a rather irregular Gothic. The best thing about the church, I -think, was the history of it. The old church had lain some miles off, in -the most inconvenient part of the parish, whereupon the clergyman and -some of the gentry had raised a subscription in order to build the -present church. The expenses had exceeded the estimates, or the -subscriptions had fallen short of the sums necessary; and the church, in -consequence, was opened with a debt on it, which the rector and two more -of the gentry had taken on their shoulders. The living is a small one; -the other two gentlemen going bail for the edifice not so rich as to -think light of the payment of a couple of hundred pounds beyond their -previous subscriptions—the lists are therefore still open; and the -clergyman expressed himself perfectly satisfied either that he would be -reimbursed one day or other, or that he would be able to make out the -payment of the money for which he stood engaged. Most of the Roman -Catholic churches that I have seen through the country have been built -in this way,—begun when money enough was levied for constructing the -foundation, elevated by degrees as fresh subscriptions came in, and -finished—by the way, I don’t think I <i>have</i> seen one finished—but -there is something noble in the spirit (however certain economists may -cavil at it) that leads people to commence these pious undertakings with -the firm trust that ‘Heaven will provide.’</p> - -<p>Eastwards from Portrush, we came upon a beautiful level sand which leads -to the White Rocks, a famous place of resort for the frequenters of the -neighbouring watering-places. Here are caves, and for a considerable -distance a view of the wild and gloomy Antrim coast as far as Bengore. -Midway, jutting into the sea (and I was glad it was so far off), was the -Causeway; and nearer, the grey towers of Dunluce.<a name="page_549" id="page_549"></a></p> - -<p>Looking north, were the blue Scotch hills and the neighbouring Raghery -Island. Nearer Portrush are two rocky islands, called the Skerries, of -which a sportsman of our party vaunted the capabilities, regretting that -my stay was not longer, so that I might land and shoot a few ducks -there. This unlucky lateness of the season struck me also as a most -afflicting circumstance. He said also that fish were caught off the -island—not fish good to eat, but very strong at pulling, eager of -biting, and affording a great deal of sport. And so we turned our backs -once more upon the Giant’s Causeway, and the grim coast on which it -lies; and as my taste in life leads me to prefer looking at the smiling -fresh face of a young cheerful beauty, rather than at the fierce -countenance and high features of a fierce dishevelled Meg Merrilies, I -must say again that I was glad to turn my back on that severe part of -the Antrim coast, and my steps towards Derry.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p549_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p549_sml.jpg" width="92" height="132" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p><a name="page_550" id="page_550"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX<br /><br /> -<small>PEG OF LIMAVADDY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">B<small>ETWEEN</small> Coleraine and Derry there is a daily car (besides one or two -occasional queer-looking coaches), and I had this vehicle, with an -intelligent driver, and a horse with a hideous raw on his shoulder, -entirely to myself for the five-and-twenty miles of our journey. The -cabins of Coleraine are not parted with in a hurry, and we crossed the -bridge, and went up and down the hills of one of the suburban streets, -the Ban flowing picturesquely to our left; a large Catholic chapel, the -before-mentioned cabins, and farther on, some neat-looking houses and -plantations, to our right. Then we began ascending wide lonely hills, -pools of bog shining here and there amongst them, with birds, both black -and white, both geese and crows, on the hunt. Some of the stubble was -already ploughed up, but by the side of most cottages you saw a black -potato-field that it was time to dig now, for the weather was changing -and the winds beginning to roar. Woods, whenever we passed them, were -flinging round eddies of mustard-coloured leaves; the white trunks of -lime and ash trees beginning to look very bare. Then we stopped to give -the raw-backed horse water; then we trotted down a hill with a noble -bleak prospect of Lough Foyle and the surrounding mountains before us, -until we reached the town of Newtown Limavaddy, where the raw-backed -horse was exchanged for another not much more agreeable in his -appearance, though, like his comrade, not slow on the road.</p> - -<p>Newtown Limavaddy is the third town in the county of Londonderry. It -comprises three well-built streets, the others are inferior; it is, -however, respectably inhabited; all this may be true, as the -well-informed Guide-book avers, but I am bound to say that I was -thinking of something else as we drove through the town, having fallen -eternally in love during the ten minutes of our stay. Yes, Peggy of -Limavaddy, if Barrow and Inglis have gone to Connemara to fall in love -with the Misses Flynn, let us be allowed to come to Ulster and offer a -tribute of praise at your feet—at your stockingless feet, O Margaret! -Do you remember the October day (‘twas the first day of the hard -weather), when the way-worn traveller entered your inn? But the -circumstances of this passion had better be chronicled in deathless -verse.<a name="page_551" id="page_551"></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">PEG OF LIMAVADDY<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">R<small>IDING</small> from Coleraine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Famed for lovely Kitty),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came a cockney bound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto Derry city;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weary was his soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shivering and sad he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bump’d along the road<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leads to Limavaddy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mountains stretch’d around,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gloomy was their tinting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the horse’s hoofs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Made a dismal clinting;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind upon the heath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Howling was and piping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the heath and bog,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Black with many a snipe in:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Mid the bogs of black,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silver pools were flashing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crows upon their sides<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Picking were and splashing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cockney on the car<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Closer folds his plaidy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grumbling at the road<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leads to Limavaddy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the crashing woods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Autumn brawl’d and bluster’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tossing round about<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leaves the hue of mustard;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yonder lay Lough Foyle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which a storm was whipping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Covering with mist<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lake, and shores, and shipping.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up and down the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Nothing could be bolder),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Horse went with a raw,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bleeding on his shoulder.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Where are horses changed?’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Said I to the laddy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Driving on the box:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Sir, at Limavaddy.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Limavaddy inn’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But a humble baithouse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where you may procure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whisky and potatoes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Landlord at the door<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gives a smiling welcome<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the shivering wights<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who to his hotel come.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Landlady within<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sits and knits a stocking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a wary foot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Baby’s cradle rocking.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the chimney nook,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Having found admittance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There I watch a pup<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Playing with two kittens;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Playing round the fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which of blazing turf is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roaring to the pot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which bubbles with the murphies);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cradled babe<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fond the mother nursed it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing it a song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As she twists the worsted!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up and down the stair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Two more young ones patter<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Twins were never seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dirtier nor fatter);<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Both have mottled legs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Both have snubby noses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Both have—Here the host<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kindly interposes:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Sure you must be froze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the sleet and hail, sir,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So will you have some punch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or will you have some ale, sir?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Presently a maid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Enters with the liquor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Half a pint of ale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Frothing in a beaker).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gods! I didn’t know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What my beating heart meant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hebe’s self I thought<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Enter’d the apartment.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As she came she smiled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the smile bewitching,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On my word and honour,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lighted all the kitchen!<a name="page_552" id="page_552"></a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With a curtsey neat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Greeting the new-comer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lovely, smiling Peg<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Offers me the rummer;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But my trembling hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Up the beaker tilted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the glass of ale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Every drop I spilt it;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spilt it every drop<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Dames, who read my volumes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pardon such a word)<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On my whatd’yecall’ems!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such a silver peal!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the meadows listening,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You who’ve heard the bells<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ringing to a christening;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You who ever heard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Caradori pretty,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smiling like an angel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Singing ‘Giovinetti,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fancy Peggy’s laugh,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet, and clear, and cheerful,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At my pantaloons<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With half-a-pint of beer full!<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p552_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p552_sml.jpg" width="141" height="195" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Witnessing the sight<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of that dire disaster,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out began to laugh<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Missis, maid, and master;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such a merry peal,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Specially Miss Peg’s was<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(As the glass of ale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trickling down my legs was),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the joyful sound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of that ringing laughter<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Echoed in my ears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Many a long day after.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the laugh was done.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Peg, the pretty hussy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moved about the room<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wonderfully busy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now she looks to see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If the kettle keep hot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now she rubs the spoons,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now she cleans the teapot:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now she sets the cups<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trimly and secure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now she scours a pot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And so it was I drew her.<a name="page_553" id="page_553"></a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus it was I drew her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scouring of a kettle,<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Faith! her blushing cheeks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Redden’d on the metal!)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! but ‘tis in vain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That I try to sketch it;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pot perhaps is like,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But Peggy’s face is wretched.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No: the best of lead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And of Indian rubber,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never could depict<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That sweet kettle-scrubber!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See her as she moves!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scarce the ground she touches,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Airy as a fay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Graceful as a duchess;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bare her rounded arm,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bare her little leg is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vestris never show’d<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ankles like to Peggy’s;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Braided is her hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soft her look and modest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slim her little waist<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comfortably boddiced.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This I do declare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Happy is the laddy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who the heart can share<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Peg of Limavaddy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Married if she were,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blest would be the daddy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the children fair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Peg of Limavaddy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauty is not rare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the land of Paddy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair beyond compare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is Peg of Limavaddy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Citizen or squire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tory, Whig, or Radical<br /></span> -<span class="i0">would all desire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Peg of Limavaddy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had I Homer’s fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or that of Sergeant Taddy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meetly I’d admire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Peg of Limavaddy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And till I expire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or till I grow mad, I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will sing unto my lyre<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Peg of Limavaddy!<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI<br /><br /> -<small>TEMPLEMOYLE—DERRY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">F<small>ROM</small> Newtown Limavaddy to Derry, the traveller has many wild and noble -prospects of Lough Foyle and the plains and mountains round it, and of -scenes which may possibly in this country be still more agreeable to -him—of smiling cultivation, and comfortable well-built villages, such -as are only too rare in Ireland. Of a great part of this district, the -London Companies are landlords—the best of landlords, too, according to -the report I could gather; and their good stewardship shows itself -especially in the neat villages <a name="page_554" id="page_554"></a>of Muff and Ballikelly, through both of -which I passed. In Ballikelly, besides numerous simple, stout, -brick-built dwellings for the peasantry, with their shining windows and -trim garden-plots, is a Presbyterian meeting-house, so well-built, -substantial and handsome, so different from the lean, pretentious, -sham-Gothic ecclesiastical edifices which have been erected of late -years in Ireland, that it can’t fail to strike the tourist who has made -architecture his study or his pleasure. The gentlemen’s seats in the -district are numerous and handsome; and the whole movement along the -road betokened cheerfulness and prosperous activity.</p> - -<p>As the carman had no other passengers but myself, he made no objection -to carry me a couple of miles out of his way, through the village of -Muff, belonging to the Grocers of London (and so handsomely and -comfortably built by them as to cause all cockneys to exclaim, ‘Well -done our side!’), and thence to a very interesting institution, which -was established some fifteen years since in the neighbourhood—the -Agricultural Seminary of Templemoyle. It lies on a hill in a pretty -wooded country, and is most curiously secluded from the world by the -tortuousness of the road which approaches it.</p> - -<p>Of course it is not my business to report upon the agricultural system -practised there, or to discourse on the state of the land or the crops; -the best testimony on this subject is the fact, that the Institution -hired, at a small rental, a tract of land, which was reclaimed and -farmed, and that of this farm the landlord has now taken possession, -leaving the young farmers to labour on a new tract of land, for which -they pay five times as much rent as for their former holding. But though -a person versed in agriculture could give a far more satisfactory -account of the place than one to whom such pursuits are quite -unfamiliar, there is a great deal about the establishment which any -citizen can remark on; and he must be a very difficult cockney indeed -who won’t be pleased here.</p> - -<p>After winding in and out, and up and down, and round about the eminence -on which the house stands, we at last found an entrance to it, by a -courtyard, neat, well-built, and spacious, where are the stables and -numerous offices of the farm. The scholars were at dinner off a -comfortable meal of boiled beef, potatoes, and cabbages, when I arrived; -a master was reading a book of history to them; and silence, it appears, -is preserved during the dinner. Seventy scholars were here assembled, -some young, and some expanded into six feet and whiskers—all, however, -are made to maintain exactly the same discipline, whether whiskered or -not.</p> - -<p>The ‘head farmer’ of the school, Mr. Campbell, a very intelligent Scotch -gentleman, was good enough to conduct me over the place and the farm, -and to give a history of the establishment<a name="page_555" id="page_555"></a> and the course pursued -there. The Seminary was founded in 1827, by the North-West of Ireland -Society, by members of which and others about three thousand pounds were -subscribed, and the buildings of the school erected. These are spacious, -simple, and comfortable; there is a good stone house, with airy -dormitories, schoolrooms, etc., and large and convenient offices. The -establishment had, at first, some difficulties to contend with, and for -some time did not number more than thirty pupils. At present, there are -seventy scholars, paying <i>ten pounds</i> a year, with which sum, and the -labour of the pupils on the farm, and the produce of it, the school is -entirely supported. The reader will, perhaps, like to see an extract -from the Report of the school, which contains mere details regarding it.</p> - -<p class="c">‘TEMPLEMOYLE WORK AND SCHOOL TABLE</p> - -<p class="c"><i>‘From 20th March to 23rd September</i></p> - -<p class="c">‘Boys divided into two classes, A and B</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="margin:1% auto 1% auto;"> -<tr><td align="left">Hours.</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">At work.</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">At school.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">5½</td><td align="left">All rise.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">6—8</td><td align="left">.......................</td><td align="center">A</td><td align="center">...................</td><td align="center">B</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">8—9</td><td align="left">Breakfast.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">9—1</td><td align="left">.......................</td><td align="center">A</td><td align="center">...................</td><td align="center">B</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">1—2</td><td align="left">Dinner and recreation.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">2—6</td><td align="left">.......................</td><td align="center">B</td><td align="center">...................</td><td align="center">A</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">6—7</td><td align="left">Recreation.</td><td align="left"> </td><td align="left"> </td><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">7—9</td><td align="left">Prepare lessons for next day.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">9</td><td align="left">To bed.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>‘On Tuesday B commences work in the morning and A at school, and so on -alternate days.</p> - -<p>‘Each class is again subdivided into three divisions, over each of which -is placed a monitor, selected from the steadiest and best-informed boys; -he receives the Head Farmer’s directions as to the work to be done, and -superintends his party while performing it.</p> - -<p>‘In winter the time of labour is shortened according to the length of -the day, and the hours at school increased.</p> - -<p>‘In wet days, when the boys cannot work out, all are required to attend -school.</p> - -<p class="c">‘<span class="smcap">Dietary</span></p> - -<p>‘<i>Breakfast.</i>—Eleven ounces of oatmeal made in stirabout, one pint of -sweet milk.<a name="page_556" id="page_556"></a></p> - -<p>‘<i>Dinner.</i>—Sunday—Three-quarters of a pound of beef stewed with pepper -and onions, or one-half pound of corned beef with cabbage, and three and -one-half pounds of potatoes.</p> - -<p>‘Monday—One-half pound of pickled beef, three and a half pounds of -potatoes, one pint of buttermilk.</p> - -<p>‘Tuesday—Broth made of one-half pound of beef, with leeks, cabbage, and -parsley, and three and a half pounds of potatoes.</p> - -<p>‘Wednesday—Two ounces of butter, eight ounces of oatmeal made into -bread, three and one-half pounds of potatoes, and one pint of sweet -milk.</p> - -<p>‘Thursday—Half a pound of pickled pork, with cabbage or turnips, and -three and a half pounds of potatoes.</p> - -<p>‘Friday—Two ounces of butter, eight ounces wheat meal made into bread, -one pint of sweet milk or fresh buttermilk, three and a half pounds of -potatoes.</p> - -<p>‘Saturday—Two ounces of butter, one pound of potatoes mashed, eight -ounces of wheat meal made into bread, two and a half pounds of potatoes, -one pint of buttermilk.</p> - -<p>‘<i>Supper.</i>—In summer, flummery made of one pound of oatmeal seeds, and -one pint of sweet milk. In winter, three and a half pounds of potatoes, -and one pint of buttermilk or sweet milk.</p> - -<p class="c">‘<span class="smcap">Rules for the Templemoyle School</span></p> - -<p>‘1. The pupils are required to say their prayers in the morning, before -leaving the dormitory, and at night, before retiring to rest, each -separately, and after the manner to which he has been habituated.</p> - -<p>‘2. The pupils are required to wash their hands and faces before the -commencement of business in the morning, on returning from agricultural -labour, and after dinner.</p> - -<p>‘3. The pupils are required to pay the strictest attention to their -instructors, both during the hours of agricultural and literary -occupation.</p> - -<p>‘4. Strife, disobedience, inattention, or any description of riotous or -disorderly conduct, is punishable by extra labour or confinement, as -directed by the Committee, according to circumstances.</p> - -<p>‘5. Diligent and respectful behaviour, continued for a considerable -time, will be rewarded by occasional permission for the pupil so -distinguished to visit his home.</p> - -<p>‘6. No pupil, on obtaining leave of absence, shall presume to continue -it for a longer period than that prescribed to him on leaving the -Seminary.<a name="page_557" id="page_557"></a></p> - -<p>‘7. During their rural labour, the pupils are to consider themselves -amenable to the authority of their Agricultural Instructor alone, and -during their attendance in the schoolroom, to that of their Literary -Instructor alone.</p> - -<p>‘8. Non-attendance during any part of the time allotted either for -literary or agricultural employment, will be punished as a serious -offence.</p> - -<p>‘9. During the hours of recreation the pupils are to be under the -superintendence of their Instructors, and not suffered to pass beyond -the limits of the farm, except under their guidance, or with a written -permission from one of them.</p> - -<p>‘10. The pupils are required to make up their beds, and keep those -clothes not in immediate use neatly folded up in their trunks, and to be -particular in never suffering any garment, book, implement, or other -article belonging to or used by them, to lie about in a slovenly or -disorderly manner.</p> - -<p>‘11. Respect to superiors, and gentleness of demeanour, both among the -pupils themselves and towards the servants and labourers of the -establishment, are particularly insisted upon, and will be considered a -prominent ground of approbation and reward.</p> - -<p>‘12. On Sundays the pupils are required to attend their respective -places of worship, accompanied by their Instructors or Monitors; and it -is earnestly recommended to them to employ a part of the remainder of -the day in sincerely reading the Word of God, and in such other -devotional exercises as their respective ministers may point out.’</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>At certain periods of the year, when all hands are required, such as -harvest, etc., the literary labours of the scholars are stopped, and -they are all in the field. On the present occasion we followed them into -a potato-field, where an army of them were employed digging out the -potatoes; while another regiment were trenching-in elsewhere for the -winter: the boys were leading the carts to and fro. To reach the -potatoes we had to pass a field, part of which was newly ploughed: the -ploughing was the work of the boys, too; one of them being left with an -experienced ploughman for a fortnight at a time, in which space the lad -can acquire some practice in the art. Amongst the potatoes and the boys -digging them, I observed a number of girls taking them up as dug and -removing the soil from the roots. Such a society for seventy young men -would, in any other country in the world, be not a little dangerous: but -Mr. Campbell said that no instance of harm had ever occurred in -consequence, and I believe his state<a name="page_558" id="page_558"></a>ment may be fully relied on: the -whole country bears testimony to this noble purity of morals. Is there -any other in Europe which in this point can compare with it?</p> - -<p>In winter the farm-works do not occupy the pupils so much, and they give -more time to their literary studies. They get a good English education; -they are grounded in arithmetic and mathematics; and I saw a good map of -an adjacent farm, made from actual survey by one of the pupils. Some of -them are good draughtsmen likewise, but of their performances I could -see no specimen, the artists being abroad, occupied wisely in digging -the potatoes.</p> - -<p>And here, <i>à propos</i>, not of the school but of potatoes, let me tell a -potato story, which is, I think, to the purpose, wherever it is told. In -the county of Mayo a gentleman by the name of Crofton is a landed -proprietor, in whose neighbourhood great distress prevailed among the -peasantry during the spring and summer, when the potatoes of the last -year were consumed, and before those of the present season were up; Mr. -Crofton, by liberal donations on his own part, and by a subscription -which was set on foot among his friends in England as well as in -Ireland, was enabled to collect a sum of money sufficient to purchase -meal for the people, which was given to them, or sold at very low -prices, until the pressure of want was withdrawn, and the blessed -potato-crop came in. Some time in October, a smart night’s frost made -Mr. Crofton think that it was time to take in and pit his own potatoes, -and he told his steward to get labourers accordingly.</p> - -<p>Next day, on going to the potato-grounds, he found the whole fields -swarming with people; the whole crop was out of the ground, and again -under it, pitted and covered, and the people gone, in a few hours. It -was as if the fairies that we read of in the Irish legends, as coming to -the aid of good people and helping them in their labours, had taken a -liking to this good landlord, and taken in his harvest for him. Mr. -Crofton, who knew who his helpers had been, sent the steward to pay them -their day’s wages, and to thank them at the same time for having come to -help him at a time when their labour was so useful to him. One and all -refused a penny; and their spokesman said, ‘They wished they could do -more for the likes of him or his family.’ I have heard of many -conspiracies in this country; is not this one as worthy to be told as -any of them?</p> - -<p>Round the house of Templemoyle is a pretty garden, which the pupils take -pleasure in cultivating, filled not with fruit (for this, though there -are seventy gardeners, the superintendent said somehow seldom reached a -ripe state), but with kitchen herbs, and a<a name="page_559" id="page_559"></a> few beds of pretty flowers, -such as are best suited to cottage horticulture. Such simple carpenters’ -and masons’ work as the young men can do is likewise confided to them; -and though the dietary may appear to the Englishman as rather a scanty -one, and though the English lads certainly make at first very wry faces -at the stirabout porridge (as they naturally will when first put in the -presence of that abominable mixture), yet after a time, strange to say, -they begin to find it actually palatable; and the best proof of the -excellence of the diet is, that nobody is ever ill in the institution: -colds and fevers, the ailments of lazy gluttonous gentility, are -unknown; and the doctor’s bill for the last year, for seventy pupils, -amounted to thirty-five shillings. <i>O beati agricoliculæ!</i> You do not -know what it is to feel a little uneasy after half a crown’s worth of -raspberry-tarts, as lads do at the best public schools; you don’t know -in what majestic polished hexameters the Roman poet has described your -pursuits; you are not fagged and flogged into Latin and Greek at the -cost of two hundred pounds a year. Let these be the privileges of your -youthful betters; meanwhile content yourselves with thinking that you -<i>are</i> preparing for a profession, while they are <i>not</i>; that you are -learning something useful, while they, for the most part, are not; for -after all, as a man grows old in the world, old and fat, cricket is -discovered not to be any longer very advantageous to him—even to have -pulled in the Trinity boat does not in old age amount to a substantial -advantage; and though to read a Greek play be an immense pleasure, yet -it must be confessed few enjoy it. In the first place, of the race of -Etonians, and Harrovians, and Carthusians that one meets in the world, -very few <i>can</i> read the Greek; of those few—there are not, as I -believe, any considerable majority of poets. Stout men in the -bow-windows of clubs (for such young Etonians by time become) are not -generally remarkable for a taste for Æschylus.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> You do not hear much -poetry in Westminster Hall, or I believe at the bar-tables afterwards; -and if occasionally, in the House of Commons, Sir Robert Peel lets off a -quotation—a pocket-pistol wadded with a leaf torn out of Horace—depend -on it, it is only to astonish the country gentlemen who don’t understand -him: and it is my firm conviction that Sir Robert no more cares for -poetry than you or I do.</p> - -<p>Such thoughts will suggest themselves to a man who has had the benefit -of what is called an education at a public school in<a name="page_560" id="page_560"></a> England, when he -sees seventy lads from all parts of the empire learning what his Latin -poets and philosophers have informed him is the best of all -pursuits,—finds them educated at one-twentieth part of the cost which -has been bestowed on his own precious person; orderly without the -necessity of submitting to degrading personal punishment; young, and -full of health and blood, though vice is unknown among them; and brought -up decently and honestly to know the things which it is good for them in -their profession to know. So it is, however: all the world is improving -except the gentleman. There are at this present writing five hundred -boys at Eton, kicked, and licked, and bullied by another -hundred—scrubbing shoes, running errands, making false concords, and -(as if that were a natural consequence!) putting their posteriors on a -block for Dr. Hawtrey to lash at; and still calling it education. They -are proud of it—good heavens!—absolutely vain of it; as what dull -barbarians are not proud of their dulness and barbarism? They call it -the good old English system: nothing like classics, says Sir John, to -give a boy a taste, you know, and a habit of reading—(Sir John, who -reads the <i>Racing Calendar</i>, and belongs to a race of men of all the -world the least given to reading!)—it’s the good old English system; -every boy fights for himself—hardens ‘em, eh, Jack? Jack grins, and -helps himself to another glass of claret, and presently tells you how -Tibs and Miller fought for an hour and twenty minutes ‘like good uns.’ -... Let us come to an end, however, of this moralising; the car-driver -has brought the old raw-shouldered horse out of the stable, and says it -is time to be off again.</p> - -<p>Before quitting Templemoyle, one thing more may be said in its favour. -It is one of the very few public establishments in Ireland where pupils -of the two religious denominations are received, and where no religious -disputes have taken place. The pupils are called upon, morning and -evening, to say their prayers privately. On Sunday each division, -Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, and Episcopalian, is marched to its proper -place of worship. The pastors of each sect may visit their young flock -when so inclined; and the lads devote the Sabbath evening to reading the -books pointed out to them by their clergymen.</p> - -<p>Would not the Agricultural Society of Ireland, the success of whose -peaceful labours for the national prosperity every Irish newspaper I -read brings some new indication, do well to show some mark of its -sympathy for this excellent institution of Templemoyle? A silver medal -given by the Society to the most deserving pupil of the year, would be a -great object of emulation amongst the young men educated at the place, -and would be almost a certain passport<a name="page_561" id="page_561"></a> for the winner in seeking for a -situation in after life. I do not know if similar seminaries exist in -England. Other seminaries of a like nature have been tried in this -country, and have failed: but English country gentlemen cannot, I should -think, find a better object of their attention than this school; and our -farmers would surely find such establishments of great benefit to them: -where their children might procure a sound literary education at a small -charge, and at the same time be made acquainted with the latest -improvements in their profession. I can’t help saying here, once more, -what I have said <i>à propos</i> of the excellent school at Dundalk, and -begging the English middle classes to think of the subject. If -Government will not act (upon what never can be effectual, perhaps, -until it become a national measure), let small communities act for -themselves, and tradesmen and the middle classes set up <span class="smcap">CHEAP -PROPRIETARY SCHOOLS</span>. Will country newspaper editors, into whose hands -this book may fall, be kind enough to speak upon this hint, and extract -the tables of the Templemoyle and Dundalk establishments, to show how, -and with what small means, boys may be well, soundly, and humanely -educated—not brutally, as some of us have been, under the bitter -fagging and the shameful rod? It is no plea for the barbarity that use -has made us accustomed to it; and in seeing these institutions for -humble lads, where the system taught is at once useful, manly, and -kindly, and thought of what I had undergone in my own youth,—of the -frivolous monkish trifling in which it was wasted, of the brutal tyranny -to which it was subjected,—I could not look at the lads but with a sort -of envy: please God, their lot will be shared by thousands of their -equals and their betters before long!</p> - -<p>It was a proud day for Dundalk, Mr. Thackeray well said, when, at the -end of one of the vacations there, fourteen English boys, and an -Englishman with his little son in his hand, landed from the Liverpool -packet, and, walking through the streets of the town, went into the -schoolhouse quite happy. That <i>was</i> a proud day in truth for a distant -Irish town, and I can’t help saying that I grudge them the cause of -their pride somewhat. Why should there not be schools in England as -good, and as cheap, and as happy?</p> - -<p>With this, shaking Mr. Campbell gratefully by the hand, and begging all -English tourists to go and visit his establishment, we trotted off for -Londonderry, leaving at about a mile’s distance from the town, and at -the pretty lodge of St. Columb’s, a letter, which was the cause of much -delightful hospitality.</p> - -<p>St. Columb’s Chapel, the walls of which still stand picturesquely in Sir -George Hill’s park, and from which that gentlema<a name="page_562" id="page_562"></a>n’s seat takes its -name, was here since the sixth century. It is but fair to give -precedence to the mention of the old abbey, which was the father, as it -would seem, of the town. The approach to the latter from three quarters, -certainly, by which various avenues I had occasion to see it, is always -noble. We had seen the spire of the cathedral peering over the hills for -four miles on our way: it stands, a stalwart and handsome building, upon -an eminence, round which the old-fashioned stout red houses of the town -cluster, girt in with the ramparts and walls that kept out James’s -soldiers of old. Quays, factories, huge red warehouses, have grown round -this famous old barrier, and now stretch along the river. A couple of -large steamers and other craft lay within the bridge; and, as we passed -over that stout wooden edifice, stretching eleven hundred feet across -the noble expanse of the Foyle, we heard along the quays a great -thundering and clattering of iron-work in an enormous steam frigate -which has been built in Derry, and seems to lie alongside a whole street -of houses. The suburb, too, through which we passed was bustling and -comfortable; and the view was not only pleasing from its natural -beauties, but has a manly, thriving, honest air of prosperity, which is -no bad feature, surely, for a landscape.</p> - -<p>Nor does the town itself, as one enters it, belie, as many other Irish -towns do, its first flourishing look. It is not splendid, but -comfortable; a brisk movement in the streets; good downright shops, -without particularly grand titles; few beggars. Nor have the common -people, as they address you, that eager smile,—that manner of compound -fawning and swaggering, which an Englishman finds in the townspeople of -the west and south. As in the North of England, too, when compared with -other districts, the people are greatly more familiar, though by no -means disrespectful to the stranger.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, after such a commerce as a traveller has with the -race of waiters, postboys, porters, and the like (and it may be that the -vast race of postboys, etc., whom I did not see in the north, are quite -unlike those unlucky specimens with whom I came in contact), I was -struck by their excessive greediness after the traveller’s gratuities, -and their fierce dissatisfaction if not sufficiently rewarded. To the -gentleman who brushed my clothes at the comfortable hotel at Belfast, -and carried my bags to the coach, I tendered the sum of two shillings, -which seemed to me quite a sufficient reward for his services: he -battled and bawled with me for more, and got it too; for a -street-dispute with a porter calls together a number of delighted -bystanders, whose remarks and company are by no means agreeable to a -solitary gentleman.<a name="page_563" id="page_563"></a> Then, again, was the famous case of Boots of -Ballycastle, which, being upon the subject, I may as well mention here: -Boots of Ballycastle, that romantic little village near the Giant’s -Causeway, had cleaned a pair of shoes for me certainly, but declined -either to brush my clothes, or to carry down my two carpet-bags to the -car; leaving me to perform those offices for myself, which I did: and -indeed they were not very difficult. But immediately I was seated on the -car, Mr. Boots stepped forward, and wrapped a mackintosh very -considerately round me, and begged me at the same time to ‘remember -him.’</p> - -<p>There was an old beggar-woman standing by, to whom I had a desire to -present a penny: and having no coin of that value, I begged Mr. Boots, -out of sixpence which I tendered to him, to subtract a penny, and -present it to the old lady in question. Mr. Boots took the money, looked -at me, and his countenance, not naturally good-humoured, assumed an -expression of the most indignant contempt and hatred as he said, ‘I’m -thinking I’ve no call to give my money away. Sixpence is my right for -what I’ve done.’</p> - -<p>‘Sir,’ says I, ‘you must remember that you did but black one pair of -shoes, and that you blacked them very badly too.’</p> - -<p>‘Sixpence is my right,’ says Boots; ‘a <i>gentleman</i> would give me -sixpence!’ and, though I represented to him that a pair of shoes might -be blacked in a minute—that fivepence a minute was not usual wages in -the country—that many gentlemen, half-pay officers, briefless -barristers, unfortunate literary gentlemen, would gladly black twelve -pairs of shoes per diem if rewarded with five shillings for so doing, -there was no means of convincing Mr. Boots. I then demanded back the -sixpence, which proposal, however, he declined, saying, after a -struggle, he would give the money, but a gentleman would have given -sixpence; and so left me with furious rage and contempt.</p> - -<p>As for the city of Derry, a carman who drove me one mile out to dinner -at a gentleman’s house, where he himself was provided with a comfortable -meal, was dissatisfied with eighteenpence, vowing that a ‘dinner job’ -was always paid half-a-crown, and not only asserted this, but continued -to assert it for a quarter of an hour with the most noble though -unsuccessful perseverance. A second car-boy, to whom I gave a shilling -for a drive of two miles altogether, attacked me because I gave the -other boy eighteenpence; and the porter who brought my bags fifty yards -from the coach, entertained me with a dialogue that lasted at least a -couple of minutes, and said, ‘I should have had sixpence for carrying -one of ‘em.’</p> - -<p>For the car which carried me two miles the landlord of the inn<a name="page_564" id="page_564"></a> made me -pay the sum of five shillings. He is a godly landlord, has Bibles in the -coffee-room, the drawing-room, and every bedroom in the house, with this -inscription—</p> - -<p class="c"> -UT MIGRATURUS HABITA<br /> -<br /> -THE TRAVELLER’S TRUE REFUGE<br /> -<br /> -Jones’s Hotel, Londonderry<br /> -</p> - -<p>This pious double or triple entendre, the reader will, no doubt, -admire—the first simile establishing the resemblance between this life -and an inn; the second allegory showing that the inn and the Bible are -both the traveller’s refuge.</p> - -<p>In life we are in death—the hotel in question is about as gay as a -family vault: a severe figure of a landlord, in seedy black, is -occasionally seen in the dark passages or on the creaking old stairs of -the black inn. He does not bow to you—very few landlords in Ireland -condescend to acknowledge their guests—he only warns you—a silent -solemn gentleman who looks to be something between a clergyman and a -sexton—‘ut migraturus habita!’—the ‘migraturus’ was a vast comfort in -the clause.</p> - -<p>It must, however, be said, for the consolation of future travellers, -that when at evening, in the old lonely parlour of the inn, the great -gaunt fireplace is filled with coals, two dreary funereal candles and -sticks glimmering upon the old-fashioned round table, the rain pattering -fiercely without, the wind roaring and thumping in the streets, this -worthy gentleman can produce a pint of port wine for the use of his -migratory guest, which causes the latter to be almost reconciled to the -cemetery in which he is resting himself, and he finds himself, to his -surprise, almost cheerful. There is a mouldy-looking old kitchen, too, -which, strange to say, sends out an excellent comfortable dinner, so -that the sensation of fear gradually wears off.</p> - -<p>As in Chester, the ramparts of the town form a pleasant promenade; and -the batteries, with a few of the cannon, are preserved, with which the -stout ‘prentice boys of Derry beat off King James in ‘88. The guns bear -the names of the London Companies—venerable cockney titles! It is -pleasant for a Londoner to read them, and see how, at a pinch, the -sturdy citizens can do their work.</p> - -<p>The public buildings of Derry are, I think, among the best I have seen -in Ireland; and the Lunatic Asylum, especially, is to be pointed out as -a model of neatness and comfort. When will the middle classes be allowed -to send their own afflicted relatives<a name="page_565" id="page_565"></a> to public institutions of this -excellent kind, where violence is never practised—where it is never to -the interest of the keeper of the asylum to exaggerate his patient’s -malady, or to retain him in durance, for the sake of the enormous sums -which the sufferer’s relatives are made to pay? The gentry of three -counties which contribute to the Asylum have no such resource for -members of their own body, should any be so afflicted—the condition of -entering this admirable Asylum is, that the patient must be a pauper, -and on this account he is supplied with every comfort and the best -curative means, and his relations are in perfect security. Are the rich -in any way so lucky?—and if not, why not?</p> - -<p>The rest of the occurrences at Derry belong, unhappily, to the domain of -private life, and though very pleasant to recall, are not honestly to be -printed. Otherwise, what popular descriptions might be written of the -hospitalities of St. Columb’s, of the jovialities of the mess of the—th -Regiment, of the speeches made and the songs sung, and the devilled -turkey at twelve o’clock, and the headache afterwards; all which events -could be described in an exceedingly facetious manner. But these -amusements are to be met with in every other part of her Majesty’s -dominions; and the only point which may be mentioned here as peculiar to -this part of Ireland, is the difference of the manner of the gentry to -that in the South. The Northern manner is far more <i>English</i> than that -of the other provinces of Ireland—whether it is <i>better</i> for being -English is a question of taste, of which an Englishman can scarcely be a -fair judge.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII<br /><br /> -<small>DUBLIN AT LAST</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">A <small>WEDDING</small>-<small>PARTY</small> that went across Derry Bridge to the sound of bell and -cannon, had to flounder through a thick coat of frozen snow, that -covered the slippery planks, and the hills round about were whitened -over by the same inclement material. Nor was the weather, implacable -towards young lovers and unhappy buck-skinned postillions shivering in -white favours, at all more polite towards the passengers of her -Majesty’s mail that runs from Derry to Ballyshannon.</p> - -<p>Hence the aspect of the country between those two places can only be -described at the rate of nine miles an hour, and from such points of -observation as may be had through a coach window,<a name="page_566" id="page_566"></a> starred with ice and -mud. While horses were changed we saw a very dirty town called Strabane; -and had to visit the old house of the O’Donnels in Donegal during a -quarter of an hour’s pause that the coach made there—and with an -umbrella overhead. The pursuit of the picturesque under umbrellas let us -leave to more venturesome souls: the fine weather of the finest season -known for many long years in Ireland was over, and I thought with a -great deal of yearning of Pat the waiter, at the Shelbourne Hotel, -Stephen’s Green, Dublin, and the gas-lamps, and the covered cars, and -the good dinners to which they take you.</p> - -<p>Farewell, then, O wild Donegal! and ye stern passes through which the -astonished traveller windeth! Farewell, Ballyshannon, and thy -salmon-leap, and thy bar of sand, over which the white head of the -troubled Atlantic was peeping! Likewise, adieu to Lough Erne, and its -numberless green islands, and winding river-lake, and wavy fir-clad -hills! Good-bye, moreover, neat Enniskillen, over the bridge and -churches whereof the sun peepeth as the coach starteth from the inn! -See, how he shines now on Lord Belmore’s stately palace and park, with -gleaming porticoes and brilliant grassy chases: now, behold he is yet -higher in the heavens, as the twanging horn proclaims the approach to -beggarly Cavan, where a beggarly breakfast awaits the hungry voyager. -Snatching up a roll wherewith to satisfy the pangs of hunger, sharpened -by the mockery of breakfast, the tourist now hastens in his arduous -course, through Virginia, Kells, Navan, by Tara’s threadbare mountain, -and Skreen’s green hill; day darkens, and a hundred thousand lamps -twinkle in the grey horizon—see above the darkling trees a stumpy -column rise, see on its base the name of Wellington (though this, -because ‘tis night, thou canst not see), and cry, ‘It is the -<i>Phaynix</i>!’—On and on, across the iron bridge, and through the streets -(dear streets, though dirty, to the citizen’s heart how dear you be!), -and, lo, now with a bump, the dirty coach stops at the seedy inn, six -ragged porters battle for the bags, six wheedling carmen recommend their -cars, and (giving first the coachman eighteenpence) the cockney says, -‘Drive, car-boy, to the Shelbourne.’</p> - -<p>And so having reached Dublin—and seeing the ominous 565 which figures -upon the last page, it becomes necessary to curtail the observations -which were to be made upon that city: which surely ought to have a -volume to itself—the humours of Dublin at least require so much space. -For instance, there was the dinner at the Kildare Street Club, or the -Hotel opposite,—the dinner in Trinity College Hall,—that at Mr.——, -the publisher’s, where a dozen of the literary men of Ireland were -assembled,—and those<a name="page_567" id="page_567"></a> (say fifty) with Harry Lorrequer himself, at his -mansion of Templeogue. What a favourable opportunity to discourse upon -the peculiarities of Irish character! to describe men of letters, of -fashion, and university dons! Sketches of these personages may be -prepared, and sent over, perhaps, in confidence to Mrs. Sigourney in -America (who will of course not print them)—but the English habit does -not allow of these happy communications between writers and the public; -and the author who wishes to dine again at his friend’s cost, must needs -have a care how he puts him in print.</p> - -<p>Suffice it to say, that at Kildare Street we had white neckcloths, black -waiters, wax-candles, and some of the best wine in Europe; at Mr.——, -the publisher’s, wax-candles, and some of the best wine in Europe; at -Mr. Lever’s, wax-candles, and some of the best wine in Europe; at -Trinity College—but there is no need to mention what took place at -Trinity College; for on returning to London, and recounting the -circumstances of the repast, my friend B——, a Master of Arts of that -University, solemnly declared the thing was impossible:—no stranger -<i>could</i> dine at Trinity College; it was too great a privilege—in a -word, he would not believe the story, nor will he to this day; and why, -therefore, tell it in vain? I am sure if the Fellows of Colleges in -Oxford and Cambridge were told that the Fellows of T. C. D. only drink -beer at dinner, they would not believe <i>that</i>. Such, however, was the -fact: or may be it was a dream, which was followed by another dream of -about four-and-twenty gentlemen seated round a common-room table after -dinner; and, by a subsequent vision of a tray of oysters in the -apartments of a tutor of the University, some time before midnight. Did -we swallow them or not?—the oysters are an open question.</p> - -<p>Of the Catholic College of Maynooth, I must likewise speak briefly, for -the reason that an accurate description of that establishment would be -of necessity so disagreeable, that it is best to pass it over in a few -words. An Irish union-house is a palace to it. Ruin so needless, filth -so disgusting, such a look of lazy squalor, no Englishman who has not -seen can conceive. Lecture-room and dining-hall, kitchen and students’ -room, were all the same. I shall never forget the sight of scores of -shoulders of mutton lying on the filthy floor in the former, or the view -of a bed and dressing-table that I saw in the other. Let the next -Maynooth grant include a few shillings’-worth of whitewash and a few -hundred-weights of soap; and if to this be added a half-score of -drill-sergeants, to see that the students appear clean at lecture, and -to teach them to keep their heads up and to look people in the face,<a name="page_568" id="page_568"></a> -Parliament will introduce some cheap reforms into the seminary, which -were never needed more than here. Why should the place be so shamefully -ruinous and foully dirty? Lime is cheap, and water plenty at the canal -hard by. Why should a stranger, after a week’s stay in the country, be -able to discover a priest by the scowl on his face, and his doubtful -downcast manner? Is it a point of discipline that his reverence should -be made to look as ill-humoured as possible? And I hope these words will -not be taken hostilely. It would have been quite as easy, and more -pleasant, to say the contrary, had the contrary seemed to me to have -been the fact; and to have declared that the priests were remarkable for -their expression of candour, and their college for its extreme neatness -and cleanliness.</p> - -<p>This complaint of neglect applies to other public institutions besides -Maynooth. The Mansion-house, when I saw it, was a very dingy abode for -the Right Honourable Lord Mayor, and that Lord Mayor Mr. O’Connell. I -saw him in full council, in a brilliant robe of crimson velvet, -ornamented with white satin bows and sable collar, in an enormous -cocked-hat, like a slice of an eclipsed moon—in the following costume -in fact.</p> - -<p>The Aldermen and Common Council, in a black oak parlour and at a dingy -green table, were assembled around him, and a debate of thrilling -interest to the town ensued. It related, I think, to water-pipes. The -great man did not speak publicly, but was occupied chiefly at the end of -the table, giving audiences to at least a score of clients and -petitioners.</p> - -<p>The next day I saw him in the famous Corn Exchange. The building without -has a substantial look, but the hall within is rude, dirty, and ill -kept. Hundreds of persons were assembled in the black, steaming place; -no inconsiderable share of frieze-coats were among them; and many small -Repealers, who could but lately have assumed their breeches, ragged as -they were. These kept up a great chorus of shouting, and ‘hear, hear!’ -at every pause in the great Repealer’s address. Mr. O’Connell was -reading a report from his Repeal-wardens; which proved that when Repeal -took place, commerce and prosperity would instantly flow into the -country; its innumerable harbours would be filled with countless ships, -its immense water-power would be directed to the turning of myriads of -mills: its vast energies and resources brought into full action. At the -end of the report three cheers were given for Repeal, and in the midst -of a great shouting Mr. O’Connell leaves the room.</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Quiglan! Mr. Quiglan!’ roars an active <i>aide-de-camp</i> to the -doorkeeper, ‘a covered kyar for the Lard Mayre.’ The covered car came; I -saw his Lordship get into it. Next day he was<a name="page_569" id="page_569"></a> Lord Mayor no longer; but -Alderman O’Connell in his state-coach, with the handsome greys whose -manes were tied up with green ribbon, following the new Lord Mayor to -the right honourable inauguration. Javelin-men, city-marshals (looking -like military undertakers), private carriages, glass coaches, cars, -covered and uncovered, and thousands of yelling ragamuffins, formed the -civic procession of that faded, worn-out, insolvent old Dublin -Corporation.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ill-p569_lg.jpg"><br /><img class="enlargeimage" -src="images/enlarge-image.jpg" -alt="enlarge-image" -title="enlarge-image" -width="18" -height="14" /> -</a><br /> -<img src="images/ill-p569_sml.jpg" width="184" height="206" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p>The walls of this city had been placarded with huge notices to the -public, that O’Connell’s rent-day was at hand; and I went round to all -the chapels in town on that Sunday (not a little to the scandal of some -Protestant friends), to see the popular behaviour. Every door was -barred, of course, with plate-holders; and heaps of pence at the humble -entrances, and bank-notes at the front gates, told the willingness of -the people to reward their champion. The car-boy who drove me had paid -his little tribute of fourpence at morning mass; the waiter who brings -my breakfast had added to the national subscription with his humble -shilling; and the<a name="page_570" id="page_570"></a> Catholic gentleman with whom I dined, and between -whom and Mr. O’Connell there is no great love lost, pays his annual -donation, out of gratitude for old services, and to the man who won -Catholic Emancipation for Ireland. The piety of the people at the -chapels is a sight, too, always well worthy to behold. Nor indeed is -this religious fervour less in the Protestant places of worship: the -warmth and attention of the congregation, the enthusiasm with which -hymns are sung and responses uttered, contrast curiously with the cool -formality of worshippers at home.</p> - -<p>The service at St. Patrick’s is finely sung; and the shameless English -custom of retreating after the anthem, is properly prevented by locking -the gates, and having the music after the sermon. The interior of the -cathedral itself, however, to an Englishman who has seen the neat and -beautiful edifices of his own country, will be anything but an object of -admiration. The greater part of the huge old building is suffered to -remain in gaunt decay, and with its stalls of sham Gothic, and the -tawdry old rags and gimcracks of the ‘most illustrious order of St. -Patrick’ (whose pasteboard helmets, and calico banners, and lath swords, -well characterise the humbug of chivalry which they are made to -represent), looks like a theatre behind the scenes. ‘Paddy’s Opera,’ -however, is a noble performance; and the Englishman may here listen to a -half-hour sermon, and in the anthem to a bass singer whose voice is one -of the finest ever heard.</p> - -<p>The Drama does not flourish much more in Dublin than in any other part -of the country. Operatic stars make their appearance occasionally, and -managers lose money. I was at a fine concert, at which Lablache and -others performed, where there were not a hundred people in the pit of -the pretty theatre, and where the only encore given was to a young woman -in ringlets and yellow satin, who stepped forward and sung ‘Coming -through the rye,’ or some other scientific composition, in an -exceedingly small voice. On the nights when the regular drama was -enacted, the audience was still smaller. The theatre of Fishamble Street -was given up to the performances of the Rev. Mr. Greg and his Protestant -company, whose soirées I did not attend; and, at the Abbey Street -Theatre, whither I went in order to see, if possible, some specimens of -the national humour, I found a company of English people ranting through -a melodrama, the tragedy whereof was the only laughable thing to be -witnessed.</p> - -<p>Humbler popular recreations may be seen by the curious. One night I paid -twopence to see a puppet-show—such an entertainment as may have been -popular a hundred and thirty years ago, and is described in the -<i>Spectator</i>. But the company here assembled<a name="page_571" id="page_571"></a> were not, it scarcely need -be said, of the genteel sort. There were a score of boys, however, and a -dozen of labouring men, who were quite happy and contented with the -piece performed, and loudly applauded. Then in passing homewards of a -night, you hear, at the humble public-houses, the sound of many a -fiddle, and the stamp of feet dancing the good old jig, which is still -maintaining a struggle with Teetotalism, and, though vanquished now, may -rally some day and overcome the enemy. At Kingstown, especially, the old -‘fire-worshippers’ yet seem to muster pretty strongly; loud is the music -to be heard in the taverns there, and the cries of encouragement to the -dancers.</p> - -<p>Of the numberless amusements that take place in the <i>Phaynix</i>, it is not -very necessary to speak. Here you may behold garrison races, and -reviews; lord-lieutenants in brown greatcoats; <i>aides-de-camp</i> -scampering about like mad in blue; fat colonels roaring ‘charge’ to -immense heavy dragoons; dark riflemen lining woods and firing; galloping -cannoneers banging and blazing right and left. Here comes his Excellency -the Commander-in-Chief, with his huge feathers, and white hair, and -hooked nose; and yonder sits his Excellency the Ambassador from the -republic of Topinambo in a glass coach, smoking a cigar. The honest -Dublinites make a great deal of such small dignitaries as his Excellency -of the glass coach; you hear everybody talking of him, and asking which -is he; and when presently one of Sir Robert Peel’s sons makes his -appearance on the course, the public rush delighted to look at him.</p> - -<p>They love great folks, those honest Emerald Islanders, more intensely -than any people I ever heard of, except the Americans. They still -cherish the memory of the sacred George IV. They chronicle genteel small -beer with never-failing assiduity. They go in long trains to a sham -court—simpering in tights and bags, with swords between their legs. O -heaven and earth, what joy! Why are the Irish noblemen absentees? If -their lordships like respect, where would they get it so well as in -their own country?</p> - -<p>The Irish noblemen are very likely going through the same delightful -routine of duty before their real sovereign—in <i>real</i> tights and -bagwigs, as it were, performing their graceful and lofty duties, and -celebrating the august service of the throne. These, of course, the -truly loyal heart can only respect; and I think a drawing-room at St. -James’s the grandest spectacle that ever feasted the eye or exercised -the intellect. The crown, surrounded by its knights and nobles, its -priests, its sages, and their respective ladies; illustrious foreigners, -men learned in the law, heroes of land and sea, beef-eaters, -gold-sticks, gentlemen-at-arms, rallying round the throne and defending -it with those swords which never<a name="page_572" id="page_572"></a> knew defeat (and would surely, if -tried, secure victory): these are sights and characters which every man -must look upon with a thrill of respectful awe, and count amongst the -glories of his country. What lady that sees this will not confess that -she reads every one of the drawing-room costumes, from Majesty down to -Miss Anna Maria Smith; and all the names of the presentations, from -Prince Baccabocksky (by the Russian Ambassador) to Ensign Stubbs on his -appointment?</p> - -<p>We are bound to read these accounts. It is our pride, our duty as -Britons. But though one may honour the respect of the aristocracy of the -land for the sovereign, yet there is no reason why those who are not of -the aristocracy should be aping their betters; and the Dublin Castle -business has, I cannot but think, a very high-life-below-stairs look. -There is no aristocracy in Dublin. Its magnates are tradesmen—Sir Fiat -Haustus, Sir Blacker Dosy, Mr. Serjeant Bluebag, or Mr. Counsellor -O’Fee. Brass plates are their titles of honour, and they live by their -boluses or their briefs. What call have these worthy people to be -dangling and grinning at lord-lieutenants’ levees, and playing sham -aristocracy before a sham sovereign? Oh that old humbug of a Castle! It -is the greatest sham of all the shams in Ireland.</p> - -<p>Although the season may be said to have begun, for the courts are -opened, and the <i>noblesse de la robe</i> have assembled, I do not think the -genteel quarters of the town look much more cheerful. They still, for -the most part, wear their faded appearance and lean half-pay look. There -is the beggar still dawdling here and there. Sound of carriages or -footmen do not deaden the clink of the burly policeman’s boot-heels. You -may see, possibly, a smutty-faced nursemaid leading out her little -charges to walk; or the observer may catch a glimpse of Mick the footman -lolling at the door, and grinning as he talks to some dubious tradesman. -<span class="smcap">Mick</span> and <span class="smcap">John</span> are very different characters externally and -inwardly;—profound essays (involving the history of the two countries -for a thousand years) might be written regarding Mick and John, and the -moral and political influences which have developed the flunkeys of the -two nations. The friend, too, with whom Mick talks at the door is a -puzzle to a Londoner. I have hardly ever entered a Dublin house without -meeting with some such character on my way in or out. He looks too -shabby for a dun, and not exactly ragged enough for a beggar—a -doubtful, lazy, dirty family vassal—a guerilla footman. I think it is -he who makes a great noise, and whispering, and clattering, handing in -the dishes to Mick from outside of the dining-room door. When an -Irishman<a name="page_573" id="page_573"></a> comes to London he brings Erin with him; and ten to one you -will find one of these queer retainers about his place.</p> - -<p>London one can only take leave of by degrees: the great town melts away -into suburbs, which soften, as it were, the parting between the cockney -and his darling birthplace. But you pass from some of the stately fine -Dublin streets straight into the country. After No. 46 Eccles Street, -for instance, potatoes begin at once. You are on a wide green plain, -diversified by occasional cabbage-plots, by drying-grounds white with -chemises, in the midst of which the chartered wind is revelling; and -though in the map some fanciful engineer has laid down streets and -squares, they exist but on paper; nor, indeed, can there be any need of -them at present, in a quarter where houses are not wanted so much as -people to dwell in the same.</p> - -<p>If the genteel portions of the town look to the full as melancholy as -they did, the downright poverty ceases, I fear, to make so strong an -impression as it made four months ago. Going over the same ground again, -places appear to have quite a different aspect; and, with their -strangeness, poverty and misery have lost much of their terror. The -people, though dirtier and more ragged, seem certainly happier than -those in London.</p> - -<p>Near to the King’s Court, for instance (a noble building, as are almost -all the public edifices of the city), is a straggling green suburb, -containing numberless little shabby, patched, broken-windowed huts, with -rickety gardens dotted with rags that have been washed, and children -that have not; and thronged with all sorts of ragged inhabitants. Near -to the suburb, in the town, is a dingy, old, mysterious district, called -Stoneybatter, where some houses have been allowed to reach an old age, -extraordinary in this country of premature ruin, and look as if they had -been built some six score years since. In these and the neighbouring -tenements, not so old, but equally ruinous and mouldy, there is a sort -of vermin swarm of humanity: dirty faces at all the dirty windows; -children on all the broken steps; smutty slipshod women clacking and -bustling about, and old men dawdling. Well, only paint and prop the -tumbling gates and huts in the suburb, and fancy the Stoneybatterites -clean, and you would have rather a gay and agreeable picture of human -life—of workpeople and their families reposing after their labours. -They are all happy, and sober, and kind-hearted,—they seem kind, and -playing with the children—the young women having a gay good-natured -joke for the passer-by; the old seemingly contented, and buzzing to one -another. It is only the costume, as it were, that has frightened the -stranger, and made him fancy that people so ragged must be unhappy.<a name="page_574" id="page_574"></a> -Observation grows used to the rags as much as the people do, and my -impression of the walk through this district, on a sunshiny, clear -autumn evening, is that of a fête. I am almost ashamed it should be so.</p> - -<p>Near to Stoneybatter lies a group of huge gloomy edifices—an hospital, -a penitentiary, a madhouse, and a poorhouse. I visited the latter of -these, the North Dublin Union-house, an enormous establishment, which -accommodates two thousand beggars. Like all the public institutions of -the country, it seems to be well conducted, and is a vast, orderly, and -cleanly place, wherein the prisoners are better clothed, better fed, and -better housed than they can hope to be when at liberty. We were taken -into all the wards in due order—the schools and nursery for the -children; the dining-rooms, day-rooms, etc., of the men and women. Each -division is so accommodated, as also with a large court or ground to -walk and exercise in.</p> - -<p>Among the men, there are very few able-bodied; the most of them, the -keeper said, having gone out for the harvest-time, or as soon as the -potatoes came in. If they go out, they cannot return before the -expiration of a month: the guardians have been obliged to establish this -prohibition, lest the persons requiring relief should go in and out too -frequently. The old men were assembled in considerable numbers in a long -day-room that is comfortable and warm. Some of them were picking oakum -by way of employment, but most of them were past work; all such inmates -of the house as are able-bodied being occupied upon the premises. Their -hall was airy and as clean as brush and water could make it: the men -equally clean, and their grey jackets and Scotch caps stout and warm. -Thence we were led, with a sort of satisfaction, by the guardian, to the -kitchen—a large room, at the end of which might be seen certain -coppers, emitting, it must be owned, a very faint inhospitable smell. It -was Friday, and rice-milk is the food on that day, each man being served -with a pint-canful, of which cans a great number stood smoking upon -stretchers—the platters were laid, each with its portion of salt, in -the large clean dining-room hard by. ‘Look at that rice,’ said the -keeper, taking up a bit; ‘try it, sir, it’s delicious.’ I’m sure I hope -it is.</p> - -<p>The old women’s room was crowded with, I should think, at least four -hundred old ladies—neat and nice, in white clothes and caps—sitting -demurely on benches, doing nothing for the most part; but some employed, -like the old men, in fiddling with the oakum. ‘There’s tobacco here,’ -says the guardian, in a loud voice; ‘who’s smoking tobacco?’ ‘Fait, and -I wish dere <i>was</i> some tabacky here,’ says one old lady, ‘and my service -to you, Mr. Leary, and I<a name="page_575" id="page_575"></a> hope one of the gentlemen has a snuff-box, and -a pinch for a poor old woman.’ But we had no boxes; and if any person -who reads this visit, goes to a poorhouse or lunatic asylum, let him -carry a box, if for that day only—a pinch is like Dives’s drop of water -to those poor limboed souls. Some of the poor old creatures began to -stand up as we came in—I can’t say how painful such an honour seemed to -me.</p> - -<p>There was a separate room for the able-bodied females; and the place and -courts were full of stout, red-cheeked, bouncing women. If the old -ladies looked respectable, I cannot say the young ones were particularly -good-looking; there were some Hogarthian faces amongst them—sly, -leering, and hideous. I fancied I could see only too well what these -girls had been. Is it charitable or not to hope that such bad faces -could only belong to bad women?</p> - -<p>‘Here, sir, is the nursery,’ said the guide, flinging open the door of a -long room. There may have been eighty babies in it, with as many nurses -and mothers. Close to the door sat one with as beautiful a face as I -almost ever saw: she had at her breast a very sickly and puny child, and -looked up, as we entered, with a pair of angelical eyes, and a face that -Mr. Eastlake could paint—a face that <i>had</i> been angelical that is; for -there was the snow still, as it were, but with the footmark on it. I -asked her how old she was—she did not know. She could not have been -more than fifteen years, the poor child. She said she had been a -servant—and there was no need of asking anything more about her story. -I saw her grinning at one of her comrades as we went out of the room; -her face did not look angelical then. Ah, young master or old, young or -old villain, who did this!—have you not enough wickedness of your own -to answer for, that you must take another’s sins upon your shoulders; -and be this wretched child’s sponsor in crime?...</p> - -<p>But this chapter must be made as short as possible; and so I will not -say how much prouder Mr. Leary, the keeper, was of his fat pigs than of -his paupers—how he pointed us out the burial-ground of the family of -the poor—their coffins were quite visible through the niggardly mould; -and the children might peep at their fathers over the -burial-ground-playground wall—nor how we went to see the Linen Hall of -Dublin—that huge, useless, lonely, decayed place, in the vast windy -solitudes of which stands the simpering statue of George IV., pointing -to some bales of shirting, over which he is supposed to extend his -august protection.</p> - -<p>The cheers of the rabble hailing the new Lord Mayor were<a name="page_576" id="page_576"></a> the last -sounds that I heard in Dublin: and I quitted the kind friends I had made -there with the sincerest regret. As for forming ‘an opinion of Ireland,’ -such as is occasionally asked from a traveller on his return—that is as -difficult an opinion to form as to express; and the puzzle which has -perplexed the gravest and wisest, may be confessed by a humble writer of -light literature, whose aim it only was to look at the manners and the -scenery of the country, and who does not venture to meddle with -questions of more serious import.</p> - -<p>To have ‘an opinion about Ireland,’ one must begin by getting the truth; -and where is it to be had in the country? Or rather, there are two -truths, the Catholic truth and the Protestant truth. The two parties do -not see things with the same eyes. I recollect, for instance, a Catholic -gentleman telling me that the Primate had forty-three thousand <i>five -hundred</i> a year; a Protestant clergyman gave me, chapter and verse, the -history of a shameful perjury and malversation of money on the part of a -Catholic priest; nor was one tale more true than the other. But belief -is made a party business; and the receiving of the archbishop’s income -would probably not convince the Catholic, any more than the clearest -evidence to the contrary altered the Protestant’s opinion. Ask about an -estate, you may be sure almost that people will make misstatements, or -volunteer them if not asked. Ask a cottager about his rent, or his -landlord: you cannot trust him. I shall never forget the glee with which -a gentleman in Munster told me how he had sent off MM. Tocqueville and -Beaumont ‘with <i>such</i> a set of stories.’ Inglis was seized, as I am -told, and mystified in the same way. In the midst of all these truths, -attested with ‘I give ye my sacred honour and word,’ which is the -stranger to select? And how are we to trust philosophers who make -theories upon such data?</p> - -<p>Meanwhile it is satisfactory to know, upon testimony so general as to be -equivalent almost to fact, that, wretched as it is, the country is -steadily advancing, nor nearly so wretched now as it was a score of -years since; and let us hope that the <i>middle class</i>, which this -increase of prosperity must generate (and of which our laws have -hitherto forbidden the existence in Ireland, making there a population -of Protestant aristocracy and Catholic peasantry), will exercise the -greatest and most beneficial influence over the country. Too independent -to be bullied by priest or squire—having their interest in quiet, and -alike indisposed to servility or to rebellion; may not as much be hoped -from the gradual formation of such a class, as from any legislative -meddling? It is the want of the middle class that has rendered the -squire so arrogant, and<a name="page_577" id="page_577"></a> the clerical or political demagogue so -powerful; and I think Mr. O’Connell himself would say that the existence -of such a body would do more for the steady acquirement of orderly -freedom, than the occasional outbreak of any crowd, influenced by any -eloquence from altar or tribune.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p class="c"> -THE END<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -<i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><a name="page_578" id="page_578"></a><a name="page_579" id="page_579"></a></p> - -<p class="cb">THE WORKS OF<br /> -<big><big>WILLIAM MAKEPEACE<br /> - THACKERAY</big></big></p> - -<p class="c">Reprinted from the First Editions, with all the Original Illustrations, -Facsimiles of Wrappers, etc. In Crown 8vo. Cloth extra. 3s. 6d. per -volume.</p> - -<p>VANITY FAIR. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p>THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p>THE NEWCOMES. With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Richard Doyle</span>.</p> - -<p>THE VIRGINIANS. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p>THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND.</p> - -<p>BARRY LYNDON and CATHERINE. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p>PARIS AND IRISH SKETCH BOOKS. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Volumes in the Press.</i></p> - -<p>SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON, and JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO GRAND -CAIRO. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<p>CHRISTMAS BOOKS. With Illustrations by the Author.</p> - -<hr class="spc" /> - -<p class="c">MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span>, LONDON.<a name="page_580" id="page_580"></a></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"><i>Complete in 24 Volumes. Crown 8vo, tastefully bound in green cloth, -gilt. Price 3s. 6d. each.</i><br /> -<i>In special cloth binding, flat backs, gilt tops. Supplied in Sets only -of 24 Volumes. Price £4: 4s</i><br /> -<i>Also an Edition with all the 250 original etchings. In 24 Volumes. -Crown 8vo, gilt tops, 6s. each.</i></p> - -<p class="cb">THE BORDER EDITION<br />OF THE<br /> -<big><big><big>WAVERLEY NOVELS</big></big></big><br /> -EDITED WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS AND NOTES BY ANDREW LANG<br /> -<span class="smcap">Supplementing those of the Author.</span><br /> -<i>With 250 New and Original Illustrations by Eminent Artists.</i><br /> -LIST OF THE VOLUMES</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="margin:1% auto 1% auto;"> -<tr><td align="right">1.</td><td align="left">Waverley.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">2.</td><td align="left">Guy Mannering.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">3.</td><td align="left">The Antiquary.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">4.</td><td align="left">Rob Roy.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">5.</td><td align="left">Old Mortality.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">6.</td><td align="left">The Heart of Midlothian.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">7.</td><td align="left">A Legend of Montrose, and The Black Dwarf.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">8.</td><td align="left">The Bride of Lammermoor.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">9.</td><td align="left">Ivanhoe.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">10.</td><td align="left">The Monastery.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">11.</td><td align="left">The Abbot.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">12.</td><td align="left">Kenilworth.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">13.</td><td align="left">The Pirate.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">14.</td><td align="left">The Fortunes of Nigel.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">15.</td><td align="left">Peveril of the Peak.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">16.</td><td align="left">Quentin Durward.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">17.</td><td align="left">St. Ronan’s Well.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">18.</td><td align="left">Redgauntlet.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">19.</td><td align="left">The Betrothed, and The Talisman.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">20.</td><td align="left">Woodstock.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">21.</td><td align="left">The Fair Maid of Perth.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">22.</td><td align="left">Anne of Geierstein.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right">23.</td><td align="left">Count Robert of Paris, and The Surgeon’s Daughter. of the Canongate, etc.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="c"><b>Some of the Artists contributing to the “Border Edition.”</b></p> - -<ul style="margin-left:25%;"><li>Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., <i>P.</i>R.A.</li> -<li>LOCKHART BOGLE.</li> -<li>GORDON BROWNE.</li> -<li>D. Y. CAMERON.</li> -<li>FRANK DADD, R.I.</li> -<li>R. DE LOS RIOS.</li> -<li>HERBERT DICKSEE.</li> -<li>M. L. GOW, R.I.</li> -<li>W. B. HOLE, R.S.A.</li> -<li>JOHN PETTIE, R.A.</li> -<li>Sir JAMES D. LINTON, <i>P.</i>R.I.</li> -<li>AD. LALAUZE.</li> -<li>J. E. LAUDER, R.S.A.</li> -<li>W. HATHERELL, R.I.</li> -<li>SAM BOUGH, R.S.A.</li> -<li>W. E. LOCKHART, R.S.A.</li> -<li>R. W. MACBETH, A.R.A.</li> -<li>H. MACBETH-RAEBURN.</li> -<li>J. MACWHIRTER, A.R.A, R.S.A.</li> -<li>W. Q. ORCHARDSON, R.A.</li> -<li>JAMES ORROCK, R.I.</li> -<li>WALTER PAGET.</li> -<li>Sir GEORGE REID, <i>P.</i>R.S.A.</li> -<li>FRANK SHORT.</li> -<li>W. STRANG.</li> -<li>Sir HENRY RAEBURN, R.A., <i>P.</i>R.S.A.</li> -<li>ARTHUR HOPKINS, A.R.W.S.</li> -<li>R. HERDMAN, R.S.A.</li> -<li>D. 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BARHAM.—<b>Life.</b> <b>Theodore Hook.</b></li> -<li><b>Biographies of Eminent Persons. Vol. I., II., III., IV., V.</b></li> -<li><b>Annual Summaries. Vol. I., II.</b></li> -<li><b>Masson’s French Dictionary.</b></li> -<li><b>Shakespeare’s Works. Vol I., II., III.</b></li> -</ul> - -<p class="c">MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Translated for the benefit of country gentlemen: -</p> - -<div class="poem"> -‘By your angel flown away just like a dove,<br /> - By the royal infant, that frail and tender reed,<br /> - Pardon yet once more! Pardon in the name of the tomb!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pardon in the name of the cradle!’</span><br /> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> In order to account for these trivial details, the reader -must be told that the story is, for the chief part, a fact; and that the -little sketch in this page was <i>taken from nature</i>. The letter was -likewise a copy from one found in the manner described.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This reply, and indeed the whole of the story, is -historical. An account, by Charles Nodier, in the <i>Revue de Paris</i>, -suggested it to the writer.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> These countries are, to be sure, inundated with the -productions of our market, in the shape of ‘Byron Beauties,’ reprints -from the ‘Keepsakes,’ ‘Books of Beauty,’ and such trash; but these are -only of late years, and their original schools of art are still -flourishing.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Almost all the principal public men had been most -ludicrously caricatured in the <i>Charivari</i>: those mentioned above were -usually depicted with the distinctive attributes mentioned by us.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> It is not necessary to enter into descriptions of these -various inventions.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> We have given a description of a genteel Macaire in the -account of <i>M. de Bernard’s</i> novels.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> He always went to mass; it is in the evidence.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> This sentence is taken from another part of the ‘acte -d’accusation.’</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> ‘Peytel,’ says the act of accusation, ‘did not fail to see -the danger which would menace him, if this will (which had escaped the -magistrates in their search for Peytel’s papers) was discovered. He, -therefore, instructed his agent to take possession of it, which he did, -and the fact was not mentioned for several months afterwards. Peytel and -his agent were called upon to explain the circumstance, but refused, and -their silence for a long time interrupted the “instruction” (getting up -of the evidence). All that could be obtained from them was an avowal -that such a will existed, constituting Peytel his wife’s sole legatee; -and a promise, on their parts, to produce it before the court gave its -sentence.’ But why keep the will secret? The anxiety about it was surely -absurd and unnecessary: the whole of Madame Peytel’s family knew that -such a will was made. She had consulted her sister concerning it, who -said—‘If there is no other way of satisfying him, make the will;’ and -the mother, when she heard of it, cried out—‘Does he intend to poison -her?’</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> M. Balzac’s theory of the case is, that Rey had intrigued -with Madame Peytel; having known her previous to her marriage, when she -was staying in the house of her brother-in-law, Monsieur de Montrichard, -where Rey had been a servant.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> The italics are the author’s own.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> It is fine to think that, in the days of his youth, his -Majesty Louis XIV. used to <i>powder his wig with gold-dust</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> I think it is in the amusing <i>Memoirs of Madame de Créqui</i> -(a forgery, but a work remarkable for its learning and accuracy) that -the above anecdote is related.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> They made a Jesuit of him on his death-bed.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Saint Simon’s account of Lauzun, in disgrace, is admirably -facetious and pathetic; Lauzun’s regrets are as monstrous as those of -Raleigh when deprived of the sight of his adorable queen and mistress, -Elizabeth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> A pair of diamond earrings, given by the King to La -Vallière, caused much scandal; and some lampoons are extant, which -impugn the taste of Louis XIV. for loving a lady with such an enormous -mouth.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> In the diamond-necklace affair.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> He was found hanging in his own bedroom.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Among the many lovers that rumour gave to the Queen, poor -Ferscu is the most remarkable. He seems to have entertained for her a -high and perfectly pure devotion. He was the chief agent in the luckless -escape to Varennes; was lurking in Paris during the time of her -captivity; and was concerned in the many fruitless plots that were made -for her rescue. Ferscu lived to be an old man, but died a dreadful and -violent death. He was dragged from his carriage by the mob, in -Stockholm, and murdered by them.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> The two men were executed pursuant to sentence, and both -persisted solemnly in denying their guilt. There can be no doubt of it: -but it appears to be a point of honour with these unhappy men to make no -statement which may incriminate the witnesses who appeared on their -behalf, and on their part perjured themselves equally.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> The only instance of intoxication that I have heard of as -yet, has been on the part of two ‘cyouncillors,’ undeniably drunk and -noisy yesterday after the bar dinner at Waterford.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> The suspicion turned out to be very correct. The gentleman -is the respected cook of C——, as I learned afterwards from a casual -Cambridge man.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> By the help of an Alexandrine, the names of these famous -families may also be accommodated to verse. -</p> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Athey, Blake, Bodkin, Browne, Deane, Dorsey, Frinche,<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Joyce, Morech, Skereth, Fonte, Kirowan, Martin, Lynche.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> If the rude old verses are not very remarkable in quality, -in <i>quantity</i> they are still more deficient, and take some dire -liberties with the laws laid down in the Gradus and the Grammar:— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Septem ornant montes Romam, septem ostia Nilum,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tot rutilis stellis splendet in axe Polus.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Galvia, Polo Niloque bis æquas. Roma Conachtæ,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bis septem illustres has colit illa tribus.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Bis urbis septem defendunt mœnia turres,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Intus et en duro est marmore quæque domus.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Bis septem portæ sunt, castra et culmina circum,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Per totidem pontum permeat unda vias.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Principe bis septem fulgent altaria templo,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quævis patronæ est ara dicata suo.<br /></span> -<span class="ist">Et septem sacrata Deo cœnobia, patrum,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fœminei et sexus, tot pia tecta tenet.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> First edition “<i>The Irish Sketch Book</i>, 1843.” -</p><p> -An allusion has been made in the first chapter of this volume to a -frontispiece which was originally intended for it. But an accident -happened to the plate, which has compelled the author to cancel it, and -insert that which at present appears.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> This epithet is applied to the party of a Colonel -somebody, in a Dublin paper.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Here is an extract from one of the latter— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Hasten to some distant isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the bosom of the deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Where the skies for ever smile,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>And the blacks for ever weep</i>.’<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Is it not a shame that such nonsensical false twaddle should be sung in -a house of the Church of England, and by people assembled for grave and -decent worship?</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> It must be said, for the worthy fellow who accompanied us, -and who acted as cicerone previously to the great Willis, the great -Hall, the great Barrow, that though he wears a ragged coat his manners -are those of a gentleman, and his conversation evinces no small talent, -taste, and scholarship.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> ‘Boarders are received from the age of eight to fourteen -at £12 per annum, and £1 for washing, paid quarterly in advance. -</p><p> -‘Day Scholars are received from the age of ten to twelve at £2, paid -quarterly in advance. -</p><p> -‘The Incorporated Society have abundant cause for believing that the -introduction of Boarders into their Establishments has produced far more -advantageous results to the public than they could, at so early a -period, have anticipated; and that the election of boys to their -Foundations <i>only</i> after a fair competition with others of a given -district, has had the effect of stimulating masters and scholars to -exertion and study, and promises to operate most beneficially for the -advancement of religious and general knowledge. -</p> - -<table border="1" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center" colspan="4" class="smcap">Arrangement of School Business in Dundalk Institution</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">Hours</td> -<td align="center">Monday, Wednesday,<br /> -and Friday.</td> -<td align="center">Tuesday<br /> -and Thursday.</td> -<td align="center">Saturday.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">6 to 7</td><td align="left">Rise, wash, etc.</td><td align="left">Rise, wash, etc.</td><td align="left">Rise, wash, etc.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">7 <sub>"</sub> 7½</td><td align="left">Scripture by the<br /> -Master and prayer.</td><td align="left">Scripture by the<br /> -Master and prayer.</td><td align="left">Scripture by the<br /> -Master and prayer.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">7½ <sub>"</sub> 8½</td><td align="left">Reading, History,<br /> -etc.</td><td align="left">Reading, History,<br /> -etc.</td><td> Reading, History,<br /> -etc.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">8½ <sub>"</sub> 9</td><td align="left">Breakfast.</td><td align="left">Breakfast.</td><td align="left">Breakfast.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">9 <sub>"</sub> 10</td><td align="left">Play.</td> -<td align="left">Play.</td><td align="left">Play.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">10 <sub>"</sub> 10½</td><td align="left">English Grammar.</td><td align="left">Geography.</td><td align="left" rowspan="2">10 to 11<br /> -repetition.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">10½ <sub>"</sub> 11¼</td><td align="left">Algebra.</td><td align="left">Euclid.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">11¼ <sub>"</sub> 12</td><td align="left">Scripture.</td><td align="left">Lecture on<br /> -principles<br /> -of Arithmetic.</td><td align="left">11 to 12,<br /> -Use of<br /> -Globes.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">12 <sub>"</sub> 12-3/4</td><td align="left">Writing.</td><td align="left">Writing.</td><td align="left" rowspan="2">12 to 1, Catechism<br /> -and Scripture<br /> -by the Catechist.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">12-3/4 <sub>"</sub> 2</td><td align="left">Arithmetic at<br /> -Bookkeeping.<br /> -Desks, and</td><td align="left">Mensuration.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">2 <sub>"</sub> 2½</td><td align="left">Dinner.</td><td align="left">Dinner.</td><td align="left">Dinner.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">2½ <sub>"</sub> 5</td><td align="left">Play.</td> -<td align="left">Play.</td><td align="left">Play.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">5 <sub>"</sub> 7½</td><td align="left">Spelling, Mental<br /> -Arithmetic, and<br /> -Euclid.</td><td align="left">Spelling, Mental<br /> -Arithmetic, and<br /> -Euclid.</td><td align="left" rowspan="5">The remainder of<br /> -this day is devoted<br /> -to exercise till<br /> -the hour of Supper,<br /> -the hour of Supper,<br /> -after which the<br /> -Boys assemble in<br /> -the Schoolroom<br /> -and hear a portion<br /> -of Scripture read<br /> -and explained by<br /> -the Master, as on<br /> -other days, and<br /> -conclude with<br /> -prayer.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">7½ <sub>"</sub> 8</td><td align="left">Supper.</td><td align="left">Supper.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">8 <sub>"</sub> 8½</td><td align="left">Exercise.</td><td align="left">Exercise.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">8½ <sub>"</sub> 9</td><td align="left">Scripture by the<br /> -Master, and prayer<br /> -in Schoolroom.</td><td align="left">Scripture by the<br /> -Master, and prayer<br /> -in Schoolroom.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center">9</td><td align="left">Retire to bed.</td><td align="left">Retire to bed.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" colspan="4">The sciences of Navigation and practical Surveying are taught in the Establishment;<br /> -also a selection of the Pupils, who have a taste for it, are instructed in<br /> -the art of Drawing.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="center" colspan="4" class="smcap">Dietary</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" colspan="4"><b>Breakfast</b>.—Stirabout and Milk, every Morning.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" colspan="4"><b>Dinner</b>.—On Sunday and Wednesday, Potatoes and Beef; 10 ounces of the<br /> -latter to each boy. On Monday and Thursday, Bread and Broth; ½ lb. of the<br /> -former to each boy. On Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday, Potatoes and Milk; 2 lbs.<br /> -of the former to each boy.</td></tr> -<tr valign="middle"><td align="left" colspan="4"><b>Supper</b>.—½ lb. of Bread with Milk, uniformly, except on Monday and<br /> -Thursday; on these days, Potatoes and Milk.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p> -‘The districts for eligible Candidates are as follow:— -</p><p> -‘Dundalk Institution embraces the counties of Louth and Down, because -the properties which support it lie in this district. -</p><p> -‘The Pococke Institution, Kilkenny, embraces the counties of Kilkenny -and Waterford, for the same cause. -</p><p> -‘The Ranelagh Institution, the towns of Athlone and Roscommon, and three -districts in the counties of Galway and Roscommon, which the -Incorporated Society hold in fee, or from which they receive impropriate -tithes. -</p> - -<p class="r"> -(<i>Signed</i>) <span class="smcap">Cæsar Otway</span>, <i>Secretary</i>.’<br /> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> The Proprietary Schools of late established have gone far to protect the -interests of parents and children; but the masters of these schools take -boarders, and of course draw profits from them. Why make the learned man -a beef and mutton contractor? It would be easy to arrange the economy of -a school so that there should be no possibility of a want of confidence, -or of peculation, to the detriment of the pupil.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> ‘I want to go into a coal-mine,’ says Tom Sheridan, ‘in -order to say I have been there.’ ‘Well, then, say so,’ replied the -admirable father.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> The late Mr. Pope represents Camilla as ‘<i>scouring the -plain</i>,’ an absurd and useless task. Peggy’s occupation with the kettle -is much more simple and noble. The second line of this poem (whereof the -author scorns to deny an obligation) is from the celebrated “Frithiof” -of Esaias Tigner. A maiden is serving warriors to drink, and is standing -by a shield—Und die Runde des Schildes ward wie das Mägdelein -roth,”—perhaps the above is the best thing in both poems.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> And then, how much Latin and Greek does the public -schoolboy know? Also, does he know anything else, and what? Is it -history, or geography, or mathematics, or divinity?</p></div> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="padding:2%;border:3px dotted gray;"> -<tr><th align="center">Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:</th></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">holdiug</span> converse with each other.=> holding converse with each other. {pg 176}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">philosophic <span class="errata">apophthegms</span>=> philosophic apothegms {pg 367}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">so pulled to the middle <span class="errata">or</span> Turk lake=> so pulled to the middle of Turk lake {pg 375}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Does it <span class="errata">strenghten</span> a man=> Does it strengthen a man {pg 500}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">scolloped</span> sleeves=> scalloped sleeves {pg 504}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">in <span class="errata">throuble</span> in England=> in trouble in England {pg 517}</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">middle in the rapid <span class="errata">strame</span>=> middle in the rapid stream {footnote pg 424}</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. 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